Anabelle Bryant - Duke Of Darkness

She hadn’t been a difficult child to raise. Even without a mother’s guidance, she’d been an obedient and respectful daughter, eager to please her father. How dismaying to realize her wishes mattered so little. When her father mentioned securing a special licence to have her wed quickly and it became clear he would no longer discuss the subject or listen to her objections, Alexandra panicked. Were she to stay, she knew she would live a life of regret and remorse forced upon her by a decision she had never made. The thought of that bleak future caused her heart to ache. If she knew her father as she believed she did, he probably courted Henry still. She hoped they lived happily ever after.

“So, I will return tomorrow morning and we’ll be off to the modiste. Devlin says you are to have whatever you want. Can you just imagine, Alex? Think of the gowns!”

Alexandra’s eyes flared with compunction. Caught in the web of her own thoughts, it appeared her entire week had been segmented into an overwhelming list of appointments at the dressmaker’s, milliner’s and boot fitters. Devlin must have sensed her hesitation because he interjected without pause and politely escorted his friends to the door.

“A bit of a whirlwind, isn’t she?” Devlin returned and pulled the bell pull to summon Reeston. “I hope she hasn’t monopolized all your time this week. I thought you would enjoy a rematch.” She watched as Devlin picked up the white queen from his marble chess board and tossed it playfully in his left hand.

“Oh, I doubt Julia left even one minute of my daily schedule unconsidered. I only hope I have the stamina to endure the rigours of her plans.”

Alexandra took a few steps closer, her hair once again loosened by the silver combs sliding out of place. She pushed back the thick coil at the base of her neck in hope to forestall the inevitable. She couldn’t know that Devlin stood there watching her, wondering what it might feel like to slide his fingers into the silky lengths of her hair, to pull out the pins and combs and bury his face in its glorious waves. Instead, she slanted him a sceptical glance and waited as he tossed the queen, his eyes intent on hers. Slowly his expression changed. The fire cracked in the box and the air around them became charged with unsaid emotion. Her breathing slowed and she warmed from the inside out.

Someone had to breech the silence and dispatch the unsettling feeling that the two of them were forging some type of relationship, yet she was reluctant to do so. If only when she stared into his eyes she could read the dark emotion she saw there, but his gaze remained indecipherable, lost in a wary sweep of lashes. With the next breath she gasped, broken from the spell as he tossed the white queen in her direction. Her laughter punctuated the moment as she caught the queen with ease.

“Well then, I suggest you get plenty of rest, Lexi.”

The intensity of his gaze never wavered and he stared at her, perhaps looking for some kind of acknowledgement that she didn’t hear the raw need in his voice. But she did hear it. Some kind of unnamed emotion laced his words as they stood motionless with only firelight to cast flickering shadows between them.

When he spoke again, his voice fell low and husky. “Julia is a force to be reckoned with when she is on a mission, and you are her favourite project at the moment.”

“I am not altogether sure I will be able to rest knowing my fate for the morning.” She attempted to keep the mood light-hearted, but an unfamiliar current whispered through the room. She reached forward and extended her arm, offering him the chess piece.

At first she didn’t think he would take it. He stood there and stared at the ivory piece lying in the palm of her hand for several heavy heartbeats, making little inclination he would move at all. But then he came forward with a powerful stride, and his left hand snatched the chess piece while his right grasped her hand underneath. He brought her palm to his lips in one smooth movement, yet the kiss he placed there was slow and deliberate, almost tender. As he withdrew, the line of his beard brushed the pads of her fingertips and her fingers curled in reflex as if to capture the caress and hold it safe.

She didn’t see his eyes as he excused himself with nothing more than a curt goodnight. She didn’t have to. Something had changed in the time they’d remained in the study. Alexandra could not name it, but she knew without a doubt it existed.

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