Free Duke of Scandal by Adele Ashworth Page A

“Momentarily,” he admitted in a husky murmur.
    â€œYou had no right to do that,” she said, her voice low and shaky. “I am married to your brother.”
    â€œAnd I have every right to challenge your purpose in bringing that fact to my attention, madam.”
    Her head shot up with intention to verbally attack his character. Instead, for the first time, she became aware of just how affected he’d been by their embrace. She swallowed, unnerved by his flushed face, his labored breathing, the intensity of his heated gaze as it clung to hers. Just the knowledge that he’d been physically stimulated by the simple touch of her lips to his confused her.
    â€œHow on earth was kissing me a challenge?” she asked in whispered fury.
    Without hesitation, he said, “You’re attracted to me.”
    Just as you’re attracted to me.
    â€œYou are insane. And a cad,” was all she managed to enunciate, her fluster limiting her ability to rationally consider a profound reply to a statement so laughable if it weren’t so disturbing.
    He almost smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re not the first Frenchwoman to tell me that.”
    She placed her palm on her heated cheek. “I’m certain I’m not the only Englishwoman to tell you that, either.”
    He didn’t respond, just looked her up and down again very slowly, his features hard and distrusting. After a moment of waiting for something—anything from him—Olivia took another step back and turned, shifting her gaze to the loosely drawn drapes, the pads of her fingers on her lips as if to block them from his scrutiny.
    After seconds of unbearable awkwardness, at least on her part, he thankfully walked away from her, toward the dining room door, and pulled on the thick bronze rope to ring the bell for service. Three footmen entered almost at once, their hands filled with food on silver trays, which they began laying atop the oak buffet against the far wall, never glancing at either of them as they worked silently and professionally.
    Olivia wasn’t certain if she felt grateful for the interruption or annoyed by the sudden presence of others, regardless of the fact that servants were supposed to be invisible. In her experience they gossiped, though at this point she decided a trifle gossip was the least of her concerns.
    Suddenly the butler entered and began speaking with the duke in muted tones. Olivia took the opportunity of his distraction to try to compose herself, inhaling a few deep breaths and straightening her skirts with calming hands, willing her speeding heart to still.
    Her brother-in-law stood handsomely tall and stately, now seemingly unaffected by their brief encounter as he continued to offer instruction, she assumed, to the butler, who nodded in obedience. At last their conversation ended and the servants all departed without a glance in her direction, closing the door quietly behind them, leaving the two of them alone once again to dine casually on obviously exquisite fare, serving themselves and conversing as if nothing at all had just happened. Ridiculous notion.
    He looked at her openly again, rubbing his jaw with his fingers and thumb. “Shall we eat, dearest sister?”
    Olivia fairly rolled her eyes. Could his sarcasm be any more blatant?
    She smiled sweetly, though she no longer felt like eating. “Of course, your grace.”
    With a tepid smile, he motioned to the steaming buffet with his hand. “Please. We have much to discuss.”
    He wanted a discussion now? God in heaven, the Duke of Durham had just kissed her. No explanation, no warning, and she had liked it. She had liked it terribly—enough to make any conversation they might have extremely uncomfortable, at least for her. It occurred to her suddenly that such a despicably pleasurable action might have been planned from the beginning to disconcert her, thereby giving him the advantage in