Free Duchess Decadence by Wendy LaCapra

warning, back to cold. He was a confounding devil.
    No —not devil. Devils were hot. He was ice. Not white ice, but the kind that filled the cracks between cobblestones, smooth as Wyn’s chestnut hair, now cropped and hidden beneath his wig. Dark ice —treacherous beyond one’s awareness until after one fell and was blinking into the winter sky.
    She set her lips in a straight line. Outward perfection had always come easy to Wynchester. Perfect posture. Perfect address. Perfect standing…except she could not forget he was not all perfection. And his imperfections made up the part of him she wanted to know.
    She rather regretted forbidding his tipple.
    They stopped by the pianoforte while the others collected in the far side of the room. She tugged at the edges of her gloves and laced her spine with steel. She had known returning to the duke was not going to be easy.
    Wynchester cast a sideways glance. “Are you steady?”
    “Quite.” She shined her enameled smile. I can do this.
    “Tonight,” he said low, “we must show unity—the Worthington family, as one.”
    “You’ve made your wishes,” her eyes flashed, “ and your priorities, clear.”
    “Good,” his response was clipped. His gaze searched hers for an extended breath. He lowered his voice. “If you had spoken to Eustace the way he spoke to you, I would have answered in the same way.”
    Her enameled smile turned brittle. “You are very talented at lecture.”
    “At the very least,” anger flashed across his features, “you have acknowledged my talent for something .”
    “Many things.” She put up her gloved fingers one by one. “Set-downs, cuts direct, efficient marshalling of your sycophants…”
    He frowned. Then, his anger melted away into an ironic smirk. “At least I can coerce someone to listen to direction.”
    She squinted. “I am not a sycophant.”
    “No.” He made a leg—a brief bow that mocked more than it paid tribute. “My non-sycophant, duchess, I ask of you a boon.”
    Despite herself she nodded.
    “Be good, Thea Marie.” His eyes held no command—just uncertain apprehension. “ Please .”
    Please was not something one heard often from a Worthington. Her anger transformed into another, just as visceral response: challenge . She decided she’d like very much to hear him say please again. Her gaze traveled over his face and then followed the line of his jacket to his breeches. His finely fitted breeches.
    Yes. Another please would be more than acceptable.
    “Ah, Wyn.” She reached up and cupped the hard angle of his ever-so-perfectly shaved cheek. “I will behave …” she made her voice low and husky and leaned forward, “if that is what you really wish.”
    Wynchester’s eyes grew entirely black. She sent him a warm smile, and then turned. As she walked away toward the solace promised by the Furies, she felt his gaze on her back with every step.
    She’d always had a penchant to notice little things. Like the way Wynchester’s eyes grew dark when surprise cut through his armor. Odd such perception should quell her anger and save her tonight. When she was small, it had been her downfall.
    Grandmother, there are small clouds trapped in the diamonds on your bracelet. Is that why you have to sell it? There’d been clouds in her grandmother’s eyes, too, as she responded. Silly child. Sit down.
    Since then, she’d kept most of her insights to herself.
    Her gaze flicked to the far corner and she noticed Eustace’s smile. It enveloped his cheeks and wrinkled his forehead, but his eyes remained largely unaffected, like the eyes of someone far away. Those eyes turned on her and a chill passed through her veins.
    She held his gaze for a moment, sending her own silent message.
    I will protect Wynchester at all cost.
    Eustace gave her a mocking bow.
    Challenge .

Chapter Five
    The doors to the afternoon sitting room had been folded back so the room appeared as one with the gallery. On the outskirts, beplumed women