Free The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2) by Suzette de Borja Page A

her.
    Back off, Walkden.
    Julian willed his unease about Imogen’s presence to go away. She was sick and she needed someone to look after her. Not lust after her.
    He was crossing the living room when he gave a start at finding a shadowy figure seated on the sofa.
    “Fuck!” He flicked on the light switch and he saw it was Imogen, scrunching her eyes close at the sudden illumination. The motion sensors should have detected her. Could they be faulty?
    “I’m sorry,” she croaked, gingerly fluttering her eyelids open. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
    “It’s quite alright,” Julian lied, trying to calm his racing heart. The jetlag must be making him jumpy, he reasoned.
    He seated himself on a post-modern chair close to the corner of the sofa where she sat. He had sold all the previous furnishings in a fit of dissatisfaction with the all-white scheme. He had given the interior designer carte blanche and now regretted her taste in furniture. He would have to refurbish again and this chair had to go ASAP. The angle was uncomfortable, the fiberglass seat sans cushion was a pain on his ducal ass, and there was only one leg supporting his six-foot frame.
    “You should be in bed resting.” Her face was pale and her big brown eyes red-rimmed. She didn’t look very much different from the little girl who had tried to be unobtrusive following him around Trennery Court. He recalled that she always carried a satchel, which contained a sketchbook.
    “I wanted to check on Clark.” She appeared sheepish. He noticed she had changed out of her pajamas and into an old shirt and some kind of stretch pants. Her feet were bare and her toenails were painted some kind of sparkly pink.
    “What’s with the name?”
    She leaned down near the coffee table and peered inside the bowl, frowning. Julian studiously averted his eyes from her neckline.
    “Stella named it. She says like his namesake Clark Kent, he’s in disguise. A lot of people don’t know he’s really a goldfish.”
    “His secret is out then,” Julian said with a wry twist of his lips “at least with me.”
    Imogen nodded gravely. “I trust you to guard his secret identity with your life.”
    “I give you my word.” He discarded the flippancy. “Maggie was worried when she couldn’t reach you.”
    Maggie lived for the summers when the Adams-Chudley family visited Trennery Court. She had idolized her godfather, Imogen’s dad, a history professor and had loved his wife, Sarah, like her own mother. Maggie had even once contemplated being adopted by the Adams-Chudley family. It broke her heart when the family moved to the States, and Julian knew one of the reasons Maggie decided to study in California was to be near Imogen and her family. Maggie and Imogen were like sisters.
    “Thank you for bringing both of us here. It was very kind of you.” Her fingers were plucking nervously on the corded edging of the sofa. Julian spotted the heightened color on her cheeks. Was she remembering what had happened between them in this room years ago?
    Or was she feverish again? Damn, he didn’t even have a thermometer in the penthouse. He leaned forward to touch her forehead with his hand, but the precarious post-modern chair pitched him forward. He swore and his arms shot out to brace himself from the fall. It succeeded in trapping Imogen beneath him, her head slumped back against the sofa as she instinctively tried to get out of his path.
    She drew back her hands against her chest, as if careful not to touch any part of him. He had her head in between his arms, which were resting against the couch’s headrest. One of his knees was bent outside her thigh. He had no choice but to look down. Her scent wafted up to him, a hint of something flowery. She had apparently showered, noting the damp strands of her hair. Up close, her brown eyes were fringed with dark, sooty lashes behind her black-rimmed spectacles. They seemed to be growing darker, pulling him in. He wrenched his