Free A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) by Kathleen Bittner Roth Page A

Magnificent birds, these. He never tired of them, and wondered if this was her first sighting.
    He strolled to where she sat, careful not to disturb the scene in all its reverie. He nodded to the seat next to her. “May I?”
    She shrugged without glancing his way. “Suit yourself.”
    He swept a couple of peacock feathers from the ground, handed one to her and sat to her right, twirling the other between his fingers. His shirtsleeve brushed against her bare arm and the choli capping her shoulder. She slid away from him a few inches, leaving her soft scent to float in the air. Every nerve in his body jumped.
    “Native dress becomes you, madam.”
    When she failed to respond, he boldly studied her profile. He shouldn’t have. Her bottom lip curved gently into a kissable pout that sabotaged his defenses and gave his groin a tug.
    He turned his focus to the peacocks and tried to ignore the fact that she fired his blood.
    What the hell should he say now? He was better off angry—heated words routinely found their way off his tongue in a cool and controlled manner. “Those are the males showing off for you.”
    “Men do that.”
    He laughed. “Show off for you specifically, or in general?”
    She turned to him. “What do you want?”
    To kiss you. He looked away, excruciatingly aware of the punch of lust to his gut. “To dissuade you from doing something rash, not to mention dangerous.”
    “To dissuade me from…don’t be a dunce. Attending a wedding cannot possibly be fraught with danger. Munia will accompany me and, for the most part, I shall remain with other women.” She went back to regarding the peacocks.
    “Perhaps not dangerous under normal circumstances, but attending as a spy on the arm of Ravi Maurya is. These are contentious times. Don’t be a stubborn fool.” Good, his tongue was heating.
    “I have my plans, and I intend to carry them out.”
    Something in the way she said those words struck an odd chord in him. “What is it that has you so intent upon attending this wedding?”
    When her mouth pursed and she refused to look his way, he said, “There’s something more than you being stubborn and foolhardy, isn’t there?” A strange foreboding crept up his spine. Why so resolute about attending this damnable event ? “Have you heard the saying, Dilli Chalo , Suri?”
    She glanced at him. The determination he saw in her sent a wave of trepidation wafting over his body like a cool breeze amidst the sticky heat.
    Bloody hell.
    “ Dilli Chalo is a clandestine saying that started in Meerut,” he said. “Not thirty-five miles from here, where that sepoy shot two British officers. The words mean ‘Let’s march to Delhi,’ and the chant has spread like wildfire. Those taking it up would sooner run a knife through you than look at you. If you insist on attending the wedding, I’ll wager you’ll frequently hear the cursed words uttered. You’re a half-caste, Suri—a British half-caste. You would not be safe.”
    Her lips thinned. “There you go again.”
    He slid his arm over the back of the bench. “Explain.”
    “You have a reputation for seeing to it that people do your bidding, but I shall not bend to whatever you decide you want of me. The only reason I did not fight you on the way out here was because of Shahira. You used her against me. Shame on you.”
    He set aside any idea of trying to convince her of anything at the moment. Stubborn woman. He’d have to find other means to stop her from attending the wedding.
    “Do what you will, then.” His voice grew toneless as he flipped the feather between his fingers from front to back. “But don’t expect me to come running to your defense once your house of cards tumbles down around you.”
    The fire in those entrancing emerald eyes of hers jolted him. And then, in some odd way, his spirits lifted and anger washed away like a fresh rain. He put his hand on his chest in mock effrontery. “Forgive me, madam. Perhaps that is how grievous