Free Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) by Eva Devon Page B

back to the frustration at hand.
    Rosamund shouldn’t be affecting him. Not the way she was. He should have been able to have a perfectly lovely fling with her and then end it with a jolly salute and wave of adieu when they’d finished.
    That’s how he was with all the women in his life.
    Except her.
    She seemed to sense the cracks in his facade and she wasn’t content to just look at them. Oh no. She wanted to know him. And to know him, she’d have to pry at those cracks and break through to the man he was underneath.
    Most women simply gazed upon him with the anticipation of the pleasure he could bring them through jewels or physical heights. Oh, it was clear Rosamund was excited by the prospect of joining him in bed. . . But there was something more in her eyes when she looked at him
    There was a pure and true curiosity about him . Bloody hell, she’d said she’d be pleased to be his friend if he refused to give her guidance in bed.
    Friends? Friends with a woman who tried to look deep in his soul?
    That was an impossibility.
    Intimacy of body? Lovely. Intimacy of soul? Never. Because he’d never be able to tell anyone the truth about what made him the way he was. . . And frankly, if he was to have to take Rosamund to his bed, he doubted whether he could ever let her out.
    He couldn’t bear to lie to her for eternity.
    He was able to be friends with Duchess Cordelia because she respected the barriers he’d built so carefully. Oh, she might prod here and there, but she had no desire to bring them down and find what lay behind them.
    Rosamund? Rosamund had the sort of air about her of a journeyman ready to tear down walls to get to the very foundations of a man. And his foundations were built on a secret.
    It was a secret far too serious to allow the light of day.
    Tony was the only one who knew. Well, and his own father, the dead duke. But that cruel old man wouldn’t be saying anything from his mouldering grave. 
    Just as Derek lifted the open champagne bottle to his lips, the Duke of Blackburn strode down the shadowy, moonlit hall, his own face dark as thunder.
    It was the only accurate description that came quickly to mind.
    Blackburn’s mouth was set hard, his eyes twin shadows in the darkness. His entire stance suggested that of a judge about to send a man to his death. Blackburn lifted a hand. “I’m not in the mood for any of your comments, just now.”
    “God forbid,” Derek riposted. Clearly things had not gone well in the clandestine visit between Blackburn and Imogen.
    “Drink?” Derek asked, holding the bottle out.
    Blackburn looked as if he were about to say no, but then he reached out and grabbed the beverage. He took several swallows, tilting the bottle up.
    Derek admired his precision. Once, Blackburn had been a man who knew how to quickly put away the bubbles, even if he did seem a Puritan now.
    Lowering the champagne, Blackburn sighed and looked at the three-quarters empty vessel. “I seem to have depleted your supply.”
    “Only a tragedy if we don’t head to your wine cellar.” This was a standard sort of Duke of Aston reply. One of thousands he’d cultivated for such moments but suddenly and belatedly he realized the danger of the comment. It sounded unquestionably like an invitation to start a drink session with Blackburn. Given his current obsession with Lady Rosamund, such a thing was inadvisable.
    So, he quickly added, “Then again, drowning one’s sorrows in liquor is the sign of a weak—“
    “This way,” Blackburn cut in and charged off down the hall, leaving Aston little option but to follow. 
    The drafty castle was different than his own ducal mausoleum done largely in the French style. This one suggested ancient clansmen readying for battle.
    Large tapestries decorated the stone walls, doing little to alleviate the chill.
    With each step down the moonlit corridor and subsequent circular stone stairs that the Duke of Blackburn was taking with utter ease, Derek began