Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea by Nash Sophia

Author:Nash, Sophia [Nash, Sophia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-27T17:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Alex’s intuition had served him well his entire life. It had saved his neck when he was fifteen and he had begged Mémé to leave Mont-Saint-Michel with his brother the night before they had originally planned. It had saved his life many times over when he had assumed a new name and joined the Hussars under Napoleon from the age of sixteen to nineteen, before he had escaped to England. It had not served well only once—the night he had been captured by the Portuguese.

Tonight, however, it appeared his intuition would not serve him well once again. He had been certain Roxanne would seek him out. And so he had excused himself from the boredom of the after-dinner entertainments and had retired early to his apartments.

He was grateful his valet was in London so he could enjoy the solitude of undressing in peace. It was strange. He was coming to like the quiet of the Mount. The ceaseless rush of the waves and the rhythm of the tides. His sleep was never disturbed by the sounds of hooves on cobblestones, or curses from inebriated drivers, or revelers in London. He shook his head. He refused to like rustication.

It was impossible.

It was too much like before.

He examined his pocket watch and then laid it on the marble table near the massive mahogany bed in his chamber. He had decided he would not go to comfort her. That way led to temptation and complete disaster.

But he would not turn her away if she came to him. Yet, if she did come, he could not do what he dreamed of doing every sodding moment. She was far too vulnerable at this moment, even if she displayed a cool front.

He had wanted to throttle that idiot Paxton. Frigid? Roxanne frigid? Why, she was the most open and passionate female he had ever encountered—when she chose. Everything about her left him wanting more. But she would only scoff if he suggested it. It would seem as if he were lying to her to assuage her finer sensibilities. She would disbelieve him and tell him to go—

He cocked his head toward the door and then set aside the crashing bore of a book—Cows of Southwest England—that had served far better as an attempted-murder weapon. Footsteps. He had heard footsteps.

He flung back the bedcovers, swung into his dark dressing robe, and crossed to the exit.

He paused, listening, and then opened his door.

Roxanne stood there, in the simple pale blue satin gown she had worn that evening, her clenched hand raised. “I didn’t knock,” she insisted.

“All right,” he agreed. “And I didn’t open the door. Do you want to speak to me or not?”

She looked up and down each side of the corridor. “Yes, but not in the hallway.”

“Then how about in here?” He grasped her clenched hand and pulled her into his room. He closed and locked the door.

She glanced toward the huge bed and then took several steps to sit on the stool in front of his dressing table.

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