Heartless Duke (League of Dukes Book 2) by Scarlett Scott

Author:Scarlett Scott [Scott, Scarlett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Happily Ever After Books, LLC
Published: 2019-04-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Leo woke to late-afternoon light filtering over his bed and the soft curves of a woman pressed against his side. Lemon and bergamot teased his senses because he had been stupid enough to see that a servant procured her favorite fragrance. Slow, even breaths interrupted the silence of the chamber, accompanied by the distant din of the street below and the rhythmic ticking of a mantle clock.

Either the illness which had gripped him had sent him to hell, where he likely so richly belonged, or the foggy memories of Bridget O’Malley at his bedside and the sweet traces of her perfume in the air meant she had been tending to him. And not only had she been tending to him, but she was still in his bed, sleeping alongside him as if it were where she belonged.

It most assuredly was not where she belonged.

But that did not mean he didn’t enjoy having her there. It also didn’t mean he did not turn his head slowly to the side, all the better to bury his nose in the silken skeins of her midnight hair. Christ, even her hair smelled delicious.

If he had been dragged behind a runaway carriage, he could not have felt in worse condition than he did now. Even so, damn it if his cock didn’t twitch to attention. He took the opportunity to study her as she slept. How innocent she seemed. As serene as an angel.

Hell.

His illness must have rotted his brain. Where was such maudlin tripe emerging from? An angel and Bridget O’Malley did not belong in the same thought. The fiery banshee was as far as one could stray from the beatific.

She had tended to him though, had she not?

As the fever claiming him had ravaged his body, his rare moments of lucidity had been marked by her presence. Her husky voice singing lilting ditties, her fine-boned hands pressing a cool cloth to his brow, her arms helping him to lift his head so he could drink water.

He recalled asking, surly as a bear, why she was in his chamber.

Her response had been simple. Baffling. Because you need me, Duke.

He had not needed her. He was a man who needed no one. He was the Duke of Bloody Carlisle. He did not even require sleep.

The daring of the woman. She wore her hair confined in a heavy coil of braids pinned to her crown, but a few tendrils had come free. One curled over her cheek, and he could not resist brushing it away. As he did, his touch grazed her face. Her skin was a smooth temptation beneath his fingertips. Suddenly, he found it impossible stop his tender exploration.

Over her cheekbone, down her nose, pausing at the perfect pout of her rosebud lips. Just the whisper of a touch, one swipe of his thumb, but it was enough to jostle her from her dreams. Thickly lashed eyes fluttered open, and he found himself ensnared in the brilliant gaze of the last woman in the world he could trust and the only woman in the world he wanted.

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