The Duke of Dark Desires by Miranda Neville

Author:Miranda Neville
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9780062243348
Publisher: Avon
Published: 2014-12-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Jane sat at the writing desk in the duchess’s chamber, tracing the marquetry of the piece with her fingertips and making a conscious effort not to open the drawer containing the key. It would be so easy to let her unfastened garments fall to the floor and to walk naked into Denford’s rooms, his bed, and his arms.

He could be hers one last time if she would but use the key.

She’d enjoyed sleeping with Henri, who prided himself on his prowess in bed. But Henri had been a selfish man and now she had confirmed that he was a selfish lover. He pretended to want her pleasure but his own came first. In Henri’s bed her first duty was to like what he liked and to pay for his attentions with fulsome praise. Her enjoyment bolstered his belief in his own superiority.

Denford, however. Denford was superb.

She feared what she would do if she returned to him tonight. She wanted to confess the truth in a torrent of words while he held her, as he had this evening when she told him about Mathieu. He’d make her feel secure and loved and he would absolve her from the task she dreaded more, the nearer it approached.

She shook her head at the illogic of the thought. Denford was a Fortescue. He had no right to release her from the obligation of revenge against a man who was his own cousin. And even if he did, Denford didn’t believe in forgiveness. In the end neither did she.

There was no forgiveness for her, and none for Mr. Fortescue.

She scraped back her chair to get away from the lure of the key and looked instead at the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. She envisioned the blade sliding into a man’s flesh, closed her eyes tight and felt the cutting of sinew and bone, smelled the coppery blood spurting over her hand, heard a cry of agony followed by the hiss of expiring breath.

Or she could be wrong about how terrifying it would be. Perhaps it was quiet and quick and easy, dealing a mortal wound. She wished it was over and Charles Fortescue was dead.

As for Denford, there was no future there. She could never reclaim her own life and go back to being Jeanne de Falleron. In order to survive she’d surrendered her virtue and consorted with the enemy. She was nothing but a governess with a dubious past. Dukes did not marry governesses.

Jane woke early from a restless sleep. Against her judgment, she dressed and descended to indulge herself with one last glimpse of the duke before he left. Too late. Instead, on the breakfast table was a note addressed to her, and a sheet of foolscap folded in half.

My dear Jane,

I want you to have this. If I don’t return, I won’t need this reminder of you. If I do, I will have you in all your delectable flesh. I am a better man for having known you. Do not fear for your future.

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