“Come again?” Dalton asked, his brow wrinkling. “Oh, yes. I remember. Patrick told me about the novel Miss Crewe is writing. He said she’d chosen him as a model for the hero of her story. Guess she decided to go with the villain instead.”
“She’ll never be published if she doesn’t salvage her reputation by marrying me.”
“So that’s why she agreed to marry a bounder like you,” said Dalton with a smirk.
“She didn’t agree. I forced her to for her own good.”
“And what did she have to say about that?”
“A hell of a lot.”
Dalton laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I like her. She’ll lead you a merry chase.”
“She’ll be the death of me.”
“Then she’ll be a wealthy widow,” Dalton said, pouring more whiskey into his glass. “To wedding nights.”
The wedding night. It was all Dex had been thinking about since that kiss in the library. Good God. If one kiss made him lose control like that... he’d have to be more careful in future.
“Give me some of that.” Dex swiped for the bottle but Dalton held it out of reach.
“Not until you confess that you’re in love with the girl.”
“Love has nothing to do with it.” Dex grabbed the whiskey bottle from Dalton with one fluid movement. He swallowed a healthy amount and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
Dalton chuckled. “Miss Crewe may have more to say on that subject. She’ll make a romantic of you yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Dex muttered. The situation was complicated enough. At least theirs would be a marriage of convenience. A mutually beneficial partnership, and nothing more.
Chapter Eighteen
She had seen enough. She turned back toward Qavox, face hidden in her hands. The empty, echoing streets. The red river winding around the castle. The face of a man, horribly familiar to Amsonia and clad in her father’s crown, painted on a giant banner over the entrance.
“Look upon it and know the truth! Your uncle succumbed to dark forces. It is he who vanished your father into the Red Mist, he who now rules over the lands of Vyranthrall. You must be brave, Amsonia. If you hope to vanquish this evil, you must first open your eyes.”
—The Dragon and the Blue Starby Analise Crewe
“Tessie, why is your mistress still abed?”
“I’ll rouse her immediately, Your Grace.”
Ana nestled her head deeper into the pillow, her mind blurred from sleep. Surely the duke wasn’t there in her bedchamber? What a bizarre dream.
“Get up, Ana.” His deep voice, coming from somewhere alarmingly close by. She cautiously opened one eye. He was there. In the formidable flesh. Standing over her in a dark claw hammerjacket, the high cropped front displaying the full power of his muscular thighs encased in buff-colored leather riding breeches. Feet clad in high black boots tapping impatiently on the floor as Tessie began to bustle about the room, drawing the curtains and readying her mistress’s toilet.
An unwelcome ray of sunshine fell across her eyelids. “Go away!” She rolled over and buried her face back in the pillow. “I’m hiding.”
“You can’t hide in here all week until the wedding.”
“I absolutely intend to.” She wanted to keep as many doors as possible between herself and reality. She felt a potent mix of dread, anxiety, and a kind of chagrin—she had, after all, brought this unthinkable situation on herself. It was she who had pressed forward with her research, she who had instigated the incendiary physical contact that had changed everything in one moment. She had nobody else to blame, not even the duke. Now she was officially part of a bona fide full-size scandal, and the reality of it was much more stomach-churning than her imagination could have possibly warned her.
Hiding was the only answer.
“I’m taking you riding.”
“Riding?” She sputtered and sat up. That didn’t make any sense.I’m taking you riding. The words immediately conjured Princess Amsonia, clinging to the dragon’s scaly back, sailing underneath night stars with the wind whistling in her ears. Riding was motion, freedom—exposure, contact with the outside world. She shook her head vehemently.
“On Rotten Row, just as you asked.”