The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(4)

Instinctively, he reached out to grasp her arms.

Her blue eyes widened. “Pardon, Your Grace. I didn’t see you.”

Up close, she was even more striking. The top of her head reached his shoulder, and she tipped her face up to look at him. Her skin was flawless and smooth, and her blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes. The scent of lemongrass filled his nostrils. Fresh and pure.

He understood how Henry was besotted.

“I’m fine now. You can let go,” she said.

He realized he was staring. His fingers flexed and he reluctantly released his hold.

A tiny crease formed between her brows. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

Of course she could tell something was wrong with him. One fraud could recognize another.

“I know who you are,” he said, his voice terse.

A finely arched eyebrow shot up. “Pardon?”

“I know about your past. I’m responsible for Henry. His father died on the battlefield under my command, you see. I swore to look after his son, and I intend to honor that promise.”

She tilted her head to the side and regarded him. “If you’re referring to my family’s history then you needn’t bother. Henry is aware that my father was the infamous art forger who duped half of the ton. Henry knows and is unfazed.”

His lips thinned into a grim line. “Your family’s history is damning enough, but that’s not what I’m referring to.”

“Then what?”

He leaned close and gave her his sternest no-nonsense stare, one that made battle-hardened soldiers snap to attention and quiver in their boots. “You’re a thief, Chloe Somerton. A pickpocket, to be precise. And you’re as far from a lady as one can imagine.”

She stiffened, but to his astonishment, she didn’t cower or flinch. Not one tear glimmered in her lovely blue eyes. Rather, she lifted her chin and met his icy gaze.

“So? What do you want?”

He blinked. “It’s simple. Stay away from Henry.”

Full pink lips curled in a slow, mocking smile. “Not a chance, Your Grace.”

…

He knows!

As Chloe Somerton returned to the room, her face was serene, her steps measured and graceful. Inwardly, her heart was pounding as loud as a drum in her chest. She tightened her fingers in her skirts so that no one would notice them trembling.

She was furious. Furious and fearful—a volatile combination.

Henry approached her. “What do you like best of Napoleon’s carriage?”

Chloe gifted him with an innocent smile. “It’s a beautiful piece. The Imperial Arms emblazoned on the panels of the doors are lovely, of course, but it’s the smaller details I find truly fascinating. The lamps on each corner of the roof, combined with the one in the back, can cleverly illuminate the interior. They can even be used to heat food.”

He leaned close to whisper. “Fascinating. Most would focus on the ornamentation and not appreciate the design of the conveyance.”

Her smile brightened like she hadn’t a care in the world. She liked Henry. He was young, just twenty-two and close to her age of near twenty. He was also handsome with brown hair and eyes and a lithe build.

Chloe’s instincts told her that Henry, the Earl of Sefton, would make a wonderful husband. He was kind, attentive, and charming.

He was also rich and titled.

Just perfect.

She stole a glimpse at the tall and grimly unsmiling man in the back of the room.

Heavens.

There was nothing kind or considerate about the Duke of Cameron. Dark, arrogant, and dangerous were only a few words a lady could use to describe him. He was also arrestingly handsome. The meticulously tailored jacket emphasized broad shoulders and a muscular physique. He was well over six feet in height, and his dark hair gleamed from a ray of sunlight from one of the museum’s windows. His profile was chiseled, as if an artist had selected the finest marble before carving his model. His eyes were dark as midnight. He was clearly a man in his prime, but the duke’s commanding presence made him appear older.

He turned, fully revealing his face, and she sucked in a breath. She knew he’d been a military man, a lieutenant colonel in the king’s army. It made perfect sense. He had a resolute strength about him and he carried himself like an officer, like a man used to having his commands followed. Her face heated as she thought of how she’d walked into him just outside the room. The hardness of his chest—it was like a solid wall of muscle. His body was evidence of hard labor—a warriors’ body, certainly not a duke’s.

She shivered despite the warmth in the room. She could not believe it. The Duke of Cameron knew her secret. How was it possible? Of all the gentlemen in the beau monde, why did he have to take an interest in Henry?

It wasn’t his size or the coiled power in his muscular frame that had sent a shiver down her spine, but the fierce look in his eyes. He’d looked like he was about to set foot on the battlefield. Determined yet unfocused. He’d been sweating…uneasy…almost as if he’d been in pain. His grip on her shoulders had tightened, and he’d shocked her by calling her a thief.

He’d been right. She had picked pockets years ago, had stolen in order to survive poverty. But her sins hadn’t ceased at mere thievery.

Just how much did he know? She could only hope his knowledge wasn’t complete. Even her two older sisters were ignorant of the truth…