The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(51)

Chloe had no idea what she ate. As the wine flowed, she drank more than she should have. She was exhausted from making small talk with Henry, and she was forced to sit and watch as Lady Willowby cast Michael seductive glances and whispered in his ear. Like any good opportunist, she flirted outrageously with him throughout the entire meal. The attractive widow laughed, appearing to be avidly interested in whatever the topic of conversation was between them, her eyes widening in invitation. As the meal progressed and the footmen refilled their wineglasses, Lady Willowby grew bolder, leaning close to trace her fingers down the duke’s sleeve to his bared wrist.

Chloe didn’t know what was worse. Watching Lady Willowby fawn over the duke, or that Michael ignored her during the meal. She had no reason for her jealousy. She knew why he didn’t glance at her, and that he wanted to protect her reputation until he could speak with Huntingdon and properly ask for her hand. If he paid her the slightest attention, then others may notice his interest, including Henry. Still, it took great effort and a good amount of wine to turn her attention away from the couple seated across from her and to pretend she was enjoying herself.

At long last, dinner ended and Chloe was one of the first to push back her chair. The men would remain in the dining room to enjoy their port and cigars, and the ladies would settle in the drawing room.

The brush of a hand on her low back caused a shiver of awareness to tingle along her spine. She turned to see Michael beside her and inhaled sharply. The look in his eyes was consuming and scorching at once, like a flame licking her skin. All thoughts that he’d been unaware of her vanished beneath his heated gaze. The corners of his lips curled in a tantalizing smile, and her heart pounded erratically in response. Her insecurities dissipated with that one heated look.

She hurried from the room and settled on a sofa in the drawing room as Eliza began pouring tea. Chloe accepted her cup, and added a good amount of cream, two lumps of sugar, and then sipped the brew. She was still thinking of Michael’s smile as Lady Willowby sat beside her and settled her silk skirts.

“Which one will it be, then?” the widow asked without preamble.

Chloe lowered her cup. “Pardon?”

The widow’s painted lips curled in a mocking expression as she reached for her own teacup. She leaned close and lowered her voice. “Are you after the earl or the duke?”

“I don’t know what—”

“The young earl is handsome and charming and willing to do whatever it takes to please. The duke is dominant and possessive and can heat a woman’s blood with one dark glance. Who will it be?”

“None.” Normally Chloe preferred directness. But in this case, she refused to give the woman the satisfaction of an answer.

“Don’t insult my intelligence. We are both cunning women. I did not achieve my status by chance. I want the duke.”

Over my dead body. Chloe’s temper flared and rancor sharpened her voice. “Why are you telling me this?”

Cold green eyes sniped at her. “Because I see the way His Grace looks at you, and I don’t like it.”

“Perhaps you need to revisit your choice, then.” She bit her lip to prevent herself from delivering another scathing response that she’d regret when her temper cooled.

She needed a moment alone to gather her thoughts and plan her next move. Amelia chose a seat beside Lady Willowby, so Chloe took the opportunity to excuse herself under pretense of seeking the ladies’ retiring room.

She hurried down a long hall. The library’s walnut-paneled walls, comfortable leather chairs, and its mahogany shelves full of books had always calmed her in the past. The room would offer a moment of tranquility before she must return to the group.

She rounded a corner, and the library door came into view. From the shadow of an alcove, a dark figure reached out to grasp her wrist. She whirled around.

Michael.

She pressed a hand to her pounding heart and gazed up at his dark visage. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

He opened the library door, ushered her inside, then closed the door with a booted foot. “Finally. I have you alone.”

She whirled to face him. “We cannot risk being caught alone like this,” she whispered.

“You’re right. I’m probably half mad.” He stepped close and his gaze lowered to her mouth. Alarm slammed into her. Whether it was because of the tingle of excitement that warmed her blood at his nearness or her concern of being discovered she wasn’t certain. “You should go before we are discovered missing.”

“You mean by Henry or one of your sisters?”

“Perhaps Lady Willowby,” she blurted out, then bit her lip.

He eyed her curiously. “Are you jealous?”

She raised her chin and glared at him.

An easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “You have no reason to be jealous. I merely tolerated Lady Willowby so that the others would not suspect my affection for you. Now, are you going to tell Henry the truth, or shall I? I fear I cannot wait much longer. It’s difficult to converse with Huntingdon and not tell him.”

She squared her shoulders. “If you must know, I plan to tell Henry tonight outside in the gardens.”

“Good. Because now that I have come to my senses and proposed, it’s hard to be in the same room as you and not touch you.”

She couldn’t suppress the lurch of excitement inside her, and her face grew hot from his words. “We must be careful. And you must be patient.”