What A Duke Dares. Anna Campbell

a damnable mess.

      She nearly left him shivering, this time from cowardice rather than exasperation, until she told herself that she was better than that. Not entirely convinced that she was, she gestured him inside. This time he cooperated.

      “You can sleep on the right,” she said irritably, slipping the shawl from her shoulders and dropping it over a chair. “I hope you don’t snore.”

      He looked troubled. “You’d share the bed?”

      She glowered. “Purely a humanitarian gesture. It’s as cold as charity.”

      “Do you trust me that much?”

      Oh, God save her. She’d always trusted him. She’d trusted him before she loved him. Nothing since had shaken either trust or love. Even his recent arrogance. Even tonight’s revelation that he wanted her. “I promise not to demand my wicked way. Would you rather sleep on the floor? I’m not giving up any of my blankets.”

      Grimness thinned his mouth. “We need to talk.”

      She stopped straightening a bed chaotic with her restlessness. “It’s the middle of the night.”

      He stood as straight as a soldier on parade. “I must say this now.”

      A bleak premonition knotting her belly, she sat on the bed. Nobody said “we need to talk” before good news. “How very ominous, Your Grace.”

      His expression didn’t lighten at her mockery. “Listen to me, Pen.”

      Fear made her rush into speech. “What happened tonight was an accident. Better to forget it.”

      He shook his head and stepped forward. “I can’t forget it.” He paused. “And forgive me if I’m presumptuous, but I doubt you can either.”

      “You’ve seen a naked woman before, Cam.”

      “We’ve traveled in close confines—”

      “And very annoying it’s been too,” she said quickly.

      One commanding hand rose to silence her. “Something unexpected has happened. When I saw you again, I—”

      Cam was never lost for words. With another man in other circumstances, she might believe he meant to declare his love. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

      Or forever?

      Stubbornness firmed his jaw. “No.” He stared hard at her, green eyes opaque. “Pen, God forgive me, but I never expected to want you.”

      Like a seedling reaching for the sun, joy unfurled. Until native cynicism made her hesitate. “You don’t sound very happy about it.”

      His lips flattened. “I’m not.”

      Her laugh was acid. “So this isn’t the prelude to another proposal?”

      He flinched. “You had good reason to refuse me.”

      Yes, she did. She still did. “A lucky escape for you.”

      “I wouldn’t be so ungallant.”

      Her lips twisted and she stared into her lap, covered in thick white flannel. Strangely, this was the closest they’d ventured to a frank conversation in a week. “Never you, Your Grace.”

      “Stop sniping. I’m struggling to do what’s best.”

      She regarded him with dislike. “You always do.”

      Her ironic tone nettled him. “Our circumstances are trying, but not impossible.”

      “Glad to hear it.”

      He plowed on. “I’ve always tried to be honorable.”

      Of course he had, she thought wearily. Another snide remark rose, but his expression stifled it. “That’s good.”

      “Pen, I have to keep my hands off you.”

      Pain crunched her heart. “Because I’m an unsuitable bride?”

      Waiting for agreement felt like the pause before someone punched a bruise.

      He shook his head. “Because I’m courting another lady.” He stared over her head as if the crucifix on the wall provided enormous interest. “When I return to England, I’m marrying Lady Marianne Seaton, the daughter of the Marquess of Baildon.”