The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister 1)

Minnie made a rude noise, but he waved her quiet.

“You have steel for your backbone and a rare talent for seeing what is plainly in front of your face. I could make everyone see that.” His eyes were intense, boring into her. There was no escaping him, it seemed. He dropped his voice. “I could make everyone see you.”

Was it just her stomach fluttering? No. Her whole body seemed on the verge of trembling. It had been years since anyone pretended to have an interest in her. To have his attention fall upon her in such concentrated fashion… It was too much.

But he wasn’t finished. “Then there’s your hair. Hair shouldn’t change color, just by curling, but the edges seem to catch the light, and I can’t be sure if it’s brown or blond or even red when it does. I could watch that for hours, to try and figure it out.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest. It wasn’t beating any faster; just more heavily, as if her blood required more work to move.

But this was an exercise in hypotheticals, and Minnie was too desperate to be anything other than practical.

“Go on with you.” She’d intended the words to be dismissive, but her voice trembled. “What would you say when it was just men about? When they were asking you what the devil you saw in that mousy Miss Pursling? I daresay you’d never tell them that you were entranced by the curl of my hair. That’s the sort of thing a man says to convince a woman, but men don’t talk that way amongst themselves.”

He’d obviously expected her to swallow that codswallop about her hair, because he paused, slightly taken aback. And then, he gave her a shake of his head and a grin. “Come, Miss Pursling,” he said. “Men wouldn’t ask any such thing. They’d already know what caught my eye.” He leaned forward and whispered in conspiratorial fashion. “It’s your tits.”

Her mouth dropped open. She was suddenly very aware of said tits—warm and tingling in anticipation, even though he wasn’t anywhere near them.

He murmured, “They’re magnificent.”

He wasn’t even looking at them, but Minnie’s hands itched to cover herself—not to block out his sight, but to explore her own curves. To see if, perhaps, her bosom was magnificent—if it had been magnificent all these years, and she had simply never noticed.

If another man had said that her tits were magnificent, it might have been in a leering, lustful way—one that would have made her skin crawl. But the Duke of Clermont was smiling and cheerful, and he’d thrown it out there as if it were merely one more fact to be recounted. The weather is lovely. The streets are paved with cobblestone. Your tits are magnificent.

“Don’t protest,” he said. “You did ask, and after furthering our acquaintance over a spot of blackmail, we’ve no need to encumber ourselves with false modesty.”

Minnie squared her shoulders, all too aware that the act of doing so brought her bosom up a notch.

“Look in a mirror sometime,” he suggested. “Look beyond this.” He touched his cheekbone, mirroring the spot on her face where her scar spread. “Look at yourself sometime the way you are now, all fire and anger, ready to do battle with me. If you’d ever once looked at yourself that way, you wouldn’t question whether I’d want a flirtation with you. You’d know I would.”

Her whole body felt on fire—a cold, shimmering, sparking flame. She’d never been so aware of her own flesh—every inch of it, from the tips of her br**sts, which might or might not have been magnificent, to the heels of her feet. His eyes were boring into her.

She swallowed. “It’s not well done of you, to try to turn my head before I’ve agreed to your plan.” And if she’d contemplated it at all, that little display decided it. A man who could flirt like that had no business flirting with her.

He frowned, and then scrubbed his forehead. “Come, Miss Pursling.” He gave her a little grin. “You’re the most interesting person I’ve met since I arrived. It would be a pleasure to spend more time in your company.”

For him, that would mean that he could waltz off to other cities. For her… For her it would mean a short spell of having this man dance attendance on her. A month of his compliments, a few weeks of melting smiles. It would mean day after blissful day where she might fall under his spell. And just look what he’d done to her in ten minutes.

Minnie shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs that he’d so artfully strewn about. It would mean everyone looking at her at every assembly. She couldn’t stand for that kind of scrutiny.

“There’s no benefit for me in that plan, Your Grace. If I help you and we are discovered, you’ll be excused as wealthy and eccentric and powerful. I’ll be the woman—the traitor!—who gave up everything for you. And if you’ve set me up as a flirt, everyone will believe I’ve been your lover. I’ll be ruined. And when—” A wave of sadness passed through her; she couldn’t finish that sentence. She didn’t want to think of Great-Aunt Caroline gone. Instead, she took a deep breath. “At the end of it all, I’ll be destitute, and you’ll be a duke.”

“I treat my lovers better than that. Even my pretend ones.”

She raised her chin and gave him a flat look. “My future is not a joke, Your Grace.”

He winced. “I’m going about this all wrong. Look, Miss Pursling.” He sighed. “I’m not trying to make light of your situation. But I’m not here to dabble in Leicester on a whim. I’m here because of a promise I made. My father put some things wrong, and I must set them right. I don’t wish to cause you any harm, but I won’t cease simply because you ask it. There’s no need for us to be at odds.”

“I don’t wish to have to slowly drop hints and build up a store of proof that would inevitably point you out as the culprit,” she said. “But I will if I have to. If I do it my way, when it’s all said and done, people will say, ‘Well, Minnie really kept her head, even when a duke was about.’”

“And men will marry you because of that?” he asked dubiously.

“I only need one man to do so,” Minnie shot back. “More would be illegal.”

The smile popped back on his face. “You don’t miss much, do you? I can’t believe Gardley called you a rodent. You’re the most formidable mouse I’ve ever met.”

He placed his index finger atop her hand. It wasn’t a caress. It couldn’t be a caress. Still, her entire being seemed to freeze in place, fixed by that solitary point of contact. “My dear,” he said. “I give you my word that you’ll have an offer of marriage before I leave. Even if I have to do the job myself.”