The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)

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.”

She jumped to her feet, pushing away from him. “That’s not funny,” she said, not even bothering to moderate her tone. “It’s not a joke, no matter what you might think, and I’ll thank you to stop treating it as one.”

She’d knocked her teacup off the table and onto her foot in her attempt to escape from him and his horrible proposition. She could feel the wet liquid seeping into her stockings. But he made no comment; he simply straightened the tray on the table. Behind them, Lydia’s brows had drawn down; she watched them uneasily.

“Well, then,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’ll do it my way, and you try it yours—and we’ll see who wins out.”

“That’s impossible,” she said flatly. “You can’t flirt with me. I’m going to be at war with you.”

“No, you won’t,” he said politely. “Try going to war with an unwilling combatant. I don’t think even you can manage that.”