Chapter 3

Chapter Three

“ T he Duke of Silverton,” Madeleine murmured under her breath, as recognition set in.

I know of him , she thought.

It took her another moment before she realized why.

“My brother told me about you,” she said, her eyes lighting with recognition. “My brother is John Dunby, the Viscount of Halthorpe.”

The Duke’s eyes glimmered with acknowledgement. “I am friends with Lord Halthorpe, yes. But that is not important right now.” He shook his head. “The debt, Lady Kinsfeld.”

“I do not know which debt you speak of,” she answered, somewhat hotly.

“One owed by your husband. Where is Lord Kinsfeld?” His voice was low, dangerous. He was not here for a friendly settling of accounts.

What has my husband done ?

The question, and her lack of knowledge, made her feel exposed.

Instead, she lifted her chin, and tried to remain composed as she spoke the truth.

“I am afraid I do not know, Your Grace.”

The Duke of Silverton scoffed. “You do not know where your husband is at such an hour?” His brow raised, his mouth pulling into a slight snarl. “I do not believe you.”

“I cannot give you any other answer, Your Grace.”

The man took a step towards her. “Tell me, Lady Kinsfeld, where is your husband cowering while you play the part of the devoted wife?”

Although her shame burned through her, she realized, with a start, she could face the anger of him thinking she was lying, rather than the pity. The pity from those women at the soiree, pity that a woman would not know where her husband was.

Madeleine glared at the Duke, moving further into the parlor. She would not linger in the doorways of her own house, and she refused to be intimidated by this man.

Once again, the Duke’s eyes fell on her gown, as if he could see every curve and line of her body beneath.

What sort of friends does my brother keep ?

“As I said before, Your Grace, I do not know,” she bit out. “Is this an interrogation, or are you merely remaining here to stare me down?”

The Duke didn’t flinch, as she hoped he would. He only gave her one long look, as if indulging.

She saw the challenge in his face, “A man would not help but admire you, my lady.”

Madeleine gasped, pulling back as she realized she had missed two buttons from the front of her dress, revealing far too much skin than was appropriate for a stranger.

And yet, as she fixed her dress, covering herself once more, she took another good look at the man across from her.

There was something about the Duke’s imposition that made her compelled to move closer. She could not stop looking at the hard, angry planes of his face.

“You are lonely in this house, are you not?” he guessed.

And it had to be a guess. For how would he know? How could this man know that Donald had been absent for four days?

“No,” she bit out. “My husband will return any moment, I am sure.”

I have never been more uncertain of anything in my life.

“And loneliness… well, of course it could leave a woman left wanting to be desired by someone . Perhaps that is why you wish to distract me,” the Duke added.

“I do not wish to,” she snapped. “It is your eyes that wandered, Your Grace. I merely came to answer to an insistent guest.”

“All by yourself, at night.”

“I do not know what you are suggesting, Your Grace,” her voice remained firm.

The Duke moved closer but his eyes remained above her neckline.

“I think you do,” he said.

“So, you are here to simply admire my nightwear.”

“No,” his word was clipped, a harsh swipe of an answer that left her feeling almost embarrassed.

I should have thrown a robe or a shawl over me at least. Still, he is the one intruding here.

“I am here to ask of your husband’s whereabouts. His debts are staggering, and he will not leave them unpaid,” he said.

“I repeat,” Madeleine said slowly, “I do not know where my husband is, Your Grace.”

He laughed humorlessly at her, taking three slow steps until his chest was a mere inch away from hers.

She found that she could not help but lift her gaze to his, losing herself in those blue eyes, which held so much dark authority, that she could not help but feel a swoop in her stomach.

She stepped back, not wanting to back down, but that step back only had the Duke closing in.

Her back hit the wall, and there was nowhere left to go.

“Protecting a man who has left you to fend for yourself,” Alexander noted. “How noble.”

His voice was softer, almost a caress.

“And you have come to save me from myself, is that it, Your Grace?” Madeleine countered, her voice just as low.

Heavens, if anybody sees me in such a predicament .

Yet… there was a thrill inside of her. The Duke’s presence was interesting, a challenge, a blush of warmth in the cold emptiness she had grown accustomed to at only twenty years old.

“Or,” she continued, “is that merely an opportunity to flaunt your superiority? I do recall my brother always said you had a bit of a bent in that direction.”

He had not but it was enough to see a moment of triumph as the Duke’s gaze flickered, as if she hit a nerve.

“You do not know what you speak of,” he told her.

“Oh, yes, I do. I know of men like you, Your Grace.”

“Do you now?”

His eyes dropped to her mouth, and he moved ever closer.

The Duke’s eyes were dark with desire, and Madeleine shivered again.

It has been so long since I have been looked at in such a way.

Especially since her husband had repeatedly left her the cold, dark pit of humiliation.

Her breath shortened. His hand lifted to her face, not quite touching, but hovered over her cheek as if he wanted to brush over it.

He leaned in, and her heart raced, but suddenly he stopped.

His expression hardened and he yanked himself back.

However, she saw it—the shortness of his own breath, the dark desire that had swirled in his eyes and still lingered even as he put distance between them.

“This is not over, Lady Kinsfeld,” he said harshly. “I will find your husband, and when I do, I expect full repayment. If I catch word that you are indeed covering for him, there will be consequences for you, too. Is that understood?”

Before she could answer, he continued. “Do not think you can charm your way out of this.”

“Oh, I would not dream of it, Your Grace,” she retorted.

He blanched, looking back at her, as if not expecting any of how she responded.

As though he expected a meek, timid woman.

She was nothing of the sort, and the emptiness of her life had somewhat hardened her, telling her to throw much caution to the wind.

His gaze ran over her once more, lingering on the neckline of her gown, before he strode out of the room in a flurry of movement, as if he could not leave fast enough.

The door to Kinsfeld House slammed shut, and Madeleine was left alone.

Yet it was not cold, nor dismal, for a moment.

She watched his shadow pass over the window of the parlor, watching the Duke leave.

Frustration tightened in her gut, in her throat, at Donald, at herself—at the Duke himself for riling her up.

But mostly, Madeleine could not ignore the thrill in the wake of meeting the Duke of Silverton.