Page 83 of Misadventures with a Duke

And at once shoves away to be free from it.

“Raegan!”

And now lifts her skirts, stumbling to be free from me.

“Rayonnement!”

We are approaching the far side of the cavernous room, closer to the stand with the barkeep who is not as busy as his friends. He eyes us with interest. To his view, we are a pair of squabbling lovers. But we are also potential patrons. If Raegan keeps fleeing me, the tapster might get what he wants.

As soon as I get close enough to reach for her again, I do—this time, without a word of warning. I manage a decent grab around her elbow. She hurls back a not-so-proper glower. Her irises are green fire. Her breaths emerge as furious hisses.

“How do you even dare?”

Bizarrely, my pulse does not jump to the same temperature. Oh, she still has my heart racing and my cock pulsing, but her virulence is already my much-needed spigot, turning on instincts that have been honed from years of subduing outlaws.

“I might ask how you dare, sweet one.” I crank my grip tighter. “’Tis not a wise move to turn your back on a trained operative of His Majesty’s royal army, let alone a—”

She wrenches her arm. I hold on fast—until the clever thing writhes in such a way that the shawl around her elbows, light as the dust from its infused stars, is now the only thing left in my hand.

“If you pull the fucking duke card right now, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs until every uniform in this place is salivating to arrest you.”

Her language is not as sparkling as those stars.

And God help me, I am doubly hard about it.

“That is Monsieur le Duke De Leon to you, girl.”

She spurts a sharp laugh. “Ahhh, of course it is. Well, profuse apologies, your grace. Mon dieu. My complete bad!”

In another time and place, the airs and the attitude would have resulted in her backside over my knee and her flesh under my palm. But in this exact moment, she is spared by my sudden wonderment.

And, if I am observing accurately, hers as well.

She has spoken that before.

Not fully. And maybe not exactly. But enough that I am swept away from this place, my eyes no longer beholding the grandeur of the huge hall around us. I am in a low-vaulted room on the top floor of an Orléans inn, naked in bed with her. And she is apologizing—but this time, there is not so much sass in it.

Sass that, in just a few days, I have come to…anticipate. And savor. And adore. And celebrate.

Sass that I long for again…even now, in this bittersweet memory…

But is it? A memory?

But if not, then what…

“Monsieur…le Duke…”

Her voice, as soft as the wrap in my hand but filled with the same confusion in my mind, has me blinking hard. I am back at the New York party. Fully dressed and clean-shaven. The ale slinger is still intently eyeing me—but his inspection is a trifle when squared off with Raegan’s.

Raegan—who stares as if I have still been transported far away.

“Monsieur…le Duke,” she blurts again. “Le Duke De Leon. Because…because…”

“Rayonnement?”

I do not cloak my concern about it. No. My alarm. Where are the gorgeous glints in her eyes? The fresh color in her cheeks? What has suddenly unlatched her from me like this?

“Because what, Raegan?”