A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) by Kathleen Bittner Roth Page B

the door and stepped into the corridor. “Not only are we not finished, madam, we’ve only begun.”
    “You can go to Hades.”
    He glanced over his shoulder with a wicked grin. “I’ve been there and back. That’s not where we’re headed, you and I.”

C HAPTER S EVEN
    “Blast it!” Suri jumped back as the jar of face cream slipped from her hand and shattered on the wood floor.
    Munia scurried over to the buttery-looking blob sprouting jagged shards of glass. “Do not move, memsahib, I have it.”
    Marguerite sat in a chair opposite Suri, studying her. “What’s got into you?”
    “Nothing. I dropped a pot of face cream. Don’t try to make something of it.” She wasn’t about to say a word of Ravenswood and what had gone on between them that had her in a turmoil ever since.
    “I daresay, Suri, you’ve not been yourself since Ravenswood collected you from the library a few days ago. You’ve grown surly, you drop things, and you’ve taken on that stubborn air that you get whenever something’s got you in a tizzy.” Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Did anything happen between the two of you? Is that why you refused to join us for dessert? Is that why you cling to Ravi-ji’s arm every evening? So Ravenswood won’t come near you?”
    When Suri failed to respond, Marguerite grasped the arms of her chair and pushed herself to a standing position. “Something did go on, didn’t it? Munia, excuse us for a moment.”
    “But the floor, mem . The oil will sink into the wood.”
    “’Tis fine,” Marguerite said, not taking her eyes off Suri. “You’ve got the bulk of it, and there’s enough beeswax coating the floor to protect it. I’ll ring for you in a bit.”
    The maid bowed and backed out the door.
    “What happened?” Marguerite demanded as soon as the door closed.
    Suri glanced at her sister. Drat it all. Marguerite had more than concern in her eyes. She simply radiated with a meddlesome curiosity that would demand truth. Busybody. Suri rubbed her temples and turned to face the gardens. The first throb of a headache pulsed through her skull.
    “I’ll thank you not to interfere in my business just because I’m your guest.”
    “All the more reason. Being my sister is yet another. Suri, look at me.”
    She would not.
    “Did Ravenswood kiss you again?”
    Suri’s throat tightened and her heart pumped. “What do you mean, again ?”
    “Don’t play coy. Like he did ten years ago—oh, good Lord, he did, didn’t he?” Marguerite’s eyes lit up like they used to on Christmas morning.
    “For heaven’s sake. Only you would find an improper assault by a nobleman to be thrilling.”
    “He assaulted you? Ravenswood?”
    “Not exactly.” Now the ache stitched through Suri’s head like a sewing needle on one of those new-fangled treadle machines. “Can we please not have this conversation? And could you send Munia for some powders? I’ve a headache.”
    “You’ll find them in that painted cabinet in the corner. Never mind, I’ll collect them for you.” Marguerite retrieved the box of powders, stirred a spoonful into a glass, and handed it off to Suri. “Now tell me.”
    Suri drank the bitter concoction and put down the glass, her fingers wrapped around it. What was she to tell her sister? That the way Ravenswood ran his fingers ever so softly alongside her cheek had stolen her reserves? That his kiss had swept her into his bedroom and she’d been held prisoner there ever since? That she’d wake up in a tangle of sheets, her body pulsating with a desperate need for him? That she could never have him the way she wanted him—had always wanted him, truth be told?
    Oh, dear, all of a sudden her eyes misted over. “I…” She turned away.
    “You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you?”
    Marguerite’s words stabbed like a lance. “Don’t be absurd.”
    “You have been since that day in the stable ten years ago.”
    “I was infatuated back then. Merely a young girl’s fancy. This