Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) by Lorraine Heath

should—”
    “Duke?”
    He turned at the squeaky intruding voice, one Minerva found particularly grating, although maybe it was only because the lady was able to snag his attention so easily. Minerva despised the sin of envy, constantly reining in the emotion when it reared its ugly head.
    He smiled warmly, as though his fantasy woman had suddenly materialized in front of him. “Lady Hyacinth. Aren’t you a vision of loveliness?”
    Minerva felt the need to pound her fist into his shoulder. There was the reason that they had never really talked. She was not a vision of loveliness. Yes, leaving him unsatisfied last night was the smartest decision she’d ever made. How silly of her to have regretted it earlier. She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to see a man she might have been intimate with flirting with other ladies. Somehow, she thought she could be immune to the petty jealousies, could spend a night with a man and move on. How did men manage to do it with such ease?
    Lady Hyacinth blushed becomingly, batted her eyelashes, before acknowledging Minerva with the slightest tilting of her head, then returning her emerald gaze to Ashebury. “I was hoping you might take some refreshment with me if Miss Dodger is finished dominating your time.”
    Minerva held her tongue, refusing to be drawn into the cattiness that ladies often played. It was so unbecoming—at least to her. Men seemed to lap it up like milk.
    “I fear it was I dominating hers,” Ashebury said, much to Minerva’s surprise. No wonder the ladies of London fell over themselves to have his attention. He managed to stand up for her so easily without offending Lady Hyacinth. “But you are quite right. We’ll become the fodder for gossip if I linger much longer.” He took Minerva’s gloved hand, bowed over it slightly, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She felt the heat of his mouth clear down to her curling toes, toes that knew the feel of his thigh. “Thank you for appreciating my poor efforts, Miss Dodger. Should you ever like to see the photographs Lady Greyling found offensive, you need only send word.”
    Her voice had quite suddenly deserted her. His eyes took on a slumberous look as though he’d only just awoken. Something about them was decidedly carnal. “Then there is always my private collection,” he said with a low purr that he had probably learned from some great cat in the wilds.
    Then he was gone, escorting Lady Hyacinth into the midst of gaiety near the refreshment table. Minerva should have responded to his comment about his private collection, should have at least given an indication that she didn’t know what the devil he was talking about even though she understood perfectly well to what he was referring. Did he know that she knew? Were his parting words a last valiant attempt to determine if she was the woman whose ankle he had held in his large hands? Or had he believed her lies?
    “Dear God, it was Ashebury.” At the familiar voice, Minerva spun around, wondering when Grace had approached, how long she had been observing her, and what she might have been able to read in Minerva’s face that someone who didn’t know her nearly as well would never be able to discern.
    “What are you on about?” she asked as haughtily as possible.
    “You were with Ashebury at the Nightingale Club. He was the one who gave you attention.”
    Minerva swallowed hard, not liking that she was lying to her dear friend, but there were some things a woman kept for herself because they were too delicious to share. Her moments with Ashebury, for example. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were simply discussing his photographs. I find them quite exquisite.”
    “I saw the way you were looking at him. You’re more than taken with him.”
    “Can you blame me? He’s quite the handsome specimen, but that doesn’t mean he was the one in my company last night. Don’t jump to conclusions, Grace. It’s vulgar.”
    “You’re protesting too