The Duke's Obsession (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes Page B

findings. To wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and comfort him for Burnham’s betrayal…
    “Yes, Miss Farrington,” he asked, quelling her thoughts. “What is it?”
    Other than the fact that she had gone momentarily mad? The duke was English. He was…well, he was…handsome. Endearing. And exceedingly distracting. And she needed to return to the house and away from him forthwith.
    Daphne tugged on the loose ribbon of her bonnet. “My calculations are only complete through the seven ledgers you gave me. In order to present a thorough finding, I would need to see the book you withheld in the library.”
    The duke’s jaw hardened. “That isn’t necessary. Seven ledgers are more than enough to present our case and to ensure Burnham will never keep another gentleman’s accounts.”
    “Are you certain? It won’t take me long to go through its pages. An hour or two should be sufficient.”
    “No.” His voice was firm and unyielding.
    But why? He had readily handed over the other ledgers…why deny her the last? Was Burnham not involved in the accounting? Or was there something he wished to hide?
    “But I don’t understand, Your Grace. I can—”
    He spun her by the shoulders so that she faced him, his firm hands planting her in front of his towering form. “I trust that you can do anything when you put your exceptionally clever mind to the task, Miss Farrington. I do not question your abilities. In fact, I envy them. You are an extremely intelligent woman. But I do not require your talents on the last ledger. Its contents are…” He paused and cast his eyes to the ground before returning them to hers. “They are not relevant to the proceedings.”
    Daphne stared up at the duke, her heart pounding against its rib cage, her body rigid for fear that if she moved, he might retract the compliments he had so readily given. She could not recall any man calling her clever, and if one had, it had not been said in an admiring light. But the duke valued her intelligence? Envied her mathematical abilities? Such statements were nothing short of extraordinary.
    “You think me clever, Your Grace?”
    His face softened and a small smile teased at his lips. “Very much so, Miss Farrington.” He lifted a hand to one of the errant curls that had yet again fallen from the confines of her bonnet. Her breath caught as he twirled the lock of hair around his forefinger, the slight flick of his wrist teasing her like a slow waltz. “I’ve never met anyone with such a talent for numbers as you possess. I find your intelligence to be” —he slid his finger from the strand he had twisted— “inspiring.”
    A slow liquid heat coiled inside her, warming her insides and stirring a tumult of emotions. She could smell him, the slight hint of cloves and sunshine, and something purely masculine that tantalized her senses and, Lord help her, made her weak against her own defenses.
    “I…I am flattered, Your Grace.”
    He brushed a hand over her cheek and gently tucked the curl behind her ear, his finger lingering at the nape of her neck as he slowly leaned forward. “That was my intent, Miss Farrington.”
    Daphne couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a breath. It seemed an appropriate action to take, given how lightheaded and warm she suddenly felt. She thought her parted lips would only pull in air, but somehow it seemed as if she had drawn in the duke as well. How else could she account for the presence of his lips whispering over hers with the lightest of touches?
    Her eyes fluttered shut, her mind racing as she counted first in English, then in Latin, the numbers blurring together as the sweet taste of his mouth overwhelmed her senses. No man had ever taken the liberty of kissing her before. Surely she should protest, especially given his English blood. But with his lips caressing hers as though she were something to be cherished, she was unable to think of anything other than yielding to his touch. And while she