The Duke's Dangerous Wager

Chapter 6

The ladies behind them gasped and twittered with anticipation.

"How scandalous."

"How romantic," another girl giggled.

"What will her father say?" yet another girl added.

But Tristan ignored them all, his thoughts tossing through his mind like a paper boat on a turbulent ocean.

What was he doing? How on earth did he think this was a good solution for her predicament?

But then those thoughts faded, and the kiss deepened.

He pulled her closer, and a hunger filled his chest. She tasted sweet, like fresh wine and strawberries.

Miss Everly squirmed in his arms, and, realizing what he was doing, Tristan released his hold on her lips.

She stared up at him, her slightly bruised lips parted in shock.

Tristan panted, his heart hammering in his chest. "Miss Everly, I—"

She shoved away from him and bolted down the hallway.

The ladies buzzed with excitement and turned to watch her leave.

Tristan stood frozen, struggling to draw enough air into his lungs. His head swam. What on earth had he just done?

***

Isla's heart pounded in her chest as she hurried back into the glittering ballroom, her cheeks still warm from the kiss. That kiss.

The moment he had pulled his mask away from his face, she had nearly recoiled in horror. Then he pressed his lips against hers, and an invisible force rooted her to the spot. Her traitorous heart had fluttered.

Tristan Hargrave, the Duke of Ashford.

The very man who had driven her family to the brink of financial ruin.

He had kissed her.

Her gloved hands trembled as she smoothed the bodice of her gown, willing herself to appear calm, composed.

The memory of his lips against hers crashed over her again, and she stumbled. The way he had wound his fingers in her hair, the way he had pulled her against his chest, had made an strange heat rise unbidden in her stomach.

The scent of roses and candle wax filled the air, mingling with the occasional drift of perfume as dancers twirled by.

How long did she have until those girls spread the news of her passionate, secluded kiss with the Duke of Ashford to the rest of the ton?

Her entire future could unravel in one careless moment. She refused to let that happen. There was still time.

With her head held high, Isla weaved her way into the heart of the masquerade ball, allowing the crowd to envelop her like a cloak. The masked faces swirled around her in a blur of color and movement, the rustling of silks and satins ringing in her ears.

She could still feel the weight of the Duke of Ashford's gaze, the heat of his presence lingering like a shadow... the taste of his lips on hers.

She forced herself to push the memory aside.

It was a mistake, a moment of madness, nothing more.

She caught her breath, her pulse slowing as she scanned the room. She couldn't afford to dwell on the Duke of Ashford, not now.