One Tempting Proposal by Christy Carlyle

Wrexford had smashed her composure to bits, and she closed her eyes, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces back together. She grappled for any thought beyond the cloud of frustration and irritation he’d left in his wake. They were familiar emotions, especially after any encounter with her father, but her brief clash with Wrexford left her swaying off-­balance.
    The man had taken her utterly by surprise, and the predictability of men was something she’d come to rely on. Those like Father were driven by power and money. Status and reputation mattered most. Young rogues like Rob Wellesley were lured by a pretty face and women who filled their idle hours with frivolity. And a man who followed a woman into a room without a chaperone was intent on seduction or, at the very least, flirtation.
    But Wrexford wasn’t interested in flirting so much as giving her a set down, and she’d been completely unprepared. The duke wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Hattie had described him as a university don, and Kitty envisioned a stodgy, studious man more keen on equations than titles. No one had warned her he’d be so impressive, with a broad chest and shoulders filling out his evening jacket in ways most men never managed, nor that all the masculine angles of his face aligned in a beautiful whole that stole her breath when she stared too long.
    Kitty returned to the ballroom on wobbly legs and cursed the Duke of Wrexford—­for his arrogance, that knowing grin on his far too sensual mouth, and the scent of something fresh that still tickled her nose, as if he’d brought a bit of the Cambridgeshire countryside with him to London.
    She craved privacy and something to drink, but escaping to the room Mama had set aside for refreshments was out of the question. A long absence from the ballroom would start tongues wagging, and she’d already had her moment of escape. How could she have known it would be spoiled by the one man at the ball who found fault with her?
    It didn’t help that he seemed faultless himself. Aside from his rudeness in teasing her about her name, and the apparent pride he took in throwing etiquette aside as if it had gone out of fashion. Knowing he’d only come into his title recently, and that he’d never planned to be a duke, she’d anticipated a less polished man. But Sebastian, Duke of Wrexford, was tall and elegant, with a square jaw, sharp cheekbones, cool blue eyes, and a mouth that . . . Heaven help her, she’d wanted him to kiss her with that perfectly sculpted mouth, even when he was tilting it at her in derision.
    â€œThere you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Hattie paused between her words, attempting to catch her breath, and her cheeks glowed as if she’d just run across the length of a field. Kitty guessed she and Mr. Treadwell had danced every set since the ball began.
    â€œIt’s this silly dress. I thought Elsie’s stitches had pulled loose again.”
    Hattie didn’t even pretend to believe her hastily fabricated excuse. “I saw Miss Osgood and the others, though I couldn’t hear what they said. They upset you.”
    Everyone knew Hattie was the sweetest Adderly. The fact that she was sharp-­eyed and perceptive tended to be overlooked.
    â€œCynth goaded me about Lord Ponsonby. They’ll tire of teasing me about him eventually.”
    â€œCynthia Osgood will never tire of tormenting others. She’s been perfecting the skill since we were children.”
    Wrexford’s words about making sport of her guests echoed in Kitty’s mind. Was she truly as snide and unkind as Cynthia Osgood?
    Gazing across the ballroom, past ­couples sailing around the dance floor in the first waltz of the evening, she spied Annabel Benson, an acquaintance and now fellow Woman’s Union member she’d met at a country house party before year’s end. Young and good-­natured, eager