‘There aren’t that many of us. But it’s no big deal.’
Not to him, maybe, but then he wasn’t the one who was wondering if he oughtn’t to stop and curtsey. ‘Rather young to be a duke, aren’t you?’ she murmured in the absence of knowing what else to say or do.
‘The third Duke of Hawksley was eight months old when he took on the title. I’m thirty-six. Hardly young.’
But hardly the wizened old buffer she’d mentally plucked from the Dukes R Us casting agency either.
Bella frowned as something about the name niggled at the edges her brain. For some annoyingly out-of-reach reas
on it seemed familiar. ‘Why didn’t you say anything, Your—uh—Grace?’
‘I didn’t mention it because I prefer not to use the title,’ he said, sounding as if he was gritting his teeth. ‘And “Will” will do.’
Will will do what? Bella wondered, and then began to drown in the heat that flooded through her at the thought of exactly what she’d like him to do.
She’d like him to swerve off to the left, drag her down some dusty deserted corridor and back her up against a wall. She’d like him to lift her up, wrap her legs around his waist and crush his mouth down on hers. She’d like him to run his hands all over her and drive her mindless with need. Most of all she’d like him hot and hard and deep inside her.
At the bolt of desire that thumped her in the stomach Bella went dizzy and stumbled. Would have hit the floor had Will not caught her arm and steadied her.
‘Are you all right?’
Bella dragged in a breath and blinked a couple of times as she fought to wipe her head of the images. Oh, good Lord. She was fantasising. About Will. A duke. So much for thinking she didn’t go for the cynical weary type, she thought dolefully. And so much for sensible and mature.
Wishing she could give herself a good slap, she pulled herself together. She could stop fantasising right now. Because if she didn’t, she could well find herself getting completely carried away and have them riding off into the sunset together before the day was out. Which, given his indifference to her, was as unlikely as it was inappropriate.
‘I’m fine,’ she said a little shakily, wriggling away from beneath his grip before she did something really unhinged like deliberately letting her knees collapse and falling into his arms. ‘Absolutely fine. These heels weren’t designed for this carpet, that’s all.’
A pathetic excuse if ever there was one but it would have to do. And it did very well until Will slid his eyes right down her body to the heels she’d unfairly blamed for her stumble.
His gaze was so laser-like, so intense, that it felt as if her clothes were disintegrating in its wake, leaving her standing there in front of him completely naked. And then, at the thought of that, she went so hot and trembly she nearly stumbled all over again.
‘I dare say they weren’t,’ he murmured, lifting his eyes to hers, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jeans and then swivelling round and striding after the butler.
For a second Bella just stood there, staring at his retreating figure, her heart thudding as she wondered if she’d imagined the flare of desire she’d caught in his eyes.
Must have done, she decided firmly, dismissing the thought as nonsense and springing forwards in an effort to catch him up. Will had shown no indication that he was attracted to her whatsoever, so why would he start now? It had probably been a trick of the light or something.
‘So the jewellery comes with the title?’ she said, eventually drawing up at his side and trying not to pant at the sudden physical exertion.
‘It does.’
And just like that a light bulb switched on in her head.
Oh, my.
Her brain spun and her heart raced. No wonder the name had sounded familiar. No wonder something about the samples he’d brought her had niggled away at her brain. And no wonder the collection was stored at one of the most prestigious private banks in the world.
Will was taking her to see none other than the Hawksley Collection.
Bella caught her breath as excitement ripped through her. The Hawksley Collection was a legend. The greatest, most romantic jewellery collection in the world. It consisted of around two hundred love tokens, gifts of eternal adoration and appreciation, bestowed by the men in the Hawksley family on the women they loved.
She’d heard about it, of course. Had read about it. Had secretly envied it and yearned for someone to love her with that much passion, that much devotion. But she’d never seen it. No one had recently. It hadn’t been on display for years, which had only added to its glamorous mystique.
It was so achingly romantic. So completely heart-fluttering. So dreamily sigh-inducing.
And it was fake?
Questions clamoured at her brain. How? Why? Who else knew? And what would she find when she examined the rest? Would the whole lot turn out to be fake?