3
“Tell me, do they still call me the Dark Duke?” the duke asked her, dark amusement coloring his tone. “Or have they adopted that other name, the Devil of Dover?”
Harriet inhaled sharply as he spun to face her.
“I see that they still do. Well, my dear Miss Russell, you have crossed a dangerous threshold. You have passed through the devil’s gates, as they say.” He gripped her shoulders tightly.
Harriet didn’t have time to react at first as he shoved her down onto the settee. But a moment later she recovered her wits and struck him across the face. He recovered quicker than she expected from the blow, and her shoulder throbbed as punishment for the effort. He caught her wrists and pinned them against the cushions of the seat.
She screamed loudly, more from pain and fear than anger. “Un
