Duke Keith took three slow, deliberate strides across the plush Persian rug.
His gaze lingered on the curve of her jaw and the way she held her breath. Most noblewomen trembled in his presence; this one stood like a coiled serpent.
"A secret bride with secrets of her own," Keith murmured, stopping inches away. His gloved hand lifted her chin with gentle, yet iron firmness. "Do you know what happened to my first two wives, little lady?"
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"Rumors claim you threw them from the Raven Tower," Clara replied evenly.
A rare, dangerous smirk touched Keith's lips. "Then you should know better than to test my patience on our wedding night."
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