Chapter 7

Camelia sat at one end of the massive mahogany dining table. Duke sat at the far opposite end. The silence in the dining room was thick and suffocating.

Hazel, the maid, stepped out of the shadows. She held a crystal decanter of aged red wine. She poured a generous amount into Duke's glass, then walked over and poured a smaller amount into Camelia's.

Matilda sat at the head of the table. She raised her own glass of water. "To the future of this family," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Camelia picked up her crystal glass. She took a small, polite sip of the dark red liquid.

As the wine coated her tongue, she tasted a very faint, bitter, herbal aftertaste. She frowned slightly, setting the glass down.

Duke wanted this dinner over with. He grabbed his glass, tilted his head back, and downed the entire half-glass of wine in one continuous swallow.

The rest of the meal was a symphony of silver forks scraping against porcelain plates. No one spoke.

Matilda wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. "I am tired," she announced. She pointed her cane at Duke. "You will sleep in the master suite with your wife tonight."

Duke yanked his tie loose with a violent tug. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, and marched toward the grand spiral staircase.

Camelia stood up silently and followed him up the stairs. They walked down the plush carpeted hallway and stepped into the luxurious master suite.

Click.

The heavy, carved wooden door shut behind them. The sound of the lock engaging echoed loudly in the quiet room.

Duke stopped. He turned around and grabbed the brass door handle. He pulled down hard.

The handle didn't budge. The door was locked from the outside.

Duke slammed his open palm against the thick wood. "Hazel!" he yelled into the hallway. "Open this door!"

There was no answer. Just the dead silence of the massive estate.

Duke turned away from the door. Suddenly, a strange, unnatural heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach. It rushed upward, setting his chest on fire.

He cursed under his breath. He ripped open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. His breathing grew heavy and ragged.

Camelia stood near the edge of the bed. Her cheeks suddenly felt flushed. A strange, rapid fluttering started in her chest, completely out of her control.

Duke's dark eyes widened slightly. Then, a look of pure, murderous realization washed over his face.

He closed the distance between them in three long strides, moving like a predatory cat.

He grabbed Camelia by both shoulders. He shoved her backward. Her spine hit the hard wooden doors of the walk-in closet with a loud thud.

"You drugged the wine," Duke snarled, his face inches from hers. "What exactly did you put in my glass? You and my grandmother really think you can corner me like this? You think you can just control my body and force my hand?"

Camelia's back ached from the impact. She shoved both her hands against his rock-hard chest, trying to push him away.

"I didn't know anything about the wine!" she gasped, her breath coming too fast.

Duke let out a cruel, breathless laugh. "You are a liar. You'll do anything for the money."

Camelia's temper finally snapped. She raised her right hand, aiming a hard slap right at his arrogant face.

Duke's reflexes were too fast. His hand shot up and caught her wrist mid-air. His grip was like iron.

He twisted her arm up and pinned both of her wrists flat against the closet door, high above her head.

Duke pressed his massive, overheated body completely against hers. The heavy scent of male pheromones, amplified by the drug in his veins, crashed over Camelia, trapping her entirely in his dangerous, suffocating shadow.