Aphrodite and the Duke (Aphrodite and the Duke #1) Read Online J.J. McAvoy

Categories Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Aphrodite and the Duke Series by J.J. McAvoy
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
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“I have enough evidence against him now, and he has no means to protect himself. It is only a matter of catching him. I should not have gone out alone that day to stop him. I—I was simply so eager for this all to be done for good that I let down my guard. I make a mistake only once, which is why I cannot let you go again.” The last part he said directly to me.

And something stirred in me.

“I wish to rest,” I muttered, rising from the chair.

“Of course, you may use the same room you used earlier to change. Should I call the maid?” He was already moving to the door.

“Thank you,” I said as I walked out to find the maid already waiting.

“Aphrodite?”

“Yes?” I paused at the bottom of the stairs to look at him.

“Please do not speak of this to my sister. She does not know the full truth.”

I nodded and said nothing more to him.

“Do you need assistance with anything, my lady?” the maid asked once we reached my room.

“No. Thank you.”

“Good night, my lady.”

When the door closed, I collapsed onto the bed, putting my hand over my face as I bit back the tears.

This feeling in my heart—it was a relief.

Relief in finally knowing…it was not me.

It was not that he did not want or love me.

I was not the fool.

13

Evander

I could not sleep, the knowledge that she was so close and yet so far haunted me. I saw her face each time I closed my eyes and remembered how badly I desired her. To keep my mind from such thoughts, I did what I always did—I rose to clear my head in the night air. As if…as if we were blessed, there she was in the hall. Her brown, curly hair cascaded down her back, and she was wearing a long, dark robe with her arms hugged around herself. She tiptoed down the first few stairs, searching carefully.

“Aphrodite?”

At the sound of her name, she spun around so quickly she nearly lost her footing. Instantly, I caught her wrist, managing to steady her, her body pressed against my own. If ever I had willed my heart not to burst, it was at that moment. Her eyes held the warmth and curiosity of the whole earth. Her face was so close to mine that I could feel her breath upon my lips.

“Are you all right?” I asked, and she nodded, still looking upon my face. She inhaled, and I felt her breasts upon my chest, and it made me want to hold her tighter. I had to remind myself that I was not a beast but a man, and she was a lady. Also, I feared she might feel my desire upon her, so I moved to the step below.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” I replied, feeling my hands still stinging from the touch of her. “Were you in need of something?”

“No, I…” She trailed off as her stomach exposed her, growling loudly. Her eyes widened, and she quickly wrapped her arms around her midsection.

I grinned. “You are hungry?”

“I have not eaten since breakfast.”

“Well, we cannot have that.” I was about to reach out to her, but we were already breaking all rules of decorum. “Come, we shall see what is left in the kitchen.”

“I do hope it is not pork pie again.”

And I laughed. “Yes, this feels as if it was déjà vu.”

“I thought I could remember where the kitchen is, but I cannot,” she said, following after me.

“It has been many years. Do not blame yourself,” I said, checking to make sure no one else was in the hall before we moved forward.

“I do not seek to blame myself. Only it made me wonder why our families did not spend time together here.”

“After my mother passed, my father refused to open this house.”

“Why?” she asked as we entered the kitchen.

I did not wish everything I told of my life to be negative, but I feared she could sniff out any lie or deflection. “My mother died here,” I said, looking to see what food was left. “There is only bread, milk, and apples. Will that do? If not, I can call for the cook.”

“It is far too late to call for a cook. That is fine.”

I turned to her, holding what I had found. “But it is cold milk. You only ever drink yours warm.”

“You remember?”

I grinned, nodding, as I remembered everything about her. Or, at least, everything up to four years ago.

“I prefer warm, but those in need of charity should not be so particular, as my papa says.” She searched and found another glass and plates, setting the table in the center. “Will you eat with me?”

“For as long as you will allow,” I responded, sitting across from her.

And as she poured me a cup of the milk before her own and ripped the bread then cut the apples, sharing them between us, I could not help but wonder…would this have been our lives? Had we married four years ago, would we be like this? Could we be like this in the future?


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