Two things I love about the continuing erotic romance boom? Anthologies and naughty, naughty historicals. I love them both, and the Private Places anthology, out now, is happily sitting on my Must Buy This On Next Trip To Borders list. Lucky for all of us, anthology contributor Claudia Dain is here to give us a little taste of her story, A Night At The Theater. Enjoy!
E-X-C-E-R-P-T
The dark Duke of Aldreth lived without hope, she was instantly and intuitively certain of it. Of all the things she did not have, she still had hope. Let them share that, at least.
“No, your grace, I am speaking of you,” she said in a near whisper of raw emotion, “and of me. Of us. Of what we might share between us. Of what we might find together.”
It was an odd, unexpected moment between them and it seemed to grow straight out of the ground, entwining them, catching them up. It was tender and fragile and almost completely unwelcome. She did not want to feel tenderness towards this man.
Zoe had never before felt any such emotion for a man. Men did not require tenderness. What would they do with it? It had no currency for them. They wanted only beauty and power and if a woman would not feed those indulgences, she had no value at all.
Certainly he knew that as well. He was not an uncultured man. He knew and would follow the rules regarding affairs such as these.
But the look in his eyes, for just a moment or two, was so unguarded and so full of longing that she did not quite know what to make of it. She could only hope that she had not been so unguarded with him. Men did not like that. Men did not like to think of anyone but themselves in moments such as these. Had she not learned that? Had she learned nothing since leaving France?
“You are not speaking of a meal, are you, Miss Auvray? You look very much in need of a meal, shared or not,” he said with a small dose of sarcasm, shielding his vulnerability, shifting his gaze to the crowd around them.
“Are you offering a meal, your grace?” she said, matching his tone, both saddened and comforted by the return to the normal sort of bantering that went on between men and women who spoke together without revealing anything of import. But she knew she was telling him something more, something about not betraying his unguarded moment, and she did not quite know why she was being so careful of this very powerful duke. He did not need protection and she could provide none. He was supposed to be offering protection to her, which was the entire point of this exercise.
Why did she have such trouble remembering that? Certainly Sophia would not be so distracted by a pair of pain-soaked blue eyes.
