“Don’t think you can divert me,” Worth growled. “I take a break from ledgers that seem to have been creatively tallied by a drunken jester, only to find you skulking about in my mother’s rooms. I want to know what you were doing.” His gaze flickered to her hands still clenched at her sides. “Show me your hands.”

Jenna forced herself not to react. The diamond suddenly felt like it was the size of an apple against her palm. “Are you accusing me of something, Your Grace?”

Worth let out a bark of what sounded like bitter, disappointed laughter. “I’m fairly certain I already did.”

“Of course. You believe me to be a thief, based on the fact you discovered your mother’s hired companion looking for an article of clothing in her rooms.” She was stalling, and they both knew it.

The duke closed the distance between them again. “I don’t believe, I know. Show. Me. Your. Hands.”

Jenna swore inwardly. If she handed the diamond over to the duke, that would open a whole barrel of questions she had no interest in answering. Like why a supposedly dead marchioness had left a supposedly lost fortune in diamonds with a supposedly eccentric duchess to sell. And what that money was used for. And why Jenna was sneaking one out of the house. Goddammit, but the Duke of Worth was beginning to make life difficult.

“Very well.” In a swift motion, Jenna brought her hands up in front of her chest, dropping the diamond down the front of her bodice even as she opened her fingers to him.

For a moment, Worth looked stunned. “What the hell did you drop down the front of your dress?” he snarled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jenna replied placidly. She had gotten herself out of stickier situations than this. Distract and deflect. She dropped her hands again.

“I demand to know what you took.”

“Nothing, Your Grace.”

“You have something in the front of your dress,” he snapped.

“I have since I was twelve years old.”

Worth started in shock before he swiped his hands through his hair angrily. “You think this is funny?”

“A little.” She was forcing a sangfroid she didn’t feel.

The duke let out a string of expletives better suited to the London docks. “You have five seconds to produce whatever you have in the front of your dress, or I swear by all that is holy, I will rip your bodice in half and retrieve it for you.”

“Ah. Is this your area of expertise?”

That stopped him short. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jenna smirked at him and cocked a brow. “I thought bodice ripping might be part of your overwhelming charm.”

Worth’s eyes darkened even further. “Very well, Miss Hughes, have it your way.”

God’s teeth, he was calling her bluff, and in truth, he had every right to do so. Though she’d be damned if she conceded. “Do your worst then,” she dared.

She watched as the duke’s hands went first to her shoulders, then to the edges of her bodice. She felt the backs of his fingers brush against her bare skin as he curled them under the seam at the top of her breasts. Jenna remained perfectly still, her breath caught in her chest and her heart thundering against her ribs.

He had long fingers. Beautiful fingers, actually, covered in small nicks and scars and calluses that attested to the fact this duke understood physical exertion. And they were tracing the neckline of her dress in slow, sure movements. Her stays were suddenly suffocating. The air around her had thickened. Every muscle in her body had clenched, and it wasn’t in fear. It was in anticipation.