“I'm not going to be a distraction for you, or allow you to be one for me.""A distraction?" He folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you think you are? What I am? Bloody hell, woman. I need something to distract me from you!”

“You're not a distraction, you're a bloody obsession.”

“Dandy?" Sam was full-on scowling now. "What the hell does that scoundrel want?"Finley returned his dark expression with one of her own. "You shouldn't use words you can't spell, mutton head.”

“What I want from you,” he said, and Finley braced herself, “is your trust. Irrevocable and unshakable. I want you to put your life in my hands, and I want to be able to do the same without hesitation.” Disturbed to her very soul, Finley could only shake her head. “You ask too much.” Put his life in her hands? He was deranged! A bedlamite for certain. A crooked grin curved his mouth. “Too much? You strange and wonderful girl, that is the least I’ll ask of you.”

“Slowly, Finley rose from the sofa, tilted her head back and looked him dead in the eye. “I have no desire to be any more in your debt than I already am.”He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Would it make you more comfortable if I demanded something in return? Would that put you at ease?”When he put it like that, it made her sound like an awful sort of person for thinking the worst. “It would, yes. At least that would be honest.”It might have been laughter that came scoffing from his throat, but there was little humor in it. He shook his head, the light reflecting glints of russet in his hair. “I’d like to meet whomever it was who made you so distrusting and pull his teeth out one by one.”The vehemence in his tone startled her, yet was strangely warming. “’Twas more than just one.”His face darkened, like clouds overtaking the sun. Suddenly, this was no longer just some seemingly kind, bored aristocrat standing before her, but a young man capable of many dangerous things.”

“Suddenly he was in the doorway, looming over her in a determined fashion. Gone was sweet, patient Griffin. This was the Duke of Greythorne, one of the most powerful men in England.“I don’t care that you came to Dandy,” he said, his voice low, but sharp. “If you want to blame yourself for Sam’s injury, then go ahead and be a fool. And I don’t care that you could cosh my head in if you wanted. I came here to get you and if I have to, I’ll toss you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry you all the way to Mayfair. I’m taking you home where you belong.”

“Blokes are different from girls," Sam informed her - still scowling. "We don't need to talk about every little thing. You don't hear me whining when I break a nail."Finley's own brows pulled together. "Do you ever think before you open your mouth?""Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?" Sam asked sweetly.”