Excerpt: 'The Duke of Dark Desires' by Miranda Neville

Miranda Neville, author of The Duke of Dark Desires, shares a favorite scene from her new release.

Miranda: Julian Fortescue, the hero of The Duke of Dark Desires, is a duke. Obviously. But he wasn't always. He's one of those romance heroes who came into title when a bunch of people between him and the dukedom of Denford met unfortunate and unexpected ends. Before that he was a pretty regular guy (well, not really; he's way hotter than a regular guy) and had to work for a living. Developing a passion and knowledge of art, he was a dealer in Old Master paintings, a profession that arose from the demands of aristocratic collectors.

The art collection of the aristocratic Falleron family is at the center of the book. Julian acquired the paintings by somewhat dubious means during the French Revolution. The heroine, who enters Julian's household as governess to his half-sisters under the name of Jane Grey, is the only surviving member of that family. As Julian prepares to unveil the mysterious collection, he little knows what it will reveal to the beautiful governess who has captured his heart.

Julian hires a young artist, Oliver Bream, to teach the sisters drawing. In this scene he interrupts a lesson in which Jane Grey is posing as the model. At this point Julian doesn't know his sisters well and is far more interested in seducing their governess. He has offered to take them all to the theater in exchange for a kiss from Jane.

Here's the excerpt …

Despite the nunlike gown, slate blue today, seeing Jane Grey leaning back against the cushions, her legs slightly parted and bosom thrust forward, made Julian think of her naked and in bed, not a new sensation. He stood in the doorway and watched for a while, trying to define what it was about her he found so fascinating. His reaction was akin to what he felt when he saw a great picture, an instant recognition of extraordinary quality. But while he'd often experienced that frisson in the presence of a painted masterpiece, he couldn't remember ever having such a feeling about a woman.

Oliver was the first to notice his presence, when he stopped drawing to scratch his nose. "Julian! The very man we need. Lie down with Jane and be Samson. You are perfect for the part."

Lying down with Jane was very much his plan, but not in public. She was as alluring as the biblical temptress; he trusted she wouldn't turn out to be equally treacherous. "I don't think you'll do much damage to my hair with that knife, Miss Grey."

"I doubt they had scissors in those days."

"Many of the masters, such as Rubens and Van Dyck, have painted the scene and used the costumes of their own age and sometimes the tools as well. I recall a Guercino Delilah wielding a pair of scissors."

He strolled across the floor to stand next to her sofa. She looked up at him and, as if suddenly conscious of her wanton pose, snapped her knees together, even though he'd been careful not to be obvious about which of her attractions he was examining. Indeed, her pretty round face with the improbably knowing eyes was as appealing in its own way as the promise of her luscious body.

"Don't you think," he said softly, "that Delilah should be rather less covered? She and Samson are in bed when she betrays him."

"Caravaggio painted her fully dressed. I daresay it was cold at night." She sat upright and planted her feet firmly on the floor against Oliver's protest. "This is not proper conversation in front of your sisters."

A distinct giggle—or two—greeted this admonition. He hadn't given the girls a thought since he entered the room. They were seated on a row of chairs, oldest to youngest, each with a sketchbook and pencil, observing the byplay as though butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Which had laughed? Was it intractable Fenella? Or had pretty, pious Maria shown a glimmer of humor? Not Laura, he thought. The youngest alone appeared rapt by her drawing and plied her pencil with unabated diligence.

"I'm not a proper man," Julian replied. "That's why I hired a governess: to mitigate the dire consequences of time spent in my company."

"No danger of bad influence when they see so little of you."

She kept her voice low so the children wouldn't hear. Just to bait her he raised his. "I knew there was a reason I left them alone: my overdeveloped sense of responsibility."

"You are impossible, Your Grace."

"And you, Miss Grey"—he bent over to whisper in her ear—"are impertinent for an employee."

Watching her bite back her retort amused him, though he was sorry to miss the retort itself. He liked his governess just the way she was and she knew it too. He raised his voice again. "I have offered the Misses Osbourne my company at the theater." He cut off three girlish gasps of glee. "Under certain conditions. Miss Grey knows what they are and the matter is in her hands."

The governess narrowed her eyes in disgust and he smiled blandly.

A chorus of "Please, Miss Grey" arose from the schoolgirl ranks, but Oliver, insensitive as ever, balked him of the pleasure of learning how she'd deal with the fox he'd tossed into her dovecote. "Ten minutes, Jane. Sit down again for ten minutes."

A woman of uncommon intelligence, Jane had clearly already learned that Oliver, however much he might claim to adore her, was not easily gainsaid when it came to his work. With no more protest than a toss of the head, she resumed her inviting posture, threatening fruit knife, and expression of murderous fury worthy of Mrs. Siddons as Lady Macbeth. This time, surely, Julian was the object of her violent thoughts. Just as long as he eventually became the object of her passion.

Find out more about Miranda and her books at www.mirandaneville.com.