Chapter 20
“Idid not expect a visit from you so soon after our arrival,” Tristan said. “Is that a new nightgown, wife?”
It was not a new nightgown. However, Cathy knew she finally had to take her seduction game to the next level.
She blushed from the roots of her hair to her toes at the thought.
When had she become this woman? The one who dressed in her most revealing nightgown and knocked at her husband’s door at night.
The one trembling and palpitating before him.
He stood by the doorway of his chambers, blocking the path with his large body.
His cravat was long discarded, and his shirt unbuttoned, low enough that she could spy on his throat and his well-defined chest. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, revealing powerful forearms. He looked like he had already been in bed, or had been running his fingers through the strands of his hair.
“I... it is not a new gown,” she replied, her heart slamming in her chest.
Cathy kept her hands hidden behind her back because they were shaking violently.
But she had already decided she would go through with this.
She chose a simple cream nightgown, made of cotton and lace.
It exposed her neck, and though she was covered, she felt almost naked.
Very little came between her and the man who owned her thoughts.
“Are you not well, then?” Tristan asked, tilting his head to the side. He scanned her from head to toe. However, he had lingered on her neck as if he could see the frantic pulse even in the semi-darkness.
“Everything is fine, Your Grace,” she said, her voice finally steadier. Inside, she was still a trembling wreck.
Cathy gave Tristan a composed smile, one she had practiced in front of the mirror several times. It was supposed to be the smile of a temptress, confident and self-aware. However, she suspected he could read her well and knew she was counting in her head.
One. Two. Three.
Don’t let him see the real me.
“What do you need, then?” he asked, his voice turning husky as if he already knew what she was there for.
“M-may I come in?” she asked. “I thought we should spend more time together without an audience.”
Tristan stepped back. He moved with the grace of a predator, giving his prey space to enter his lair. It made Cathy wonder whether the whole thing was truly her idea. The door clicked behind her.
His adjoining bedchamber was about the same size as hers, but felt larger because he had fewer decorations.
He had a large canopy bed, side tables, a writing table, and a chair.
There was one large rug and a dresser. There were no paintings on the walls, but the place felt like his own because of the scent of sandalwood.
Entering his room, Cathy was surrounded by everything that reminded her of him. Her knees shook.
“You surprised me at every turn today,” he murmured, his gravelly voice making her shiver. He quickly moved to her side, the heat of his body emanating toward her own. “This is the best surprise yet. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit to my private bedchamber, Cathy?”
She remembered her grandmother’s voice telling her that rakish dukes tended to be distracted. Their eyes would wander to the next woman. She reached out for his sleeve, feeling the man beneath it. Solid and warm.
“I do not want to be alone tonight,” she declared. It was not a strategy used to keep this man in their marriage. It was the truth, and it rattled her to realize that.
He reached out for her as if out of instinct, cupping her cheek and letting his thumb trace her lower lip. She shivered deliciously at the thought of what that finger—that hand—was capable of.
“Neither do I,” he said, his voice even more gravelly.
He then leaned in, his lips finding hers.
Her breath hitched at how hungry the kiss was, a testament to so much restraint bursting into release.
It was demanding, but she wanted more. Her hands slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling him even closer to her.
She could not understand the need that made her want more of him. Not only his kisses, but him.
As the kiss deepened, the sensations Cathy felt intensified.
The world beyond the four walls and the heavy curtains ceased to exist. Tristan’s hands slid down to her waist, possessively gripping her and pulling her against him so that she could feel the hard evidence of what she did to him.
She gasped as she felt him grind against her, just where she wanted him.
When she pressed herself closer to him, he groaned.
That sound made the desire pool hotter in her belly.
“Cathy,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers when they pulled apart to gasp for some air. “If we do this—if you stay, there is no turning back. I do not share. And if I claim you, I will not ever let you go.”
“I never want you to let me go,” she whispered, her voice ragged with breathless desire.
Tristan did not need further permission.
In one swift motion, he had her in his arms. Cathy squeaked her surprise, not expecting any man to be able to carry her so easily, given her height.
He laid her down on the massive bed, pinning her with the weight of his body.
She could tell he was being careful with her, supporting himself on his elbows as he gazed into her eyes.
It should make her uncomfortable, but she met his gaze with longing.
He kissed her once more, devouring her lips, deepening the kiss with his tongue, clashing with hers.
The desire that built within her became even stronger.
More potent. His kisses did not stop at her mouth, either.
They trailed down her neck, the hollow of her collarbone, and followed the curves of her breasts over the thin chemise, nuzzling her there as if he craved her scent.
His every touch and kiss set her senses on fire.
It was an awakening she had not known she was hoping for.
She had thought herself content with the cold mattress of a spinster’s bed.
But this?
It was why people risked scandals. There was more to it, the slow unraveling of her very self at the same time he was stripping her of clothing until she was naked before him from the waist up.
“Do you know just how breathtaking you are?” he growled.
Then, he kissed her again. This time, the kiss was even more desperate and frantic, something that she never thought possible.
Tristan’s hand slid down, touching her over the chemise until he reached its hem and gently pulled it upward.
Cathy became more sensitive, feeling the heat of his touch sliding up her thighs.
Her toes curled in anticipation. She wanted him desperately.
She wanted to see and feel more of him. So, her fingers grappled for the buttons of his shirt, almost tearing it off him.
She craved the skin-to-skin contact that would make him feel like an extension of her.
“Do you know how long I have been dreaming of this very moment, wife?”
Finally, his fingers found her slick heat, sliding his finger along it.
She was ready for him. She arched her back when he slipped a finger in.
Then, one more. She moaned in surrender as he began to thrust his fingers in and out of her.
Normally, she would be embarrassed by the slick sounds his fingers made, but she was soaked with desire for him.
Tristan knew just how and where to touch her, commanding her body to respond. As he picked up the pace, she knew she would not last long.
“Look at me, Cathy,” he ordered, with a voice thickened by arousal. “I want you to look at me when you come undone onto my hand.”
She opened her eyes, not even realizing she had closed them, and she let out a strangled moan as she reached her peak. At first, Tristan did not stop; he simply slowed down his pace as she rode out the rest of her climax.
“You are so beautiful when you drip all over my hand, wife.” She saw the earnest hunger in him as he took off his breeches, and his member sprang free from its confines. “But now, it is my turn to claim what is mine.”
This must be what it feels like to be craved by a man.
Cathy felt that she might die if she could not have him inside her right at that moment, but as he moved to position himself between her thighs, her body stiffened.
Several thoughts came rushing to her. She thought of the duty and security that she was aiming for.
All the reasons she had begun this seduction game in the first place.
She knew she should not let those thoughts intrude at the moment, but she could not help it.
They were habits from childhood that were too hard to break.
“Cathy, are you all right? Are you sure you want this?” he asked, sensing the change in her. Her walls had risen, brick by brick.
Cathy reached to frame Tristan’s face with both her hands. His eyes softened at her gesture, though the passion in them was still vivid.
“I want to do this,” she said, keeping her eyes on his. “I want to fulfill my duty as your wife. I want to do it properly tonight.”
Tristan froze. Instead of descending upon her, he pulled away from her and shook his head as if in disbelief.
“Repeat that for me,” Tristan commanded, anger making him feel heat—a different kind—around his neck. It was almost like a spreading disease, burning slowly around his collar and working its way up to his jaw. “Say those words again, Cathy. Do not skip any of them.”
He still hovered over her, his large shadow swallowing her tall but slim form.
But this time, he felt cold inside. When he had seen his wife by the doorway, he thought that the night would be about passion and surrender, and not about duty and transaction.
His hands clenched into fists, but he would never hurt her.
He merely wanted to take control of his anger. His disappointment. His frustration.