Chapter 19
Almost a year later.
“You’re late.”
James’ voice was mild, but her pulse leapt as she lifted her gaze from the book.
James was framed in the doorway like a painting she’d never stopped wanting to touch.
Evening clothes rumpled, cravat loosened, shirt undone just enough to reveal a dark edge of skin, his hair slightly mussed as though from impatient hands.
And his eyes, those dark, knowing eyes, were fixed on her with a look that made her stomach tighten even after almost a year of marriage.
“I’m exactly where I said I’d be,” she murmured, closing the book. “Reading in bed. You’re the one who insisted on shepherding Lord Pemberton to the door.”
“Pemberton wouldn’t stop talking about his new bride.” James shrugged out of his coat, his movements slow and deliberate. “Apparently, she’s perfection itself.”
“She’s lovely. We had them to dinner last month.”
“I remember the blue dress you wore that night.” His voice dropped, rougher now. “You made me forget every guest in the house.”
“You were badly behaved.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his palm sliding under the coverlet until it found her ankle, warm and bare. “In fact, if memory serves, you misbehaved quite enthusiastically afterward.”
A small, traitorous smile curved her lips. She remembered: James pressing her against the door, their laughter muffled by frantic kisses, the giddy, trembling urgency of it all.
“That was different,” she whispered, catching her breath as his fingers began their slow ascent up her calf.
“We don’t have a houseful of guests now.” His hand reached her knee, then her thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns that sent little shocks through her veins. “The servants know better than to disturb us. The Duchess,” his lips quirked, “is said to be very, very exhausted.”
Catherine laughed softly, reaching for him. “Come here.”
He obeyed, stretching beside her, drawing her into the heat of his body. For a long moment she rested her head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heart making everything outside the room disappear.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked quietly.
“Miss what?”
“The anticipation. Those months when we could barely touch…”
James toyed with a strand of her hair, eyes thoughtful. “No. This is better.”
“Better than all that delicious tension?”
“Better because now I know.” He tipped her chin upward until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“I know how you taste. I know the sound you make when I find that place just behind your ear. I know the way your body trembles when you’re about to come undone.
And I know there’s still more to discover.
..every night, for the rest of our lives. ”
Heat pooled low in her body at the words. “James…”
“Do you miss it?”
She thought of that girl at the inn; frightened, untried, running from a life she couldn’t bear. She’d been innocent of more than passion.
“No,” she said firmly. “I like knowing. I like knowing exactly what your hands can do. I like knowing how to make you lose control.”
He arched a brow. “I don’t lose control.”
“You did last Tuesday.”
“That was different.”
“You literally said, ‘please, Catherine, please...’”
His mouth crushed hers before she could finish, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he rolled her beneath him. “Unfair tactics,” he murmured against her lips.
“All’s fair in love and marriage,” she breathed, her fingers slipping to the buttons of his shirt.
“Is it?” His mouth drifted to her throat, finding the sensitive place that always made her melt. “Then I should warn you—I’ve been thinking about this all evening.”
“About what?” Her voice trembled.
“About getting you alone. About taking off that very proper dress and finding the woman only I get to see.”
“She’s right here,” Catherine whispered, arching up into him, “and she’s been waiting for you.”
"I find myself in want of some...distraction."
"Oh?" Catherine arched an eyebrow teasingly as she settled herself next to him. "And pray tell, what sort of distraction did you have in mind?"
James leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling her ear. "The most delightful kind," he murmured suggestively. "Come to me, my dear, and allow me to worship you as the duchess you are."
A shiver raced down Catherine's spine at his provocative words. "You are most persuasive," she breathed, her pulse already quickening.
With a fluid grace, James shifted to cover her body with his own, his hands already roaming the curves beneath her gown. "I only speak the truth," he assured her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.
Catherine returned the kiss with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. She moaned softly as James's clever hands found the fastenings of her dress, deftly undoing them until the garment fell open.
"Eager, are we?" Catherine jested breathlessly as James's mouth trailed hot kisses down the column of her throat.
"For you? Always," James growled, his voice thick with desire. "Now be a good girl and remove your undergarments for me."
Catherine bit her lip, feeling a rush of heat pool between her thighs at his commanding tone. She obeyed, taking them off until she was bare before him.
"Exquisite," James murmured appreciatively, his gaze roving hungrily over her naked flesh. I want to admire your beauty from every angle."
A thrill of anticipation coursed through Catherine as she complied, presenting herself to James, and a needy whimper escaped her lips.
"Please," she begged, unashamed in her desire. "I need you."
"Patience, darling," James chided gently, his hands caressing the globes of her rear. "I will give you what you need...in time."
To Catherine's disappointment, James moved away then, leaving her feeling bereft and aching. A moment later, however, she heard the rustle of fabric and knew he had disrobed.
“You drive me crazy, you undo me and I want to be inside you all the time.”
Catherine pushed her body eagerly, needing to feel him fill her. "Then don't wait," she urged breathlessly. "Take me now, James.”
With a low groan, James sheathed himself within her in one powerful thrust. They both cried out at the exquisite sensation, bodies straining together in perfect union.
"Yes," Catherine hissed as James began to move within her, each thrust driving him deeper. "Harder! Faster!"
James complied with a feral snarl, pounding into her with wild abandon. The room filled with the lewd sounds of their coupling - flesh meeting flesh, grunts and moans of pleasure.
Catherine's climax approached like a summer storm, building until she could barely breathe. She felt the tension in James' body as well, his rhythm growing erratic.
"Catherine," he panted, his voice strained with impending release. "I love you."
"Always," she gasped out, pushing back to meet his thrusts. "My love, my everything!"
With a final, powerful drive, they both hurtled over the edge into ecstasy. James spilled his seed deep within her as Catherine clenched around him rhythmically, their bodies shaking with the force of their shared rapture.
As they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, James pulled Catherine close and pressed a tender kiss to her brow. "My heart," he murmured softly.
"Mine," Catherine agreed contentedly, nestling against his chest.
Later, as they lay tangled together, Catherine traced lazy patterns on his chest.
"We shocked Lord Pemberton," she said.
"Did we?"
"When you kissed me in front of him. Properly kissed me. Not a polite peck."
"He's been married six months. He should understand."
"I don't think his marriage is quite like ours."
"No?"
"His wife asked me if it was normal that her husband only visits her bedchamber on Wednesdays and Saturdays."
James laughed. "What did you say?"
"I told her that you haven't spent a night away from our bed since our wedding."
"Catherine! You didn't."
"I did. The poor thing looked ready to faint. Then she asked if that was... proper."
"And?"
"I told her propriety is overrated."
"My scandalous duchess." He pulled her closer. "What would society say if they knew?"
"They already whisper about us. How we can't keep our hands off each other. How you look at me like you want to devour me."
"I do want to devour you. Frequently."
"How I look at you the same way."
"Do you?"
"James." She shifted to look at him properly. "I've wanted you every single day since that night at the inn. First with guilt, then with longing, then with frustrated propriety, and now..."
"Now?"
"Now with joy. With freedom. With the knowledge that I can have you whenever I want."
"And do you want?"
By way of answer, she kissed him, deep and slow and full of promise.
"Again?" he asked when they parted. "Catherine, we just..."
"We have all night," she reminded him. "And you did tell the servants not to disturb us."
"I'm creating a monster."
"You're loving every moment of it."
"Heaven help me, I am."
This time Catherine took control, setting the pace, showing him exactly how much she'd learned in their year of marriage. She loved the way he responded to her, the way this powerful duke came apart at her touch, the way he said her name like a prayer.
"Do you remember," she asked as she moved above him, "that morning at the inn? When you had to leave?"
"Every detail," he gritted out, his hands tight on her hips.
"You said we couldn't have this. That we were from different worlds."
"I was a fool."
"You were trying to protect me."
"I was trying to protect myself." His control broke, and he pulled her down for a desperate kiss. "I knew even then that you'd ruin me. That if I had you and lost you, I'd never recover."
"You haven't lost me."
"No." He rolled them, pressing her into the mattress. "And I never will."
The third time was slower, sweeter, the desperate edge worn off. They took their time, relearning each other's bodies, whispering endearments and promises in the darkness.
***
"I have something to tell you," Catherine said one night, her head on his chest.
"Hmm?"
"You know how I've been tired lately? And sick in the mornings?"
James went very still. "Catherine..."
"The physician confirmed it yesterday. Late summer, he thinks."
"A baby?" His voice was wondering. "We're having a baby?"
"We are."
He pulled her up to kiss her, deep and tender. "How long have you known?"
"I suspected for a few weeks. But I wanted to be sure."
"Catherine." He cupped her face in his hands. "My beautiful, brilliant Catherine. A baby."
"You're pleased?"
"Pleased? I'm ecstatic. Terrified, but ecstatic."
"Why terrified?"
"What if I'm a terrible father? What if I'm cold like mine was?"
"You won't be." She said it with complete certainty. "You're incapable of being cold. Not with people you love."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've seen you with other children. Because of how you are with me. Because you have so much love to give, James. Our child will be lucky to have you."
He pulled her close, and she felt him tremble slightly. "I love you. Both of you."
"We love you too."
They lay quietly for a while, hands roaming gently, both lost in thoughts of the future.
"We should probably sleep," Catherine said eventually. "It's nearly dawn."
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
"Or," James suggested, his hand sliding down her back, "we could celebrate properly."
"Haven't we been celebrating all this time that we are together?"
"That was just the prelude."
"James, I don't think I can..."
He proved her wrong, thoroughly and delightfully wrong, until the sun was fully up and they were both completely spent.
"Now we really need to sleep," Catherine said, barely able to keep her eyes open.
"Agreed." But he pulled her closer rather than letting her move to her side of the bed. "Stay right here."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"I promise. For the next eight months, I'm going to get rounder and waddle like a duck and you're going to have to help me out of chairs."
"I can't wait."
She laughed against his chest. "You're impossible."
"I'm yours."
"Yes," she agreed sleepily. "You are."
As she drifted off, Catherine thought about how different her life was from what she'd imagined that night at the inn. She'd been running from one prison, never imagining she'd find freedom in another kind of bond entirely. Marriage to James wasn't the cage she'd feared...it was wings.
"Stop thinking so loud," James mumbled against her hair.
"How do you know I'm thinking?"
"You get a little line between your eyebrows."
"You can't see my eyebrows. Your eyes are closed."
"I know you, Catherine. Every expression, every tell, every thought."
"That should be frightening."
"Is it?"
"No. It's perfect."
And it was. Here in their bed, in the soft morning light, with their bodies still humming from passion and their first child growing inside her, Catherine knew she'd found exactly where she belonged.
Not as the Duchess of Ravensfield, though she wore that title well. Not as society's darling or the ton's most envied wife. But as Catherine, just Catherine, loved by James, just James.
The storm that had brought them together had passed, but what they'd built in its wake was strong enough to weather anything.
"I love you," she whispered, not sure if he was awake to hear it.
"I love you too," he replied, pulling her impossibly closer. "Forever."
"Forever," she agreed.
And as sleep finally claimed them, tangled together in the morning light, Catherine smiled. That scared girl at the inn could never have imagined this—this peace, this passion, this perfect imperfection of a love that had started with a storm and grown into something eternal.
They'd found their forever.
And it was more beautiful than any dream.