Chapter 9
The carriage jolted sharply to a halt at a crossing, the wheels grinding against the stones. Catherine pitched forward with a startled cry, her hands flailing for purchase, her skirts tangling clumsily about her legs.
Before she could catch herself, the Duke moved, swift and instinctive. His hand closed firmly around her waist, hauling her bodily against him.
The shock of contact stole her breath. She had been surprised by his words moments before, but now, she was completely caught off guard by the way he so handily rectified what might have been a difficult and harmful situation. He had saved her from getting yet another bruise and scrape.
She collided with the rigid breadth of his chest, the hard wall of muscle beneath his coat offering no give. Heat radiated from him until it seemed to sink through every layer of her gown straight into her skin.
Her breath shuddered, quick and shallow as her ribs strained painfully against the confines of her stays.
His fingers pressed into her side with quiet strength, stabilizing her through the silk, and the weight of his thigh braced against hers, pinning her inescapably in place.
The raw power of him vibrated in every line of his body, coiled and tense, and she felt it as surely as the thrum of her own pulse.
It was unbearable, intoxicating, a force she had no shield against. Her skin prickled, her veins sang, and her very blood seemed to have been set aflame.
She lifted her gaze, helpless to resist the pull that drew her closer. Her eyes traced the fierce cut of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth, the storm raging in his eyes so near her own. The closeness of him, the sheer masculinity that overwhelmed the small space, made her dizzy.
She should have shoved him away, but instead her lips parted on a ragged breath.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling against the shallow space between them. “I did not mean to cause any trouble today, and I certainly could not help pitching out of my seat now. But…I must…I should tell you that I…”
As her words fell away, the Duke inhaled slowly, almost as if he were biding his time and determining how best to respond.
His breath came rough, his chest rising against hers.
“There is no need to thank me,” he said softly, almost in disbelief.
“Catherine, on our wedding day, I vowed to protect. If I could wrap my arms around you for the rest of eternity, if that is what it took to keep you safe, I would not stay away for another second.”
Her eyes widened. “You want to hold me?”
“You think I dislike you,” he went on, his voice low and uneven, “but what I cannot bear is wanting you, and knowing you do not share my desires.”
Her heart leapt up and into her throat, making it nearly impossible to speak. “You—want me?”
“Of course I do.” His hand came up, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the edge of her jaw. “Every time you breathe near me, I must remind myself that it is unacceptable to lose control.”
“You speak in riddles, Your Grace,” she whispered, though her pulse betrayed her.
“No,” he said, the words scarcely more than breath. “I speak the truth.”
“But your truth and mine—they cannot be the same. I tried once to give myself to you, and you…you denied me. You showed in the plainest terms that you did not want me.”
“I will not force myself upon a trembling woman.”
Catherine straightened her form as much as she could while remaining close to him. “I am not trembling now.”
“True.” His eyes darted downward, and he stared at her lips.
“I am very much in control of my faculties.”
The Duke produced a ragged laugh. “Perhaps not the words I would have chosen, but…”
She slowly lifted her hand and ran her fingers over the contours of his face.
Ever so slightly, the Duke turned his head and placed a gentle smooch on the heel of her palm.
She met his gaze unwaveringly, then trailed her fingers lightly over the curves of his mouth.
When she pressed the pads of her fingertips to his lips, he bestowed a kiss upon them.
She sighed contentedly, reveling in this small victory. As she lowered her hand, Catherine felt emboldened, so she delicately draped her hand around the back of his neck and threaded her fingers through his hair. For one blissful second, the air crackled between them.
And then his mouth crashed upon hers.
The world vanished in a blaze of heat.
His kiss was fire and storm, all-consuming, and it set her pulse galloping. His mouth scorched her, made her gasp against him, and he swallowed the sound greedily, deepening the kiss until she thought she might never breathe again.
His hand spread across her jaw, holding her fast, while his other arm crushed her against him as though he would never let her go, as though he might fuse her body to his.
She did all she could to reciprocate the raw intensity he displayed.
Now that she had coaxed some emotion from her husband, she was desperate to mine for more.
Her fingers clawed at his coat, knotting in the fine wool as if it were the only anchor in a sea of chaos, dragging him closer.
Her lips tingled, swollen under his relentless assault, and her pulse thundered so loudly she could hear nothing else.
A low, needy sound slipped from her throat. Briefly, Catherine wondered if she should be ashamed of making such noises, but when the Duke groaned and nibbled on the corner of her lips, she understood that he did not wish to silence her anymore. She was free to moan at her leisure.
He angled his mouth over hers, capturing her every breath, deepening the kiss again and again. She had no time to think or worry about what came next. Every nerve burned, every breath was his to take, every shiver of her body answered his call.
The carriage jolted forward again with sudden violence, throwing her harder against him. His arm tightened like a steel band around her, anchoring her as though she were his possession alone.
Despite the jouncing of the carriage, his mouth did not release hers. The solid wall of his chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, the thunder of his heart matched her own wild beat, each hammer stroke echoing through her as though it belonged to her body as much as his.
Her scraped palm stung where it pressed against his shoulder, but she scarcely noticed. The sharp bite of pain seemed only to sharpen everything else: the desperate urgency, the crushing need, the way her entire being bent toward him as though she were born for this ruin.
When his tongue brushed hers, she gasped, and he swallowed the sound, pulling her deeper into the kiss. The pressure built, unbearable, delicious. Her body arched, her chest pressed against his, and her breathing grew ragged.
He drew back only an inch, just enough for his words to sear her lips. “Catherine…” Her name on his tongue was a raw, fractured sound, as though a whole world was contained in just that one small word.
Her lashes fluttered. She could not think, could not breathe. “Duncan…”
His mouth claimed hers again before she could speak another word. Passion surged, hotter, rougher, as his hand slid to the nape of her neck, holding her fast as though he feared she might vanish.
She relished the feeling of his body being pressed against her own.
This was the sort of love she had sought.
All-encompassing, never-ending—the kind of thing that made her feel really and truly appreciated.
For one reckless, blazing moment, she let herself drown in him, in the strength of his arms, the hunger of his kiss, and the truth she could not deny.
She wanted him.
Suddenly, the carriage slowed, and the driver’s voice called from outside, muffled through the wood. “We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”
Duncan tore his mouth from hers, breathing harshly, his chest heaving as though he had wrestled with himself as much as with her.
For a single heartbeat, he did not move. His hand lingered against her cheek, thumb dragging softly across her swollen lips as though to soothe and comfort her.
The world outside intruded with the driver’s words, but Catherine could not seem to stir.
The night, the city, the duties awaiting them—none of it existed.
There was only the dark carriage, the mingling of their ragged breaths, and the tremor that coursed through her like a fever.
Her lips throbbed where he had bruised them, tender, burning, alive.
He drew back just far enough for her to see him, and the sight was intoxicating.
His eyes roved over her face with slow, hungry scrutiny, down the delicate line of her throat, to where her chest rose and fell too quickly against the confines of her stays.
Desire glinted there, raw and undisguised, and the force of it seared her to the bone.
Then his gaze dropped lower, to her hand lying limp in her lap. The blood had dried in a thin, ugly streak across her palm, the scrape still raw and smarting.
The heat in his expression dissolved so instantaneously that had Catherine not been watching him, she might have missed the change altogether. “You should have that cleaned. At once.” His voice was hoarse, thickened by the same storm that had ravaged her, but the authority in it was undeniable.
Catherine swallowed. She did not wish for this moment to end on such a note, but she knew not how to retrieve what she feared was already lost.
The carriage door opened, sending a wash of cool evening air rushing in, but nothing could cool the storm he had set ablaze in her.
She dared not look back at him as the footman closed the carriage door behind her.
Inside, candles flickered to life in the entry hall, golden light spilling across polished wood and marble.
Catherine barely saw it. She could only feel the phantom drag of his thumb across her mouth, the weight of his gaze burning down her body, and the truth of the matter.
She had not recoiled. She had wanted more, not less.
What is happening to me? she thought, climbing the stairs on trembling legs, her skirts whispering over the steps like secrets.
Her breath shook as she pressed her scraped hand against her bodice, as though she might still feel the frantic pounding beneath.
The Duke came alongside her then, and when the click of his boots paused for a second, she dared to hope that he might place a hand on her shoulder or perhaps offer to clean and bandage her wound himself.
But before she could turn toward him and offer him an imploring stare, the sound of his footsteps resounded once more, and Catherine knew that he was gone.
The Duke had retreated to the sanctity of his study, and she would see him no more this evening.