Chapter 16
“Catherine.”
Her name carried across the garden, low, roughened, weighted with something that made her spine stiffen as though it had struck bone.
She turned, breath catching when Duncan emerged from the shadows.
The moonlight illuminated pieces of him: broad shoulders carved against pale stone, the dark fall of his hair edged in silver, the line of his mouth softened only by the burning intensity of his gaze.
Her fingers curled around the smooth wooden trellis. Had she not been wearing gloves, she would have certainly pricked her finger on the roses’ thorns.
“You ought to be inside.” Her voice came thin, brittle, betraying the riot within her.
“And leave you out here alone?” His voice was quiet, and she could see a look of concern dart through his gaze.
He stepped closer until the scent of him flooded her lungs.
She had wished for a moment alone so that she might catch her breath, but now that her husband was here, she was reassured by his warm, stalwart presence. He gestured toward the bench beneath the yew arch, half-shaded from the lantern glow. “Come. Sit with me.”
She glanced quickly at the seat. In her haste to leave everyone and everything behind, she had dashed into the garden and lost all her bearings.
She had not known the bench was there earlier, otherwise she would have already occupied it.
Catherine peeled her gloved hand off the trellis, then made her way slowly to the spot her husband indicated.
She sank onto the cool stone, her skirts whispering against the gravel, and he lowered himself beside her.
Not so close as to touch, yet near enough that the warmth of him prickled against her arm, and set her skin alight with restless need.
“What troubles you?” he asked, his voice stripped of the sharp authority she knew so well.
Catherine let out a bitter laugh, though it trembled at the edges. “You, my lord. And my father. And half of London staring and sneering as though I am a spectacle to be gawked at.” Her head bent, eyes fixed on her gloved hands twisted in her lap. “I only wish to be left in peace.”
“You do not wish that.”
Her lips parted, breath snagging, but no words came.
“I see you,” he whispered. Each word sent a stroke of heat rippling against her nerves.
“I see a woman who sacrifices herself endlessly, who bends for everyone but never for herself. I see the fire beneath your restraint, the ache you pretend does not exist. You do not wish for solitude, Duchess. You wish for companionship…for laughter…for love and adoration.”
“If you…” She paused and licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry as toast. “If you know all this, if you can see me so clearly, why do you fail to meet me on common ground? Why do you insist on maintaining prolonged silences and shy away whenever we draw nearer to one another?”
Intentionally, she scooted so close to him that her hip collided with his.
The Duke’s eyes flickered, showcasing his surprise.
“I see,” he went on, his voice sinking lower, rougher, “how desperately you long to be undone. To surrender to something… to someone who will claim you entirely.”
“W-what?”
“Until tonight, I saw a lady who was terrified of losing control.” He lifted his hand and placed it lightly on her knee.
One of his eyebrows arched high on his forehead.
“When I have touched you…When we have been this close before…you seemed terrified…horrified by the thought of being alone with me.”
Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Her body leaned toward him of its own accord.
“No,” she whispered. “I have never been afraid of you. Even when I did not know you, I did not allow myself to cower before you.”
His brow furrowed as his expression grew puzzled. He lifted his free hand and stroked her bottom lip. “Then why do you quiver at my touch?”
She tipped her chin low so that as he removed his finger, his hand grazed the neckline of her gown. A delicious shiver darted up her spine.
“I tremble because my body is seeking an outlet. A release and…and…?”
She gulped. It was impossible to describe all the sensations that flooded her mind, body, and soul when Duncan touched her. Catherine knew that her quaking was involuntary. She could no more control the shaking of her hands than she could try to hide the blush that continually covered her cheeks.
But now…now she could see how her husband had misconstrued everything. He had seen a frightened young woman who had only sought his touch because it was her duty to provide an heir. He did not see…did not know…how much her heart called out to him, begging for a drop of his tenderness.
“Do you want to release it, Catherine?” His murmur slid down her spine, causing gooseflesh to prickle on the back of her neck. “To let go? To feel everything you have held back? To know that which I’ve kept from you?”
Her throat worked, a swallow thick with want. Her gaze locked with his.
Her nod was the faintest of movements, barely there, yet it undid everything.
Duncan’s mouth curved, slow and knowing, as though he had been waiting for this surrender all along.
“I have waited so long for this moment, darling wife,” he said.
And before she could draw her next breath, his lips claimed hers.
The kiss was gentle but insistent. It was consuming, deep, a conquest that stole the air from her lungs.
Catherine gasped into him, the sound lost as his hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, holding her fast, angling her mouth beneath his. Heat surged through her, wild and unrestrained, flooding every nerve.
Her fan slipped from her hand, clattering onto the stone unseen.
Her body arched closer, desperate, as if she could crawl inside his very skin, feel the full weight of him pressing her into the bench, into the earth. His tongue stroked against hers, and she shuddered, clutching at his lapel as though it might anchor her from drowning in the torrent he unleashed.
Her thoughts fractured, breaking into fragments: the rough scrape of his jaw rasping against her cheek, the masculine scent of him, the hot surge of his breath between their mouths, the way his chest rose and fell in time with hers, ragged and quick.
He kissed her as though no one else had ever existed, as though the world itself might burn and leave only this—only her.
Catherine moaned softly, a sound she could not contain, one that humiliated her even as it left her lips.
Shame flared, but it was swallowed at once by the molten pull of him, the relentless press of his body demanding more.
His hand tightened at her nape, the other sliding low around her waist to haul her nearer, until her breasts crushed hard against his chest, the stiff edge of her corset no barrier to the burning heat between them.
When at last his mouth tore from hers, it was only to drag along her cheek, down the delicate line of her throat. His breath scorched her skin. She tilted her head back helplessly, a soft gasp escaping as his lips grazed her pulse, lingering, taking his time as though savoring every tremor.
“Duncan,” she whispered, trembling, her fingers curling so tightly into his coat she thought the seams might split.
His lips pressed against the hollow of her throat, lingering, claiming her as surely as he had in the ballroom.
“Now that I know the source of your quivering, I should like to see more of it,” he murmured against her skin. “You are mine, Catherine, and I will make your whole body tremble in ecstasy or die trying.”
“Mine”. The word vibrated through her, sinking deep into her bones.
Her body shuddered, and her pulse leapt as though every part of her recognized the claim.
“More,” Duncan whispered, the sound rough and hungry against her skin. His mouth lingered at the hollow of her throat, each word a vibration that seemed to sink into her bones. “I want more of you, Catherine. All of you.”
Her lips parted. “Here? Now?”
Maiden that she was, Catherine knew better than to behave thusly. She and her husband were in the garden after all. As the guests of honor at this ball, surely someone would eventually come looking for them.
But her protests dissolved when he lifted his head, his blue gaze locking on hers with that relentless fire that always seemed to undo her.
She ought to have pulled away, righted herself, and insisted that they return to the soiree at once, but her body would not allow for such prudence.
She leaned forward, closing the distance, her lips brushing his in a kiss that set her pulse ablaze.
He caught her mouth with his own, devouring, claiming, coaxing her deeper until she was gasping into him once more. His hands framed her face, rough palms against her skin, holding her still while his lips moved with slow, devastating precision.
Her mind screamed for sense, but her body welcomed the taste of him.
When at last he drew back, it was not to release her, but to change the path of his assault.
His lips wandered deliberately, with the patience of a man who knew the torment he inflicted and gloried in it.
He traced the sharp line of her jaw, each brush a spark that set her nerves aflame.
He lingered near her ear, his breath hot, his mouth grazing the delicate curve until she trembled, every whisper of contact sending a shiver down her spine.
She could feel the light scrape of his beard, rough and intimate, and the feeling alone made her thighs press together as warmth pooled there.
Then lower still, his mouth brushed the tender hollow beneath her ear, the most fragile place of her neck, and she felt her pulse hammer in response, frantic and exposed, as though begging for him.
His lips followed that frantic rhythm, pressing, nipping, soothing, until her head tipped back helplessly and thumped against the archway.
Her breath broke apart into gasps and sighs she could not silence.