Chapter 3 #2
For a heartbeat, Hyacinth stood frozen as the Duke’s fingers wrapped around hers. One moment, she had been breathing in the darkness; the next, she was being pulled, not roughly, but with the sort of gentle masculinity that left no room for refusal.
The faint light from the hallway shone upon his face, and the warmth of his hand… God, it was steady, commanding, almost scorching her gloves.
Her thoughts were battling to gather.
He had agreed. He had actually said yes. But now, he was leading her into the unknown, and she had no idea what came next. Yet, stupidly, excitement fluttered wickedly in her chest.
“Your Grace,” she breathed, stumbling slightly as he turned the corner. “Where are you taking me?”
He didn’t answer. Only the sounds of his boots against the marble replied.
Then, finally, his low voice came, curling like heat. “You want a scandal, Lady Hyacinth. I thought you preferred not to wait.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
He stopped. The suddenness of it made her gasp. At the same moment, her back collided with the cold wall behind her. Not harshly, but just… there, like a boundary.
He stood before her, not touching her. Well, not fully. Because he placed one arm beside her head, his hand splayed against the wood. He stood close, so close that his head pressed through every thread of her gown.
His face hovered inches from hers, and his eyes… Dear God, they gleamed like polished emeralds. They were sharp, dangerous, and curious.
“Tell me, My Lady,” he murmured, “did you mean what you said?”
Every inch of her skin tingled at those words.
“I…” She stopped, surprised and unsure why her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I meant every word.”
He leaned closer. The scent of him wrapped around her. It wasn’t just his cologne. It was him, dark and devastating.
“Then why,” he asked softly, his gaze trailing over her face, “do you look ready to run?”
Because you’re too close. Because my heart is trying to escape my chest. Because the air between us is burning.
She couldn’t say any of that. Instead, she maintained her silence. His nearness scrambled her thoughts. Her senses felt cracked open, in a way something sincere slipped past her lips.
“This is turning too… dangerous,” she whispered.
Her words made him pause, before another smile slowly curved his mouth. “Wasn’t that the point?”
Her heart fluttered. Her whole body was moving heat… heat that was slowly pooling in a restricted part between her legs. And still, he hadn’t touched her.
Yet, it felt like he was torturing her. Beautifully. Expertly.
He tilted his head, his gaze dragging down her throat and then back up to her trembling mouth. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Is it fear or something else?”
She wanted to lie. Wanted to say that it was the night air or the draft in the hallway.
“It’s the air,” she tried weakly.
“Hm.” His voice rumbled. “Of course.”
His tone made here obvious between them. She hated how easily he read her.
When he shifted his weight, his coat barely brushed the bodice of her gown. But that was enough to make her suck in a breath.
“If-If someone sees us—” she stammered.
“Then your plan succeeds.” His voice was quiet, seductive. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Her lips parted. She couldn’t answer. Not when he was looking at her like that. Like she was a puzzle he’d rather destroy than solve.
“I didn’t mean now,” she whispered.
He smiled again, and it turned even more wicked and devastating. “No? Then, when, my daring lady?”
The way he said ‘daring lady’ made her feel she was losing this game already. Losing herself.
She tried to turn her head away, to breathe, to think, but his gaze followed her. And when his eyes dropped to her mouth, time stopped.
Her breath hitched. She forgot the hallway. The music. Her name.
He didn’t kiss her. But God, he almost did.
She felt it in his breath, in the way heat crackled between them. In the softest brush of his coat against her arm.
Her breath stuttered when she tried to speak. “Your Grace…”
She meant to answer him. She truly did. To say, Not now, or later, or when I’ve stopped shaking from the way you look at me.
But she couldn’t. Because his face was beginning to descend, and his breath fanned her cheek.
He was coming closer. She saw it in the way he tilted his head, the way his lips hovered closer, as if he were tasting the space between them.
“I asked you,” he murmured slowly, “when?”
Her lips parted. But it was useless.
Now?
If she were to say that, would she be able to bear it?
His eyes were glinting with the deadly precision of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. Even the smirk on his mouth made it heartbreakingly clear that he was toying with her, making her tremble on purpose.
Hyacinth knew she was supposed to be clever. Supposed to be the defiant lady she was. To remind him that this wasn’t the plan. That their game was to begin tomorrow or any other night, when her heart wasn’t pounding like drums against her ribcage.
But God, she was tempted. So dangerously tempted.
She was tempted to ruin her own script and taste a man who looked carved from war and sin. She was tempted to see if his mouth could destroy her as well as his eyes already had.
Worse, she was tempted to beg.
Still, his hand didn’t move. But her thoughts were already imagining it. His hand gripping her waist, dragging her closer until there was no air left between them.
With her thoughts gaining closer, she finally whispered, “Now.”
In an instant, his wicked, knowing smile stretched mercilessly across his face. In response, she leaned up, even if it was just a little. Wanting him to close the gap between them.
But instead of kissing her, his lips moved, and the devil dropped them like a prayer onto her neck.
She couldn’t hold it in, the gasp that escaped her lips. The way his lips brushed her skin was enough to make her knees buckle.
Foolishly, her fingers flew to his chest. Not to push him away, but to anchor herself. Because the moment he grabbed her waist, she felt she might lose her balance.
His hands weren’t gentle now. They were claiming. Fervent. Hot.
She wasn’t sure how easily he could leave her breathless, so helpless that she wanted to melt into him. She could feel it now, the growing wetness between her legs. An effect that should never have been caused by him.
Then, his mouth traveled slowly. It left her neck to the agonizingly sensitive space just beneath her ear. When he reached it, her breath escaped in a way that sounded more like a shudder.
But then she heard a noise. Like approaching booted steps that commanded authority. And when a composed, brooding voice called, “Maxwell?” the spell shattered.
Maxwell stopped. He lifted his head, just enough for her to see the wicked glint in his eyes. And that damn smirk of his.
She could barely breathe.
“Still so sure?” he asked, his voice like smoke.
She didn’t say anything, unable to catch her tongue.
He withdrew completely now, and she didn’t miss the chuckle that rumbled in his chest before he turned around and walked away toward the light.
Just like that. Walking like a man wholly unaffected by what had just happened between them.
She heard him talking as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t left her crumbling.
“I want to see that piece you keep raving about,” he said lightly.
The unmistakable voice of the Duke of Whitmore followed. “You mean now?” he groaned. “You’re dragging me away from my damn guests.”
“Oh, I’m sure your guests will survive.”
“Fine. But if it’s another sketch of a poorly dressed centaur, I’m disowning you.”
Their voices faded into the corridor beyond as they moved. But just before they vanished, Maxwell looked over his shoulder, and his green eyes met hers. He held the stare for a moment before giving her a wink that sent another shudder through her.
Then, he was gone, swallowed by the golden light of the corridor.
She didn’t move. Couldn’t. The wall behind her was the only thing keeping her upright. Her heart was still racing.
Then, finally, she let it out. The shuddering breath she had been holding.
When her knees finally gave out, she slid partway down the wall, hands flying to her flushed face.
What had she just gotten herself into?
And with such a maddening, beautiful, infuriating man.
And he had a name.
Maxwell Turney, the Duke of Larcher.