Chapter 16
Sixteen
Christine had to hurry home after dinner so Lady Gillray would not know she was gone. Selina was sorry to see her go, but her mind was preoccupied long after dinner. She was worried about Percy, but also frustrated with Dominic’s mood changes.
One moment, he seemed interested in her life and showed he cared for her. The next moment, he was avoiding her or reprimanding her for not magically making Percy better.
She could not sleep, even half an hour after retiring to bed.
Frustrated, she got up and put on a dressing robe over her nightgown before going downstairs to the kitchen.
Perhaps a glass of milk will calm my nerves enough so I can get to sleep.
I will not do anyone any good if I am tired and short-tempered tomorrow.
The house was silent, the kind of silence that made every creak of wood and whisper of wind seem louder. The kitchen was lit only by the dancing fire in the hearth. A faint clatter, fork against plate, made her pause.
“Is someone there?” she called softly, peering into the shadows. She half expected a servant, but the person who stepped forward made her heartbeat catch.
Dominic. His figure emerged from the darkness, an empty plate and fork in hand. “I did not think anyone else would be awake at this hour,” he admitted, his voice low but not unkind.
“Neither did I,” she said, trying to sound casual. Her eyes fell on the plate. “Feeling peckish?”
“I had a slice of the lemon cake,” he said. “Apparently, Percy had some this afternoon and approved. My grandmother raved as well.”
Selina felt a flush of warmth. “And what did you think?”
His brow lifted, and he gave the faintest smile. “Better than expected.”
Her own lips curved, her heart fluttering at what she considered high praise. “I am glad you enjoyed it,” she said, stepping closer. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet… a sweet tooth is not entirely out of reach.”
He set the plate aside. “Perhaps I just like lemons. They are sour, after all.”
She giggled, reaching to flick his sleeve lightly. “I do not believe that to be true. You’re just trying to sound disinterested.”
His dark eyes met hers, flickering with something unreadable.
In the dim firelight, shadows made his features sharper, almost dangerous.
But she was no longer afraid. Rumors of his cold heart didn’t matter here.
She knew he had a gentler side, somewhere beneath all the control and restraint, and a stubborn part of her ached to see it.
“Why are you in the kitchen so late?” he asked, his tone neutral yet probing.
“I could not sleep,” she said, shrugging. “I thought a cup of milk might help.”
“Do you usually have trouble sleeping?” His brow furrowed in genuine curiosity.
She glanced down. “Not usually. Becoming the Duchess of Greystone… It’s a lot to adjust to. Perhaps my mind simply refuses to rest.”
He studied her quietly, gaze intent enough to make her stomach flutter. There was something measuring, something searching in his look. She tried to focus on pouring her milk, but a subtle awareness prickled along her skin… he was closer than necessary.
She hadn’t noticed him step behind her until his hand rested lightly on her arm. Startled, she spun around. His eyes, dark and intense, held hers as he bent slightly, wiping a drop of milk from the corner of her mouth.
The contact was shocking. Selina inhaled sharply, a small, unintended whisper escaping her lips. Dominic’s expression changed in an instant; desire flaring, dark and unrestrained.
“You… you shouldn’t—” she began, but her words faltered as he stepped closer.
“Shouldn’t what?” he murmured, his lips hovering near hers, a teasing smirk playing on his features.
“You… this,” she said breathlessly, her hand brushing against his chest, feeling warmth radiating under her robe.
He chuckled softly, low and dangerous. “This seems… inevitable.” His hands rested on her waist, firm yet gentle. She felt the strength behind them, yet the tenderness made her knees weak.
He bent closer, his lips grazing hers in a slow, deliberate tease. She shivered, her breath catching as the warmth of his mouth pressed against hers. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she felt the hard line of his chest beneath her fingers.
Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as a low groan escaped him, vibrating against her lips. Every brush of his lips against hers sent sparks of heat curling through her, a delicious, almost painful longing that made her knees weaken.
He traced one hand up her back, fingertips gliding along the curve of her spine, and she gasped at the intimacy of it. His other hand rested at her hip, thumb brushing teasingly over the soft fabric of her nightgown, making her pulse thrum.
When his tongue gently swept over hers, she moaned softly, heart racing as heat pooled low in her belly. His hands were insistent, exploring, yet careful, as if memorizing every inch of her. His fingers caressed her arms before he cupped the back of her neck with his warm hand.
His other hand continued to explore her body, gently touching her back, her arm, and her waist. His fingers left trails of fire on her skin that had her yearning for more.
The subtle scent of him, the weight of his body against hers, the way he held her without pressing too hard. It was intoxicating.
Her own body pressed closer, craving more, trembling against him, every nerve alive.
Her chest brushed against his own, and she became very aware of how muscular and strong he was.
She wanted to run her hands down his chest, memorizing his muscles with her fingertips, but she didn’t dare.
Instead, she rested her hands on his hips as she lost herself in his touch.
Even the simple touch of his fingers trailing along her sides sent shivers down her spine. Every second stretched, charged, burning with a delicious tension neither wanted to break… until the clatter of the milk glass brought them back to the world, flushed and breathless.
He pulled away from her, breathing hard. “It is late,” he said, his voice husky. “You should get some rest.”
He left her without another word.
Selina remained on the table, her chest rising and falling, her lips still tingling from his kiss. Heat burned through her body, leaving her restless and unsatisfied. She pressed a hand against her racing heart, torn between mortification and a secret, aching thrill.
For the first time since their marriage, she had felt the true power of her husband’s desire… and it terrified her how much she wanted him.
The general laughter and chatter of the gentlemen’s club felt muted to Dominic as he sipped his drink. The clinking of glasses and the occasional bark of a voice carried on around him, but it was as if all the sounds had been filtered through a thick fog, dulled and distant.
Austin had given up trying to engage him in conversation, leaning back in his chair with a wry look and nursing his own whiskey, seemingly resigned to Dominic’s silence.
He could still feel the imprint of Selina’s lips on his own, the soft, deliberate press that had left a trail of fire across his mouth and down into his chest. Every time he thought about it, a shiver ran along his spine, subtle at first but growing more insistent, more demanding.
He took another sip of his drink, letting the warmth of the whiskey spread through him, hoping the heat would dull the sensation, at least a little. But it did nothing. If anything, it made the memory sharper.
“I kissed my wife,” he finally said.
Austin’s head tilted, an eyebrow arched in sardonic amusement. “I shall immediately alert the scandal sheets,” he said dryly. His lips twitched in a smirk, and a slow smile spread across his own face. “Does this mean your marriage is shaping up to be a happy one?”
Dominic shook his head, a rueful expression tugging at his features. “It was a mistake,” he said, voice low and taut. “One I shall not be repeating.”
Austin chuckled, though it was more of a skeptical hum. “If she is an inexperienced kisser, then surely she can learn. There is no need to swear to celibacy over a bad kiss.”
Dominic allowed himself the briefest of chuckles at that, but it did little to lighten the weight in his chest. “No, it was not a bad kiss,” he admitted reluctantly, the words tasting like both guilt and longing.
She had tasted so sweet, a delicate hint of something: sugar, perhaps, or her own faint, floral perfume, that lingered on his tongue and in his senses.
“But it was a mistake all the same,” he added, the words bitter in his own ears. “She is meant for Percy.”
Austin shrugged, leaning back with a calm confidence that almost made Dominic envious. “She can be for both of you.”
“No,” Dominic whispered, voice heavy with the weight of his own restraint. “If I succumb to my desires, only to unintentionally drive her away, then I will never be able to forgive myself. Especially if she ends up resenting Percy because of it.”
Austin’s eyes softened with an almost imperceptible pity. “I do not know who you should give more credit to—yourself or her,” he said.
“I barely know the new Duchess of Greystone, but I know she is too kind to resent a child, no matter her opinion of the father. I also do not think it is inevitable that you will ruin things with her. Perhaps she will even welcome a romantic relationship with you. She kissed you back, did she not?”
“She did,” Dominic admitted, though shame coursed through him like ice water at the admission. He had kissed her when she had just confided in him, when she had bared a piece of her soul and admitted the difficulty of adjusting to her new position as his duchess.
Every inch of him had screamed that it was wrong; imprudent, selfish, dangerous. But he had done it anyway. His lips had sought hers with a hunger he could not restrain, a hunger that felt both natural and forbidden.
“But that means nothing,” he added quickly, as if trying to convince himself more than Austin.
“She has gone through a great many changes recently, a half-decade of hardship compressed into a few months. Of course, she accepted a moment of affection. That does not mean she wants me. It does not mean she will ever want me.”
Austin gave him a pitying look, a flicker of disbelief in the set of his jaw.
“I believe you know even less about women than I initially thought,” he said, though his tone lacked cruelty.
It was the kind of gentle exasperation reserved for those who were hopelessly stubborn, or hopelessly self—sabotaging.
Dominic leaned back in his chair, staring into his drink again, the amber liquid swirling lazily as if mocking him with its calmness. It hardly matters, he thought bitterly. I do not deserve her love or affection, not after what happened to Eugenia and Percy.
The memory of Eugenia’s accusatory eyes, Percy’s silent suffering, the cascading guilt of his own failures…
it all pressed down on him, suffocating in its weight.
He had been reckless, thoughtless in so many ways, and now every beat of his heart reminded him that he could not claim what he most desired without a shadow of blame.
A part of him longed to throw caution aside, to claim her fully, to explore the heat they had barely tasted, to let every moment stretch into a night of unrestrained passion.
He could imagine the soft sighs she would make, the shiver of her body beneath his hands, the way she would melt into him as he kissed her again.
But another part of him, perhaps the larger, more practical part, reminded him of the cost. Of Percy. Of Eugenia. Of the tenuous thread of propriety and duty that bound him, however reluctantly, to a moral path.
He pressed a hand to his face, jaw tightening as he tried to suppress the sudden, all-consuming need that threatened to overwhelm him.
She is meant for Percy, he repeated silently, like a mantra, a lifeline to tether him to reason.
But his heart argued back, vehemently, cruelly, whispering that reason had no place in matters of the flesh, that his body did not care for duty or propriety.
Austin’s voice broke through the spiraling thoughts. “Perhaps she is more aware of her own heart than you give her credit for. Desire is not a sin, Dominic. And she is not a child; she is a woman who has chosen to be with you in name, if not yet in heart. Perhaps you overthink the consequences.”
Dominic exhaled slowly, “Perhaps I do not.”
Austin reached across the table, tapping him lightly on the arm.
“You may fret, you may agonize, you may convince yourself of all manner of moral high ground,” he said, his voice gentle and patient.
“But if she kissed you back, Dominic, then you are not entirely unwelcome. That is more than many men are given, and it is something you should consider before condemning yourself further.”
Dominic let out a humorless laugh, the sound more a groan than amusement. “It was a lapse, nothing more, nothing less. And yet…” His voice trailed off, choking on the intensity of the memory that still burned behind his eyes.
Yet. That word echoed in his mind with cruel insistence.
Yet she responded. Yet her lips sought mine.
Yet her body pressed to mine in a fleeting contact.
And the cruelest part of all was that he wanted more.
More than propriety, more than duty, more than reason.
He wanted her, with every fiber of his being, and the realization both terrified and exhilarated him.
I kissed my wife, he repeated silently once more. And I cannot act on it. I will not. I must not.
But even as he tried to convince himself of his own wisdom, he could not deny the truth that pulsed beneath every beat of his heart: he wanted her. And that want, that hunger, was something no amount of whiskey, reason, or self-recrimination could ever entirely quench.