Chapter 12 #3
Desperate to smooth over the awkwardness but too far gone to stop, she scrambled to explain herself.
She searched for it, her brow drawing together slightly.
“It is like... cedar smoke. No, not quite. Warmer than that.” She was still looking at him, still thinking aloud, which was a catastrophic failure of self-regulation.
“Like pine resin. Or a library that has been warmed by a fire for a very long time… and something underneath that… vetiver, perhaps. Or labdanum.” She paused.
Nathaniel froze completely, their faces only a few scant inches apart.
He looked down at her as if she had just fundamentally upset something deep within his core.
In fact, the sudden, burning darkness that took over his expression was the exact same look he had given her days ago when she had boldly mentioned the issue of them not making love.
“I... um, I...” Nathaniel stammered, a rare, utterly breathtaking crack in his usual armor.
“Oh, please do not get me wrong,” she rushed out, her cheeks bursting into a furious crimson. “I only mean that I like it. It smells very good.”
Nathaniel’s gaze anchored directly to her, his breathing turning remarkably shallow. “I think... I think you smell like my favorite garden,” he responded in a rough whisper.
At his words, Euphemia realized she still hadn’t let go of him. Drawn by an inexplicable, magnetic pull, her hand traveled slowly from the warm nape of his neck, her fingers sliding directly into the thick, dark locks of his hair.
She began to stroke it gently, the strands silky against her fingertips. She had no logical explanation for why she was doing it, but in the intensity of the room, it felt like the most natural, normal thing in the world to do.
At her touch, a low, barely audible rumble escaped the depth of his throat, a sound so raw it sent a thrilling shiver straight to her core.
As she gained a sudden, intoxicating burst of confidence, her fingers sank deeper into the strands at the back of his head, moving in a slow stroke back and forth, back and forth.
With each deliberate pass of her hand, she watched the sharp, burning intensity in his eyes begin to melt away.
His eyelids fluttered, lowering little by little until they were nearly closed, completely surrendering to the sensation.
She could see his chest rising and falling against hers in heavy, ragged breaths, his pulse hammering beneath her fingertips.
Driven entirely by the dizzying rush of the moment, Euphemia abandoned all hesitation, letting her head rule her actions as her second arm firmly grip the solid muscle of his bicep.
She leaned her upper body forward, narrowing the final inch between them, utterly consumed by the need to follow whatever wild, unscripted feeling was pulling her closer to him.
As her fingers continued through his hair, Nathaniel’s head tilted downward by agonizing fractions of an inch, his lips hovering so close to hers that she could feel the scorching warmth of his ragged breath against her mouth.
Euphemia’s eyes fluttered closed, her entire world narrowing down to that moment.
She tilted her chin upward, her heart leaping into her throat as she anticipated the final, definitive wreck of his mouth against hers, a sweeping, soul-altering collision that she was ready to welcome.
“Your Grace? Are you ready for me to prepare you for the night?”
The sudden sound of Mary’s voice from the other side of the door shattered the spell.
Nathaniel practically flew up from the bed, drawing a sharp, ragged breath as he stepped back into the shadows of the room, entirely out of her reach. His hair was slightly disheveled from her fingers, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure.
“I shall... I shall see you on the morrow, Euphemia. Sleep well,” he rasped out hastily. Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and moved toward the door, leaving the bedchamber with a frantic speed.
As he opened the door, the maid stepped back in surprise, her eyes wide as the Duke brushed past her. Euphemia was left sitting on the edge of the mattress, an intense, breathless heat radiating through her entire body.
The maid entered the room cautiously, her face pale with panic. “Oh! Your Grace, I am so incredibly sorry. Did I... did I interrupt something? Please forgive me.”
“No, no,” Euphemia said quickly, her voice shaking as she offered a waving hand to soothe the girl. “Do not worry yourself. It is perfectly all right. I will just... I need a minute. Please give me just one minute to gather myself.”
The maid nodded quietly and stepped back toward the wardrobe. Euphemia pressed her trembling hands against her burning cheeks, staring at the empty space where Nathaniel had just been standing.
It had been a thoroughly bizarre, overwhelming night. As she sat alone in the dark, she thought to herself that the amount of new, terrifyingly beautiful feelings she had experienced today was enough to fill the pages of a whole book.
But the most frightening realization of all was the lingering ache in her chest. For some weird, dangerous reason, she didn’t want the feelings to fade. She wanted more of his touch, more of his focus, more of... him.
It felt like the first sip of something she had not known she was thirsty for, and she found, to her considerable alarm, that once was not enough.