Page 78 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Are less visible,” Victor replied simply. “Some on the body, most elsewhere.”

Emma rose, crossing the small distance between them to kneel beside his chair. With tentative fingers, she reached out to trace the scar on his jaw.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I had no right?—”

Victor caught her hand, his fingers caressing hers for a brief moment before releasing them again—albeit reluctantly.

“You could not have known. I have shared this with no one since returning to England.”

“So… then… why…” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “Why tell me?” she asked, the question barely audible.

Victor’s eyes, when they met hers, reflected a vulnerability that stole her breath. “Because… I also…” Now, his voice was gruff, and he closed the distance between them in an instant. “I want to know you, too.”

Emma sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. “Wh-What?”

Yes, she was well aware that she sounded like a fool, but his words… She did not know whether to believe them or not.

“Emma.” Her name fell like a prayer from his lips, and she shuddered.

His eyes darkened, as though her reaction was all the concession he needed.

He claimed her lips between one breath and the next.

CHAPTER23

Emma gasped, her mouth opening under his own, and immediately she was drowning in sensual heat.

All at once, she was set ablaze, her heartbeat pattering in her throat as their kiss deepened.

Time stood still, the world beyond their shared breath ceasing to exist. Victor’s hand slid to cradle the nape of her neck, his touch both reverent and possessive as his fingers threaded through the loosened strands of her hair. The gentle pressure guided her closer, erasing the last whisper of space between them.

“Victor,” she gasped, her hands shyly trailing down his chest.

His answering groan reverberated through her very bones.

“More,” he murmured against her mouth. “Touch me more.”

And, oh, how she wanted to! But…

“Victor, wait.” She pushed against him, a little too weakly to be considered a rejection. “We can’t… Not here. Tristan is?—”

“Where is your bedchamber, Emma?” Victor’s intimate question against her mouth had her shuddering, her heart in her throat, but somehow she found it in her to answer him.

“Up the stairs… two rooms down from Tristan’s—” She had barely finished the words before he was scooping her up into his thick, powerful arms, his chest broad and strong underneath her soft body.

“Oh!” Emma pressed her face into his neck to muffle her shriek, her arms tightening around his neck.

Victor chuckled low against her ear.

“Brace yourself, sweetheart,” he whispered, before he was racing up the stairs.

Emma was rather grateful that she’d dismissed the servants earlier in the evening. Otherwise, who knew which one of them would have happened upon this spectacle? This was a scandal waiting to erupt, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care at all.

No. She wanted this—wanted him—and she didn’t have the will to keep denying herself the pleasure of the touch of his calloused hands or the caress of his tongue.

When he took her mouth in an all-consuming kiss again, Emma gave in to the sensations completely.

She was only vaguely aware of him striding through the corridor, her legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, from the way the breeze danced in her hair as he quickened his steps.

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