Page 47 of The Duke's Goddess

From down the few steps into the garden, a new voice announced her name, “Joan.”

James. She sighed.

He was making his way up the steps slowly, and when he reached the landing where she was, he extended his hand to her.

“Joan.” It was equal parts question and statement. An invitation. But more than that. Almost a claiming.

There was no hesitation on her part. As she moved toward him, she focused on the darkness of his eyes. Nearly black in color, all the blue had been pushed to the perimeters.

She needed to be within his grasp. In his arms. It was a safe place to be. But when he took her hand, he gently guided her behind him while he faced Lord Tamely.

“Did he touch you?” James whispered over his shoulder.

“No,” she said, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see her.

“Was he bothering you?”

She grasped the back fabric of his coat, unsure of how to answer that question. Lord Tamely had obviously been bothering her, but the unrivaled energy emitted from James indicated he might react too strongly to that answer. His body was surging with heat and even though he was standing completely still, she couldn’t help noticing that he was shaking.

“I’m fine,” she said to his back.

Lord Tamely couldn’t hear the back and forth, but sensing something amiss he decided to try and ease the tension with a chortle.

It was the wrong move.

“Do you find something amusing?” James stiffened as he demanded an answer.

And unfortunately for Lord Tamely, he didn’t see the need to cower from James. “Just this whole situation.”

“What is so amusing about it?”

“You coming up here as if you need to rescue her from me,” he guffawed.

“Just stay away from her,” James said.

And then that addlebrain chortled again. “She’s not yours to protect.”

Joan lost her grip on James's coat as he tore away from her,barreling toward Lord Tamely. “Like hell she isn’t.”

And she hardly had time to see James's fist fly through the air, smacking into Lord Tamely’s face.

BAM!

***

JAMES COULD NOT REMEMBER the last time in his life that he had been that enraged. Perhaps his eighteenth birthday withthe gift. But even that hadn’t been a pure, blinding fury like this. That moment of the past had been anger wrapped in disappointment. Hurt. Dejection. Up until then, he had always held out hope that maybe if he tried harder, became more, grew up just a little bit, his parents might show even a miniscule amount of affection. But on that day, he abandoned any disillusionment. His parents weren’t going to change.

If he wanted anything to change, he needed to change himself. So he closed himself off. Love was no longer an ideal. There was no hope.

And to the outside that might sound tragic. To him, it gave him an unshakable ground on which to place his feet. No one could take that ground from beneath him. If James didn’t believe in love and no one gave him love, then no one would be disappointed. It was simple. He wished he had decided upon it earlier. Perhaps then the gift wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

But he didn’t allow himself to live in that anger. Until now.

When James had walked up to see Lord Tamely’s hand on Joan, possessiveness stormed his body like an army marching in, securing new territory. And then his actions had mirrored that when he strode up and claimed Joan as his.

Joan. There was something undeniably captivating about her. If he had to put words to it, he would call it her loyalty. She was observant, caring, and passionate. Everything his parents had never been. Everything that had been missing in his life, she was it. And he wanted her desperately.

And it was terrifying.

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