Page 42 of The Duke's Hellion

The lump in her throat only increased when he added, “I believe in you.”

Those words hurt. Not in an insulting way, of course not. In a way that spoke to her soul. In a way that she wanted to close off to him until she knew for certain what his intentions were. If he was an arrogant cad and treated her gruffly, it was easy to hold her emotions at bay. But if he acted like this…celebrating her, seeing her, believing in her. Betting onher…then, it was much harder to forget how he held her and how right that had felt.

It was too much. So despite being the one to always raise hell, confront anyone at anytime about anything, she said words she didn’t mean and had never intended to use. “I have to go.”

“Wait—”

But she had already turned on her heel and raced off. There was no destination except away from him. It was stupid. She knew she was a fool. Falling for a rake. Falling for a man who could never love her. A man who didn’t believe in marriage. But knowing she was a fool couldn’t stop her from being a fool. Her only saving grace was that she wouldn’t be caught playing the fool in front of him. Now she knew her heart. She would stay away from him until this blasted house party was over. Then she would avoid him forever.

Well, apparently avoiding him forever would not start now. She could hear his footsteps thudding lightly behind her. Why he would choose now to chase after her, was beyond her ability to process in the moment. She only tried to run faster. It was no use. She had hardly reached the garden, hidden by the rose trellis, when he caught up to her.

His hand wrapped around her upper arm. Firm, but kind.

“Mimi, what are you doing?”

“I’m running. I thought that was clear.” It was mortifying that she was panting heavily, and he was hardly affected by the jog.

He chuckled softly. “Yes, I suppose that is the obvious answer. May I inquire as to why you’re running?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now?”

“What?”

“Sam, what areyoudoing? That is the better question.”

“What are you talking about?” When he stepped back a half step, his hand was still upon her. Only it had trailed down her arm and was now clasped around her wrist.

“I mean, why are you chasing me?”

“I-I just followed after you to see if you were all right.”

“I’m fine.” But from the way she shouted the words at him, she accepted that they could both interpret the equivocation.

“You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t fix it.” Only…he could fix it. He was, in fact, the only one who could fix it, but she couldn’t tell him that. She thought herself nearly fearless, but facing unrequited love had to be the most terrifying thing she could imagine. And she couldn’t bring herself to face it at this moment. She wanted the win of the tournament in her mind, not the inevitable loss (if one could call it losing if one never had it) of love.

She could feel a sting behind her eyes. Dratted tears. She would not drop a tear in front of him. She would not.

His thumb pressed gently over her cheek wiping away a stray raindrop. It had to be from the skies, for surely it had not fallen from her eyes.

She was a giant bundle of nerves. Like tangled yarn. There was no separating the string. It was a mess that would take far too long to unravel. And even though she didn’t want to, she looked up into his eyes, desperate to see what consolation he could provide. His thumb on her cheek was not enough. His eyeswere dark, his lids drooped down, and his chin tilted. He was leaning in…closer.

Where once his thumb had swept her tear, now his lips pressed the moisture deeper into her cheeks. When he lifted his mouth, her eyes were closed, but she could feel the tear being wicked away. Stolen.

This was the comfort she craved. And it was coming from a man she knew but couldn’t put her hope into.

For a brief moment she allowed herself to feel lost in that first kiss and then second kiss on her cheek that was drying her tears. The tears that she didn’t want to fall but had fallen all because of her heart that was still falling. There was no ground beneath her. Everything was tumbling down around her. The only thing holding her up was Sam, one hand on her waist, one hand cupping her jaw, and his lips against her cheek.

This moment, here, in his arms, felt right. Like it could be so much more than what they had already shared. He was protective, caring, compassionate, and competitive. He knew what he wanted and he went for it. Why couldn’t he want her?

A tainted thought slipped through the cracks of her ethics. She could trap him. She could make him hers. If they were caught alone together, he would have to do the honorable thing—the same thing he had demanded of Roger—and marry her.

It was too easy. She could sneak away and set it up so that a small group of people would find them, and then he would marry her. She would have him…but even as she planned it out, she knew she wouldn’t have him. Not all of him anyway. She might have his name, his hand, a ring, his status…that was all. And it wasn’t worth it. She couldn’t trap him, intentionally or accidentally.

“I can’t be here,” she whispered. His lips grazed her jaw.

“Why not?”

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