Page 47 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“Do not be. If you had not, then Dickens Hall would be dead, and I would be the poorer for not having his advice, wisdom, and friendship.”
Juliet nodded, pulling the bandages tight and tying them.
“That is well, but I still regret that I did not stand up to the bullies who were trying to destroy you. I should have had more strength of character,” she muttered fiercely.
“Easily said but not done. Especially for an orphan of… what? Thirteen, fourteen? You could not have been much older than that.”
“I was not,” Juliet exhaled.
“Besides, if you hadn’t, then we would not be here. We would never have met.”
Juliet looked into his eyes at that moment. Something in his voice had changed. He was staring at her as though drinking in every line of her face. Every nuance.
“Would that be a bad thing?” Juliet whispered, “I am doomed to die young like my mother.”
“Then we must make every moment count,” he whispered back.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At some point during the kiss, Horatio collapsed to his knees, though he barely registered the damp, unyielding ground beneath him. The sharp sting of his injuries—the burning in his side, the throbbing ache of his forearm—faded to a distant memory, eclipsed entirely by the sensation of Juliet's lips. He was utterly lost in her warmth.
The rain had slicked her hair, the dark strands clinging to her face and neck in wild, tangled rivulets. Her drenched gown clung to her body like a second skin, revealing the sinuous curve of her hips and the lush swell of her breasts with tantalizing clarity. Her chilled skin trembled beneath his touch, but he could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, warming against his palm as he cupped her face.
For one excruciating heartbeat, their lips tore away, and she gazed up at him with unguarded hunger. Her hands splayed across his bare chest, hesitant at first, as though unsure of what to do next or where to touch. He covered her trembling fingerswith his own, guiding them as they skimmed the hard ridges of his muscles in a featherlight caress.
As she did, Horatio tilted her head, brushing aside her water-lashed hair to expose the delicate curve of her throat. His lips hovered there, his warm breath teasing her skin before he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss against the vulnerable hollow.
“You are irresistible like this,” he rasped, tasting her, his tongue tracing a slow, sensual path along her throat. Her soft gasp spurred him on, and he dragged his mouth upward, alternating between gentle sucks and grazing nips.
“Horatio,” she whispered, her voice trembling as her hands clutched at his shoulders. Her body arched into him, seeking more, offering herself with an abandon that sent a fierce surge of heat through him.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his lips curving into a wicked smile against her skin. Before she could respond, he sucked harder at the tender flesh, leaving her writhing in his grasp.
His hands roamed greedily now, skimming down her back, his touch firm yet reverent. When his fingers curved over the swell of her buttocks, squeezing, she let out a strangled cry, and her hips ground against him instinctively. His other hand roved upward, cupping and kneading her breasts beneath a sheer gown. “God, Juliet,” he breathed, his thumb brushing the peak of her nipple. “Do you feel what you do to me?”
Her small hand flattened against his back, her nails scratching lightly over his muscles there. “And you—Horatio, you make me—oh!” Her words dissolved into a moan as he pinched her nipple.
His name spilled from her lips again, breathless and broken, and the sound ignited something feral within him. “Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of her ear before claiming her mouth in a searing kiss.
“Horatio…”Her hands fisted in his hair now, tugging, as her body melted into his, a perfect, maddening fit. The rain continued to pour, plastering her gown to her curves, but neither of them felt the chill. Heat radiated between them, building with every touch, every sound, every desperate gasp for breath.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with need.
“You,” she whispered back. “I want you.”
Planting a hand on his either shoulder, Juliet broke away from his demanding kisses, her breath hitching as though caught on the edge of some daring thought. Then, without hesitation, she surged forward, sinking her teeth gently into the hard muscle of his chest. Horatio gasped, the sharp, unexpected sensation sending a jolt of pleasure racing through him. His hands tightened on her waist, holding her firmly as she began to blaze a trail across his torso with her tongue, hot and deliberate, pausing to lavish attention on every taut plane of his pectorals.
“Juliet…” Her response was a teasing nip on the other side, and he couldn’t help but chuckle, low and throaty, as his hands slid possessively over her back. She raked her nails up and down his spine, her fingers branding his skin.
They knelt on the cold stone floor, their bodies facing each other, their breaths mingling as though they were devotees locked in some sacred, intimate ritual. He had never seen anything more intoxicating than Juliet in that moment—her pale cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her lashes drawn with a hunger that mirrored his own.
The next time she pulled back, she held his gaze for a long, charged moment. Something passed between them—an unspoken question, a promise—and then, slowly, deliberately, her hands reached behind her back. Horatio’s breath caught as he realized what she was doing. He released her, leaning back on his heels, his pulse thundering as she deftly worked the buttons of her gown—one by one.
The damp gown slipped from her shoulders, baring her smooth skin. She paused, letting the anticipation build, then pushed the fabric lower, revealing the luscious curve of her breasts, the faint sheen of rainwater on her skin. Horatio’s throat tightened as the dress slid further down, catching briefly on her hips, before she shoved it to the floor with an almost impatient thrust.
He sat frozen for a moment, his eyes trailing over her, taking in the delicate stockings that clung to her legs and the thin undergarment that did little to conceal the curves beneath. “You are… agoddess,” was all he could mutter.
