Page 11 of Drawn to the Duke
Until it touched her breast.
Now she did gasp.
But she did not move.
In the inky darkness, he had no more idea what part of her he was touching than she had of anything.
She only knew that the brush of his hand upon the swell of flesh above her bodice created an extraordinary sensory delight that communicated itself to the core of her being.
Why, she hadn’t been touched since Samuel had died; and their last exchanges had not been full of loving anticipation.
She bent slightly to increase the contact, not caring that her breathing was louder and more labored. That it communicated her enjoyment.
But despite her slight shift in position, she remained still.
And he remained standing slightly away from her. An alien being in the darkness with a touch that seemed to infuse her parched soul with the lifeblood it had lacked these long years of widowhood.
And then suddenly she was alone.
His hands no longer roamed, and she felt his withdrawal like an icy chill across her skin, leaving her yearning for an intimacy that was now a distant memory.
He stepped back; the floorboard registering his shift in weight.
Selina didn’t move. She barely dared breathe.
But she felt devastation as his soft tread towards the door indicated that his exploration was at an end.
When the door clicked shut, Selina slowly exhaled.
After another minute had passed, she drew in one long, sustaining lungful of air, pushed her shoulders back, and forced courage into her return to the drawing room.
The warmth and chatter hit her like something physical as she entered, but no one registered her return.
She wove amongst the furniture, past Lord Chauncy’s chair, to find her own.
He did not look up from his conversation with Lord Saunders.
And as Selina joined a desultory conversation between her brother and Mr. and Mrs. Piggott, she noted that Lord Chauncy did not glance in her direction for even a moment.
It was as if the episode in his study had been a mere figment of her imagination.
CHAPTER 9
Selina spent a restless night tormented by fears of failure.
If she failed to create a perfect likeness of Lord Chauncy there may be no more commissions.
But chiefly, her restlessness was over what Lord Chauncy might do about the woman who had breached his private sanctuary.
Would he demand to know her intentions?
Cast her from his house?
However, nothing in his look at breakfast the following morning suggested Lord Chauncy had wasted a moment thinking about Selina or what her presence in his study might mean.
Until.
One split second across a platter of steaming haddock was all it took.
