Page 56 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Then why didn't you..."
"Because I knew if I got close to you again, I'd ruin you." The words were raw, honest. "Just like I nearly ruined Lady Harrington. Just like I've ruined everything I've ever wanted."
"You didn't ruin me," Catherine said quietly. "What happened between us...I chose that. I wanted it."
"Did you? Or did I seduce an innocent who didn't know better?"
"Stop it." Her voice was sharp now. "Stop trying to make me into some fragile victim. I knew what I was doing that night. I knew the consequences but I chose you anyway."
"And now? Would you choose me now, knowing what it means?"
"What does it mean, James? Spell it out for me."
He was silent for a long time, staring out across Hyde Park though he clearly saw nothing. When he spoke, his voice was low, strained. “It means being a duchess. A life examined from every angle, every word gossiped over, every gesture criticized. It means providing an heir, presiding over glittering salons, becoming the very model of English nobility. It means sacrificing the luxury of privacy… of freedom.”
“And if I said yes to all of that?” Catherine asked, her voice quieter, more tremulous than she wished.
His head turned sharply, eyes burning. “Would you?”
“I do not know,” she admitted, her pulse skittering. “But I should like to decide for myself. You never gave me that. You decided for both of us that we could not be together.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he bit out.
“I do not need your protection.” Her voice trembled with rising heat. “I need truth. Tell me whatyouwant, James. Not the Duke. Not society. Not your mother.You.”
Something in him broke. His voice dropped, rough, unguarded. “I want you. I have wanted you every moment since that night. I think of your laugh, your stubbornness, your temper—and I ache. I want to wake with your hair on my chest, your scent on my skin. I want to hear the way you said my name when I...” His jaw clenched, but hunger darkened his gaze. “My goodness, Catherine, I want you until I cannot think.”
Heat rushed through her, a slow, burning flood. She could feel the ghost of his hands on her body from that night, his mouth on her skin, the desperate rhythm of it. She shifted on the seat, thighs pressing together, shame and longing tangling until she could hardly breathe.
“But desire is not enough,” he rasped, fighting for control. “Not for a duke. There are expectations...”
“Curse your expectations,” she cut in, voice trembling. “For once in your life, stop thinking of duty and tell me plainly—what doyouwant?”
“You,” he growled, raw and desperate now. His hand slid to her jaw, his thumb stroking the corner of her mouth as though remembering the taste. “Only you. Always you.”
Then his lips crushed hers.
This was no gentle promise; it was hunger made flesh. His kiss devoured, his mouth urgent against hers, as though three months of restraint had shattered in an instant. She gasped, and he seized the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue stroking hers in a way that made her entire body flush hot.
Her hands clutched at his coat, pulling him closer, heedless of propriety, of the open carriage, of Hyde Park itself. His palm slid down to her waist, holding her as though to drag her across the narrow space into his lap. The memory of his body over hers, inside her, rushed back so vividly she whimpered against his mouth.
When at last he tore free, both of them were breathing hard, lips swollen.
“Court me,” she whispered, her voice unsteady. “Properly. Publicly. Show me what life as your duchess would mean. Then let me decide.”
His eyes blazed, still fixed on her mouth. “You would give me that chance?”
“I would giveusthat chance,” she said, trembling, though she managed to hold his gaze. “We deserve that much, do we not?”
“Yes,” he growled, and kissed her again, deeper, hotter—until the thunder of hooves forced him to wrench away. His hand lingered on her cheek, thumb stroking, his body still taut with desire.
“Your Grace!” Lord Ashford called, approaching with his riding party. Miss Worthing and her mother were among them, their eyes already gleaming. “Lady Catherine. How… unexpected.”
The venom in his tone left no doubt: by nightfall, every drawing room in London would be humming with it. The Duke of Ravensfield had been seen kissing Lady Catherine Mayfer in Hyde Park; openly, ardently, and in full view of respectable society. By tomorrow, the tale would spread from Bond Street to Berkeley Square, embroidered and exaggerated with each telling, until it became not merely an indiscretion but a veritable scandal fit to set the entire Season ablaze.
"Ashford," James said coolly, not bothering to move away from Catherine. "Ladies."
Miss Worthing looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. "How cozy," she said with false brightness. "Though rather improper, wouldn't you say? An unchaperoned drive?"
