Page 74 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Do you remember," he said softly, "that night at the inn? How you trembled when I first touched you?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"How you gasped when I kissed you here?" His fingers brushed her throat, barely a touch but enough to make her shiver.
"James, we can't..."
"How you said my name when you..."
"Your Grace! Lady Catherine! There you are!"
They sprang apart as Miss Worthing appeared, her face twisted with fury she could barely conceal.
"Miss Worthing," James said coldly. "I thought you'd left."
"I wanted to offer my congratulations," she said with false sweetness. "Such a romantic proposal. Though rather sudden, wouldn't you say?"
"Not particularly," Catherine said calmly. "We've been courting for two weeks."
"Two weeks. How... thorough." Miss Worthing's smile was sharp. "Though I wonder what prompted such haste? Could there be a reason you need to marry quickly?"
The implication was clear. Catherine felt James tense beside her.
"The only reason," Catherine said clearly, "is love. Something you clearly know nothing about, or you wouldn't have to resort to spreading lies and aligning yourself with bitter former mistresses."
Miss Worthing flushed. "How dare..."
"No," Catherine interrupted. "How dare you. You've spent weeks trying to destroy my reputation because James chose me over you. It's pathetic and cruel and ultimately pointless."
"You think you've won," Miss Worthing hissed. "But I know the truth. I know there's something you're hiding. And when I find out what it is..."
"You'll do nothing," James said quietly, dangerously. "Because if you make one more move against Catherine, if you speak one more word of slander, I will destroy you. Your father's business interests, your brother's military career, your family's standing in society...I will systematically dismantle everything."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Miss Worthing turned on her heel and fled.
"That was probably unwise," Catherine said.
"That was necessary." James pulled her back into his arms. "No one threatens you. No one."
"My protective duke," she murmured.
"Your possessive duke," he corrected. "Your completely, obsessively devoted duke."
"Mine," she agreed, and kissed him.
This time, they weren't interrupted. The kiss deepened, became something desperate and needy. James pressed her against the wall, his body caging hers, his hands roaming with increasingly bold intent.
"James," she gasped as his mouth moved to her throat. "Someone could see..."
"The library," he said roughly. "Third door on the left. Five minutes."
He was gone before she could protest, leaving Catherine standing in the ballroom like a figure carved from ice, her heart pounding wildly. She had to force herself to breathe, to count, as if the numbers might keep her from running after him. One. Two. Three hundred. Each tick of her pulse made the waiting worse. By the time she slipped out, no one stopped her; they were all too absorbed in whispering about her betrothal, about the Duke, aboutthem.
The library door stood ajar. Candlelight spilled out in a thin line across the carpet. Catherine pushed it open, every nerve in her body alight.
