Page 85 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
“You already lost yourself once,” she managed, but the retort was weak, trembling.
His jaw grazed her temple. “That was different,” he said, voice thick and ragged. “That was perfect. This...this is exquisite torment.”
He drew her closer still, until his mouth hovered a breath above hers, not kissing, only tasting the air she exhaled. The faint brush of his hands as they skimmed down to the small of her back sent heat sparking through her blood.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
“I can’t.”
“Catherine.” Her name came out like a prayer torn from his chest. He pressed his forehead to hers, shuddering with the effort of restraint. “Twelve days,” he said, low and almost broken. “Twelve days, and then no walls, no rules, no one to keep me from touching you the way I think of every night.”
She trembled, her fingers clutching him harder. “You promise?”
“I swear it,” he breathed. His thumb traced a slow, maddening circle at her waist before he tore himself back a single step, as though ripping free from his own desire. The air between them felt too cold, too empty.
“Soon,” he said, his voice steadier now but still heavy with heat. “Soon, my love.”
She nodded, unable to speak, her body still pulsing with the ghost of his hands. Around them the city clattered on—carriagesrattling past, bells chiming—but inside that walled garden everything was suspended, dangerous, and achingly theirs.
“Your mother will be wondering where we are,” Catherine managed at last, though her voice was a whisper of smoke.
"Let her wonder."
"She's hosting a dinner for me tomorrow."
"She'll survive."
"James."
"Fine." He stepped back reluctantly. "But I'm walking you home. The long way."
"Is there a long way?"
"There is now."
They took the very long way, stopping at Gunther's for ices despite the cool weather, window shopping on Bond Street, generally doing everything possible to delay their arrival.
"You're stalling," Catherine accused as James stopped to examine a bookshop window.
"Absolutely."
"Why?"
"Because once we get to your aunt's house, I have to leave you. Again. For the thousandth time in two weeks."
When they finally reached Vivienne's house, the sun was setting. The windows glowed warmly, and Catherine could see her aunt in the drawing room, reading.
"She's been good to you," James observed.
"She saved me. From my mother, from Sir Reginald, from a life of quiet desperation."
"Remind me to send her something magnificent for Christmas."
"She doesn't need anything."
"Everyone needs something."
"What do you need?"
