Page 6 of The Forbidden Duchess (Rogues from War 1)

Chpter 4

One week and not a trace of her. He wanted to apologise, to make amends. It seemed she had vanished though. Whenever he asked, the staff would answer she had gone somewhere in the city or a social occasion of some kind.

Obviously, she kept avoiding him. Not surprising, given the bad, bad way he’d treated her. But one week? Yes, right, so he missed her, what of that? Baiting her was the only way he found to gain her attention. In the process he uncovered a strong-willed woman with a fierce sense of pride and dignity. Astonishing, since he’d had low expectations about her.

He knew for a fact she didn’t betray John. She seemed completely dedicated to home and hearth. She spent cosy nights in and went to social events with John. Otherwise, she had female friends with whom she socialized. His uncle must feel lucky to have her by his side; she made a fine duchess, he had to admit. Although he couldn’t get rid of this sense of coveting that tore at his guts and made him feel disastrously guilty. For nothing would he step the boundaries. He’d act as a gentleman, even if he felt far, too far, from it.

He’d have to send her a note, or he wouldn’t get this over with.

It had been difficult, but Selene managed not to bump into the devil for one week, she thought as she sat in the library this afternoon. Her reading interrupted by a footman. He came in and delivered her a note. As the boy left, she opened the paper to find a firm hand she didn’t recognise.

“I’ve been seeking Her Grace to apologise for the unacceptable way I behaved the other day. I hope you can forgive me. Respectfully. P.”

Well, well, if this wasn’t unexpected. She felt better with his apology. She’d felt deeply wounded. She took a sheet of paper from the desk nearby and wrote. “Apologies accepted. Have a good day. S.” She rang for the footman and had it delivered.

Not that she hadn’t thought of him or, goodness forbid, missed him, inappropriate as it was. She thought it’d be hard to avoid him, but no. He spent his days out horse-riding, exercising or at his club. Social events of the ton didn’t figure as his favourite activity, so she hadn’t seen him in those either. In addition, he never discovered the library constituted her refuge. She intended to continue in this course of action and see him as little as possible.

A couple of days later, Philip let his room after breakfast, heading to his fencing session at his club. Ahead in the hallway, a shadow moved to the opposite wing. Even though morning advanced, the light upstairs used to be dim because of closed chamber doors. Intrigued, he followed. He could see it was a woman for the volume of the dress. Silently, he paced faster. Fine dress. Selene in avoiding mode.

Seeming to sense him, she walked faster. Stopping by a door, she opened it smoothly and sneaked in. The servant’s stairs door. He wasted no time. Quickly, he opened the door. A flood of light came from a window above. The place remained deserted at this time of day. He located her leaning against the wall as she probably waited for him to leave.

She lifted her head and her deep-forest green eyes widened on him. Didn’t she know that she awakened the predator in him? That by evading him she made him hungrier? If she only knew.

“What are you doing here? She asked coldly. Then she directed her marvellous, vivid eyes to a point beyond him.

“Ten days of punishment are enough, don’t you think?” He shut the door silently.

“I was not punishing you, I was preserving myself.” Her eyes never looked at him.

“Hm.”

Damn, but she was beautiful! The window light poured on her rich brown hair, illuminating it with copper streaks. Her eyes, made crystalline, received full sunlight. Her pale blue dress brought out her creamy skin. She truly looked like the moon goddess after whom she had been named.

Mesmerized. The sole possible description to his incapacity of deviating his gaze. This landing was just a cubicle for easy circulation, so they stood close to each other.

His stillness made her look up at him. And their stares locked. He looked down at her. So petite. He’d be able to enfold all of her in his powerful arms. About to lose it, he perceived. How had he come so near her? Because now he could sense the perfume of orange flowers. He inhaled, the effect on him disastrous.

Her pupils dilated. She sagged against the wall; she gulped in air. He didn’t know how, but he had leaned his elbows on either side of her head. Their bodies never touched. He could absorb the heat of her; see a vein jumping wild in her throat. He inhaled some more and now there was no denying his vexatious state. His breath quickened.

She broke eye contact, desperate to annihilate the spell, he reckoned. Her head turned to one side, sighing. Her eyes lowered, her head followed. Her stare found his bulge; and darted abruptly to his, flushing. He nodded very softly, as if saying, this is what you do to me. Wide eyes on him, he admired the tiny spots in her irises.

He didn’t think she had realised her spine had arched, her delectable bosom close. Still, they never touched. Her full lips parted, her tongue came out to moisten them. He nearly groaned. He’d have given the whole of his fortune, his title, his lands in exchange for a kiss. Only a kiss. A simple kiss. Taste her lips, drink her in, satiate this desert thirst in him. Moral standards be damned. He’d have gone to the gallows for just a kiss. He moved his head, delineating her face, inches away, eyes following, he lowered it to inches of her shoulder, smelling her, sensing her heat. Her heart beat.

Her bosom lifted and dipped now. Her head fell back, her lashes shuttered, an expression of agony on her goddess face. Her hands held the wall behind her, trying not to fall, trying not to melt.

A carriage clattered in the street below, the moment gone. She opened her eyes wide, reality downing, he saw. Swiftly, she flexed her knees, passed under his arm and fled to the hallway.

Exasperated, he raked his hand through his sleek black hair. Tamping the acute frustration, he left that cubicle of a landing.

Selene entered the library as if she had run the whole of England in a day. Breathless, flushed, hot, alarmed eyes. She passed a hand over her forehead in a total loss what to think. She sank on an armchair dismayed. She felt suffocated. She just wanted to get away from that house, go to their country manor and remain there until she had forgotten all about piercing clove eyes and sleek black hair. As if it could be possible.

That morning, Philip fenced like a demented soldier in the fever of battle. His friend Darius looked at him puzzled, but said nothing, just repelled Philip’s chaotic blows. If his friend needed help, he’d be there for him. Until then he’d try to survive this session.

This couldn’t go on, Philip thought as he brandished and dodged blindly. He had to do something. Go away, move out or disappear. Maybe he must get lost in Africa or India, somewhere far and wild, exactly as he felt now. He wouldn’t lie with her, no! This fever in his blood seemed to worsen by the hour. He had to talk to someone, pour it all out. Mayhap he’d feel better. Because right now he might have won the Huns with one hand. Fury, frustration and guilt tore at him.

Move out, first thing. Stay away. Forget. The sensible list to follow. Who said he could still be sensible? He was losing his mind!

He should go to Madame Noir’s. It’d take away the edge in him. The idea simply churned his stomach, though. There was only one woman he felt able to touch. She was off limits. End of!

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