Page 78 of The Heart of an Earl

Caution no longer had a place in his soul and Des charged forward, pushing the blond woman to the side and he threw his arm around Jules. In one swift motion, he spun her and swept her by her waist out the French doors and down the marble stairs to the south gardens.

For all its commanding, harsh fortitude, Wolfbridge Castle had another side—its sweeping gardens, complete with mazes and evergreen hedges that hid nooks and alcoves.

His boots crunching along the side gravel path, Des aimed for the last row of hedges and the alcove buried deep within, far past the torches lighting the walkways.

No words could come to his tongue—all he could do was stride as quickly as he could, dragging Jules, picking her up every time her steps faltered next to him.

Rage spun, whipping into a brutal storm in his veins. Every step adding fire to the fury boiling in his belly.

Jules was bloody well alive.

Alive.

Turning into the last row of tall evergreen hedges, he spun them into a hidden alcove of tall yews, the space five feet wide with a stone bench in the center. Light of the full moon the only thing to illuminate the shadows of the evergreens.

Des’s arm dropped from her waist and he stepped around to face her.

Too close.

He took a step backward.

And another.

Her stare had locked back onto his, her fingers curled into balls at her sides. Her blue-green eyes raging their own storm of wrath in the moonlight.

She should be irate for how he’d just manhandled her out of the ballroom and through the gardens. He didn’t care.

Jules was alive.

Alive.

Directly in front of him, and yet he still couldn’t believe it. Grasp it.

“It’s cold out here.”

“I don’t give a damn, Jules.” He took another step backward, anger palpitating in every nerve in his body. Yet he couldn’t look away.

She was damn well alive.

Blood rushed so fiercely through his ears, he couldn’t hear his own breath that seethed with every inhale.

And he watched her do the same. Every breath ragged, fighting what was in front of her.

He stared at her.

She was just as furious as he was.

More so.

It didn’t matter.

All control deserted him and he charged forward, clasping her face in his hands, dragging her to him, kissing her.

Anger, heartache and shock twisted into a vicious vortex that swallowed the two of them whole, their bodies entwining, their breath melding into one.

No words.

Nothing could form in his mouth, in his head, except for his lips on hers, his hands running down her body, on her breasts, lifting her skirts. Her calf, her bare thigh.

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