Page 34 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

“My father granted her that freedom, but what she did with it could only be described as atrocious. I think he always knew that the woman he married did not care for him, but he was too in love with her to see reason. He allowed her to destroy him till there was nothing left of him. So, no, I will not marry for loveeither. I don’t think I would marry at all, actually. I have seen that institution turn brilliant men into shells of their former selves. I would never let that happen to me if I could help it.”

When Richard stopped to take a breath, he became aware of a curious sense of emotional nakedness. He had meant to empathize with Catherine. He had not meant to flay open the scarred depths of his soul.

He looked up, half expecting to see the judgment on her face. But when he looked into her eyes, the compassion he saw there soothed a part of him that he didn’t realize was smarting.

She took his hand in both of hers, stroking it in consolation. He didn’t think she was fully aware of the motion, seeing as her eyes were locked on his face.

At that moment, he appreciated the need for human connection. To be completely understood by someone was a gift he had never appreciated. Gradually, that gratitude turned into something deeper as they held each other’s gazes. He sensed the moment when the sexual awareness that always underlined their interactions took over. Her eyelids fell to half-mast, giving her that sleepy-eyed look that was effortlessly seductive.

Richard realized that at some point, they had moved closer to each other, and now he was only a breath away from claiming the succulent plumpness of her sweet mouth. He unconsciously took a deep breath, hoping to calm the fires of desire raging inside him.

But he soon regretted that action because he was assaulted by her scent. She smelled of lilies and something else that was uniquely hers. He leaned forward, a mere second away from claiming her lips, when she abruptly pulled away.

It took a moment for him to realize she was leaving. He reflexively tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her down onto his lap.

He must love torturing himself because being just a few inches away from the sweet paradise between her legs was hell. He started conjugating verbs in Latin. Anything to prevent him from giving in to the almost overwhelming urge to lay her on that sofa and rut within her like an animal.

The look of desire on her face told him that she might not refuse him. But he had to remind himself that she was an innocent, unschooled in the world of desire, and no matter the lure, he did not bed innocents. Even if he did, with the way his desire was raging inside him, he would not be gentle. He would be wild and uncontrolled.

He was panting with the effort to hold back, and he was astonished he hadn’t rent the sofa apart with the way he held onto it.

He looked up to see the little minx’s eyes fixed on his mouth while she adjusted herself on his lap.

Richard groaned and then seized her mouth, plundering it. Damnation, she tasted even better than he had imagined. Hewas drowning in need, burning in the flames of desire. He urged her to open her lips, and she did, admitting him into paradise.

He licked into her mouth, their tongues wrestling for dominance. Then he broke the kiss to suck on her neckhard, wanting to mark her ashis.

It was only when Catherine pushed away from him did he regain some semblance of sanity. She looked at him with a slight fear in her eyes. It seemed he had shocked her with the rawness of his ardor. He didn’t know what devil possessed him to crack the predatory grin that sent her running out of the room.

Even though his thrumming body protested the interruption, he was grateful for it because he had been seconds away from throwing her on the sofa, pushing her skirts up to her waist, and ravishing her till every part of her being had his stamp of possession.

Besides, they had run the risk of being interrupted by a family member—her father, perhaps. Even Emmy. In their passion, they had both forgotten that the library door was unlocked and any one of their relatives could have come looking for them, following their prolonged absence.

Richard had nearly ruined her. He was supposed to be the more experienced one, but even he had been so swept away by the tide of desire that he had actually considered deflowering a virgin under her own father’s roof.

He was lucky he was not being challenged to a duel or being forced to marry Catherine. He had been careless, and he might have deserved it. It was strange that he didn’t feel the familiar panic when he considered the possibility of being forced to marry Catherine.

But that was a thought he was not willing to examine closely

Catherine Burlow was a threat to his sanity, honor and everything that made him a man, and wise men avoided battles they couldn’t win. So he was going to avoid her till his infatuation with her wore off.

Chapter Eleven

Catherine held on tightly to the hope that time away from each other might help ease the strong attraction between them that threatened to consume them and everything in its path.

The desire she felt for the Duke should be illegal, and it seemed he agreed with that assessment because the times that her resolve faltered and she visited Emmeline under the guise of seeing her best friend, he was either away on some business, or he was in residence and he instructed the butler to tell her he was absent.

But she somehow knew when he was in residence because when she stepped down from the carriage, she felt a tingle crawl up the nape of her neck, telling her somebody was watching her. And sure enough, when she looked up, she was sure she saw a shadow move behind one of the topmost windows.

It might just be fanciful thinking, but she was convinced that the Duke was avoiding her. She really couldn’t blame him, seeing how this mad desire was gradually turning her into something she was not.

She had written to him about their flirting classes, and he had decided to reply via letters. Long explanatory letters written in his flowing, masculine handwriting. She read them more times than she would admit, and those readings were not done for the sake of internalizing the contents that gave explanations on the flirting techniques needed to ensnare a husband.

As the Chamberlains’ ball approached, she expected to feel some level of excitement about the opportunity to practice the wiles she had gleaned from her correspondence with the Duke.

Instead, she was filled with mild disappointment. Her spirits rose, however, when she received another package a few days before the ball with a card that simply said it was from the Duke.

The dress was a wonder, a gown of the most vibrant red. The skirt was made of several yards of tulle, and the bodice was adorned with lace. It seemed to hug her bosom so perfectly that there was no need for alterations. Red might be a daring color on an unmarried lady, but she was no longer a debutante, so she was allowed to bend some rules.

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