Page 68 of Duke of Destruction
Except he couldn’t open that door, because behind it lay decades of work to build up his family name, and if he pried it wide, he didn’t know what might spill out.
And he was on his way to the most ill-advised assignation of his life, so now really wasn’t the time.
He found a stone bench that was far enough out of the way of the party that they weren’t likely to get any passersby, but not so far that light from the house and the torches further up didn’t illuminate the area.
If this was his last time with Catherine—and dear God above, ithad to be the last time—he wanted to be able to see her.
“Percy?”
Despite all his worries, and there were so very many of them, something inside him unclenched when he heard her speaking his given name. Their coy barbs and teasing use of one another’s titles had been all in good fun, but the recognition, however small, of their intimacy warmed him.
“Catherine,” he said, as she came around a corner, out of the shadows, and directly into his arms. He didn’t even remember opening them.
She fit there perfectly, her tall frame leaving her nestled with her face near his. Just close enough to kiss but far enough that he could just look at her, too.
“This is so, so foolish,” she said with a laugh that said she was less worried than he ought to be.
For the first time, it struck Percy that he and Catherine seemed to be more similar than they were different. It was staggering to think such a thing about a woman who was meant to be his enemy…but then again, Catherine hadn’t truly been an enemy for a while, now had she?
“Absolutely foolish,” he agreed with a wry little chuckle.
“We shouldn't be doing this,” she said, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him just a little bit more tightly.
“Certainly not,” he said, letting the soft scent of her perfume envelop him.
“You should most definitely not kiss me,” she said. It was a dare.
His response came in action, not words.
It was only one more sign of how acutely absurd he had become over this woman that Percy did not rush. Their kiss was languid, as if they had all the time in the world, not these last few stolen moments in a garden. He could taste a hint of champagne on her tongue, and it made him smile—one more sign that his Catherine was a little more daring than she let on. Most unmarried ladies would restrict themselves to lemonade or ratafia in a mixed crowd like the one that had graced the party tonight.
But Catherine was confident everywhere. For the first time, it filled him with pride, not frustration at her lineage.
Because it wasn’t just Lightholder blood that made Catherine adept and clever and cool under pressure, so long as that pressure didn’t come with a game of pall mall, he thought with a glorious frisson of familiarity.
No, Catherine was those things because she was Catherine.
HisCatherine…except for all the ways she wasn’t his, couldn’t be his.
Except for right here, right now, in the moment, they had carved away and stolen for themselves.
“You drive me to distraction,” she murmured against his mouth, and, again, it was astonishing how she could so easily articulate what he was feeling. “Absolute madness.”
“It’s the strangest affliction,” he commented, and she chuckled, the sensation a puff of air against his face as he leaned in to kiss her some more.
He focused on memorizing every inch of her as they kissed. Her lips were so soft, the bottom one just a little bit rounder than the top. She always tilted her head to the left as she approached a kiss, and, on impulse, Percy used his grip at the nape of her neck to reverse their angles, just to see if it felt as wonderful.
It did. Of course it did.
He skated a hand down the elegant column of her spine, down just to the curve of her rear, then around to grasp at her hips. She had narrow hips, the kind that, in eras past, would have made crude-mouthed patriarchs wonder about her ability to produce heirs. But to him, they were perfect.
All of her was so blasted perfect.
A laugh echoed across the night. Someone was close, too close. They should have sprung apart like they’d been lit aflame, but their separation was carelessly languid. Percy stole one last kiss, one last caress of his tongue against hers, before he used his hold on her hips to push her firmly and definitively away from him.
This was the last time, he needed to say.This was lovely, unspeakably lovely, but we cannot do it again.
He didn’t speak. She didn’t move.
