Page 50 of From Duke Till Dawn
She moaned again, louder. She wasexcitedby his crude words.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
He went still. Then shoved her away.
For several minutes, they stared at each other. The air was thick with the sound of their labored breathing. He dragged his hands through his hair, took a step, stopped. He didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Punishing me?” Her voice was breathless and low. “Teasing me with what I can’t have?”
“I’m your torment and your succor.” His jaw felt made of stone, while his cock was hard as iron. “We’re both in hell.”
She stood straighter. “I disgust you.”
“No.” He stalked the length of the gazebo. “Yes.”
“Which is it?” she asked acidly.
“I want you,” he confessed, “and I don’t know how to feel about you.” He didn’t understand. He was bred to be nobler than this. Hewasbetter than this. Wasn’t he?
“You think you’re a true gentleman,” she said cuttingly. “Honest, noble. England’s pinnacle. But at your heart,Your Grace, you’re just a man.”
She stalked off into the darkness.
Chapter 10
A horse’s alarmed whinny rose above hundreds of human voices. The noise and confusion of the Hampton races suited Cassandra just fine. She wanted to lose herself in the crowds and chaos, and break apart like a dandelion on the wind, carried by currents of people, not air. As she and Alex threaded their way through the gaily dressed masses, she tried to focus on the task at hand—finding Martin—and not on what had happened last night.
The racetrack was situated a small distance from the Town itself. A fence marked the track’s perimeter, and crowds gathered there, dozens deep. The judges sat in a hastily assembled booth set up high, permitting them to watch the races unimpeded. Standing several hundred yards from the track were the stables and a small ring where jockeys in silks exercised and warmed up their horses. The rowdy gathering of people resembled a carnival, with the crowd dressed in a motley assortment of clothing, performers vying for coins, sellers of pies and oranges, men shouting the odds of the different horses, and everywhere noise and color. Raffishly dressed blokes took bets from the onlookers, their hands bulging with cash.
Cassandra and Alex had left their carriage in favor of searching the crowd on foot—the better to look for one man amid thousands. It was a hazy day, faintly cool. Perfect for a race.
She now dodged a curricle bearing two women, and collided with the solid wall of Alex’s body.
“Sorry,” she muttered, though her voice was lost in the din. He didn’t answer, but his look was dark and rich with meaning.
Want to hurt you, but I also want to worship you. I want to fuck you.
For the rest of her life, she’d remember what he’d said to her in the gazebo, looking like an animal trying to free itself from a cage. His rude, raw words had been a powerful drug, making her drunk, heating her body, rendering her feverish and needy. She couldn’t believe that Alex—the dignified, proper duke—could think, let alone speak, so shamelessly. And she couldn’t believe how potently she’d sparked from his words alone. Combined with the passion of their kiss, she had been a breath away from begging him to be inside her.
She would’ve dragged him down to the ground and demanded just that, except he’d pulled back. Confusion and desire had warred in both of them.
Her body craved him. Taking him to bed would assuage the ferocious hunger that was a permanent part of her now. He wanted her, as well—so the power wasn’t completely in his hands. She could make him say filthy things and lose control of himself. She had sway over him, too, and Cassandra craved that balance.
But was it enough? She craved his heat, but she also wanted him to look at her with caring and tenderness and respect. Could he give her those things after all that had happened? She feared that would never come to pass.
Alex carved a path through the milling throng waiting for the race to begin. As always, people stepped out of his way, naturally yielding to the authority that radiated from him like heat from a fire. He’d dressed down for the day, dimming his ducal radiance, yet there was an inherent confidence in him that couldn’t be disguised.
His hand engulfed hers as he led them. “To keep from losing you,” he said above the racket.
She wasn’t going anywhere. Not when her breath came fast from the feel of his gloved fingers weaving with hers, and his eyes were warm and focused on her alone. She had to stay fixed on their goal—finding Martin—but when it came to Alex, she was at sea. Things like right and wrong never meant much to her, yet it was wrong that she desired and cared for a man who didn’t evenlikeher.
His hate gave way to a more strange, more tangled relationship.
If only she could fit them back in their tidy boxes. Swindler and mark. Betrayer and the betrayed. The world had more shades than black and white, however.
They continued to weave through the crowds milling beside the racetrack, when a voice called out.
“Mrs. Blair?”
