Page 118 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
He was not a child any more, and it should not matter. But it did. The memories and the ensuing pain were unbearable. It was as though he was ten years old again, driving away with his grandfather in that damn coach and leaving his mother and all happiness behind.
Pull yourself together.
He could not.
As a small boy, he remembered craving some sign, some slight signal of connection or approval, and gaining none.
The images in his head slipped to the horde of his younger brothers and sisters with whom he could achieve no mental or emotional connection.
What of his child?
A bitter lancing pain pierced his chest and he sat back in despair.
Katherine stood at the door to the room. He had thoughtlessly left the door open. She was watching him, wide-eyed and hesitant.
It was dark, no candles burned. But silver moonlight seeped through the curtains, bleaching the room to white and black. Shadow and light. That was himself and Katherine. She was the light.
She walked into the room. ‘What is it, John? What is wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ He would not humiliate himself by admitting to a pathetic childish weakness.
‘It is not nothing now, any more than it was nothing last night when you woke.’
His lips twisted in a distasteful expression yet the knot of anxiety was already easing within him. He shrugged. ‘Nothing important…’I love this woman. The grace of her movements, the pitch of her voice and her understated beauty were all a balm to his battered, jaded soul.
‘No?’ Her eyes were dark in the lowlight.
She stopped before him, her hands braced his cheeks and she leaned and kissed him.
She had been angry earlier, he had realised that over dinner when she had barely looked his way. She had concealed it for some reason. But her anger was justified.
His hands held her hips and he met her gaze. ‘I am sorry about this morning.’
‘You are becoming very good at saying sorry, John, but you cannot really be sorry if you repeat what you have already apologised for.’ She was right of course but he was not ready to discuss the turbulence inside him, not with her nor anyone.
Her thumbs brushed across his cheekbones and his gaze fell to her stomach. He rested his cheek against where their child grew – another poor infant who would be hungry for love.
Her fingers slid through John’s hair and his breath fractured. He wished he could cry but of course such sentimentality had been physically beaten out of him a long time ago.
‘John?’
He shook his head, he did not want to speak. ‘Just love me, Katherine.’ His words were brisk and harsh.
Her fingers stroked through his hair as he kissed her stomach through the fabric of her gown and his hands slipped to her buttocks. He could smell her sex through the layers of cloth. She was aroused already. ‘Undo your dress,’ he whispered, looking up and meeting her gaze.
His hands had begun working up her skirt.
Between orders and assistance, he rapidly stripped her while he only removed his evening coat. At the last he removed her shoes and stockings as her feet rested on his thighs and her hands held his shoulders. When she was fully naked, he looked up and met her gaze again, smiling. One bare foot still rested on his thigh. His fingers ran upwards and over her knee then they slipped under her thigh and ran along the inner surface. When he reached her juncture, his thumb pressed against her while his fingers entered and began teasing her senses.
She somehow knew he needed to play master, as he had in the tower, and she was letting him. He smiled, because if she allowed it, it meant she was mastering him, and not the other way about.
His fingers worked with more determination, claiming all of her attention. Her eyes closed and then her head fell back and she was panting. He watched her, lost in her as she was lost in what he did.
When her end came, he used his mouth and tasted her and once he was satisfied he stood and lifted her onto the desk, bid her undo his flap and took her like that, he dressed, she naked, driving into her as she sat on the hard desk and clung to him.
Katherine knew he was escaping into her again. She relished him turning to her for comfort, even in this form. It was a pattern she now recognised. It was a time to give – and receive.
His hands braced her hips and the force of his thrusts had her spinning into ecstasy, making her feel dizzy and disorientated.
