Page 71 of The Scandalous Love of a Duke
He had promised not to take her virginity in the tower room, and he had not. Not even when she had urged him to. The John she knew as a child was inside the other – in pain. But why?
Sitting up again, she knew she would be unable to sleep unless she tried to speak to him once more. He had no one else.
The room was so dark, she had to feel her way about the edge of it to find the door, and then she progressed along the hall still using touch, her fingertips brushing across statues and doors, which she counted to find her way.
20
A cry of pain escaping his lips, John woke and sat up, feeling the full weight of horror in his chest. The sheet was tangled and twisted about his waist and his skin was clammy. The single candle he had left burning at his bedside was flickering wildly, reduced to a stub.
For a minute John had no idea where he was but then his mind cleared and he regained his breath. Why would his mind not let this go? He was not a child any more. His father and mother were right, it did not matter. Yet it did, deep down, it did.
Why would they not tell him, though? What would need to be so secret?
He slid his legs over the edge of the bed, rested his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands as he felt the despair which always came after his dream.
He no longer gave a damn about the blackmail. Wareham could do what he wished. John’s power was too great for any scandal to touch him. People would not care. People did not dare to judge a duke.
The air in the room felt thick and hot as he breathed steadily, trying to get control of his mind. It was no use. No matter how he tried, he could not let the question go.
Why had she not been there?
Clarity suddenly gripped his thoughts. If his family would say nothing, then there was only one choice, he had to find out for himself. Harvey could use the same influence he was using to discover Wareham’s history. Then once John knew, this would be over. There would be no more uncertainty and no more dreams.
A warm ache whispered in his chest as his hands fell to his thighs and his back straightened. He wished Katherine here.
A creak drew his attention to the bedchamber door. There was movement outside his room.Had someone heard him cry out like a child?
The door handle turned without a knock.
His breath caught as he watched the door open.
It was Katherine. She slipped through the gap and closed the door behind her. Her gaze came to him, as he sat facing her with only a slither of sheet across his hips covering his nakedness.
She looked like a damned angel come to dispel his darkness, clothed in her white nightgown from neck to toe. Her hair fell about her shoulders, tumbling down her back, glowing gold in the flickering candlelight.
He had just thought of her and here she was. She hesitated by the door.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, before taking a deep breath as he felt desire sweep away all other thoughts. He wanted her physically and emotionally with every sinew of his body.
‘I came to see you.’
‘Obviously. Why?’
‘I… You need someone, John.’
I need you, Katherine. ‘Katherine,’ he said, in a deep heavy voice. ‘If you stay in this room, I cannot say what I will do. I told you earlier I am not in a good mood. I am in no mood for restraint. Get out if you wish to preserve your chastity.’ It was a cold and callous thing to say but maybe it would make her leave and save her from herself, and him. ‘Go away, Katherine,’ he said more gently.
But instead of leaving, she came across the room in swift strides. Then her hands were in his hair, brushing through it and she pulled his head against her breasts.
Her touch was such gentle agony.
‘John.’
He closed his eyes, reaching for her and clinging to the cloth by her hips. ‘Leave, please, Katherine. It is what you ought to do. I have nothing to give you. You know it as well as I do.’
‘You have yourself,’ she whispered, her fingers stroking through his hair, ‘and I have myself to give you. Trust me.’
He felt like that damned child driving away in the carriage with his grandfather and fighting tears because he knew if he let them fall he would be beaten. He couldn’t cry, he couldn’t ever trust a soul with the truth inside him. But he could have her. He could have her and feel eased as he used to feel eased even by the she-wolves abroad. Except she would be giving generously not taking and she was full of a light he wanted to bathe in. He wanted to be free from the darkness inside him.
