Page 21 of Claiming His Lost Duchess
“The truth would be ideal. You will not be punished or anything like that. But I just want to understand. I want to know exactly who you are and exactly how you have managed to stay away for so long,” he stated, his tone accusatory.
Joan huffed, lowering her gaze once more as she mumbled, “I really don’t know what you mean.”
The song came to an end, and she hoped he would let her go and leave her be. But he momentarily held her even closer, whispering softly into her ear, “You haven't changed at all. You still nibble the corner of your lower lip when you're nervous.”
Shocked, Joan pulled away and ran off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd smoothly. She headed towards the terrace, wanting nothing more than a moment of privacy to collect her thoughts and steel her nerves.
But just as she arrived, she heard footsteps behind her, and when she whirled around, she found Graham standing by the doorway.
“I've tried to be patient,” he started as he walked towards her. “I have tried my best to let you come clean with the truth on your own terms, but you have refused my generosity again and again. And I do not make it a habit of letting others make a fool of me. And so I will ask you once more, and I expect the truth.”
Joan backed away, realizing too late that he had steadily trapped her without even trying when her back hit a wall, with his hands braced against it on either side of her head. In this alcove tucked into the side of the terrace, they were perfectly hidden from view, even if anyone were to come out of the ballroom. The darkness provided sufficient covering, but that did nothing to put Joan at ease. Not when she was trapped by this man against her will, with so much at stake.
Even still, there was a slight familiarity within their closeness that ebbed away her fear, instead replacing it with a strange uncertainty that she did not quite understand.
She tried to protest, flinching as he leaned his face closer to hers, unable to see his expression clearly as he asked, “I will ask this once more; are you the woman I bedded in an inn at the edge of London five years ago?”
Tired of running about and needing to keep such a secret, Joan forced herself to admit, “Yes. It was I. I'm sorry, Your Grace, I never planned to rob you! I just panicked when I woke up?—”
“Oh, hush,” he muttered, leaning in and kissing her.
It felt as though she had secretly longed for this moment for years. She clung to the lapels of his coat, allowing him to rest flush against her as she tried to sort through her feelings as his tongue ravished hers.
She was confused, but it all, the relief on her shoulders, the burning need for more of him, as though it never left. But she knew she hoped he would kiss her more, hoped those hands would continue to make her yearn, instead of fear.
Graham kissed her like he wanted to steal every trace of air in her lungs. His hands held onto her tightly, as though he was scared she would disappear again. His tongue stroked hers, and she let out a pathetic whine, doing it again when he pulled back slightly to ask briskly.
“That precious little girl. Is she mine?”
Joan hesitated, not wanting to give up the only good thing she had in life so weakly. Stubbornly, she stayed silent and he tightened his grip on her as he launched into another line of questioning.
“Are you certain? Have you been with no one else? Are you truly a widow?”
Joan shook her head as a sign of her resistance, which only irritated him enough to kiss her again, the weakness in her knees becoming even more pronounced with his attempts to devour her completely.
“Tell me the truth. All of it,” he demanded, sinking his teeth into her lower lip.
Joan wanted to stay strong and keep her secrets with her, where they belonged, but she had only just realized a while ago that he was no ordinary man. He was a duke whose resources were not as limited as hers were. If he wanted, he could make her life difficult, or take Sophia without a second thought.
But if she begged for forgiveness, maybe, he might look upon her favorably – not that he must.
Resigning herself to her fate, Joan nodded, stating in a hushed tone. “Yes. She is yours… I have been with no one else and I am not a widow. It… it has only ever been you.”
Graham let out a deep groan, and Joan couldn’t tell if he found that to be good news or not, nor was she given a chance to ask because his lips were on hers again.
“Mo chridhe,yer taste just as intoxicating as I recall. Even better, maybe,” he grunted, his grip on her sending heat spreading through her body, threatening to reduce her to ashes at a moment’s notice.
It was dangerous, how quickly she was losing her sense of self at such a scandalous location. Even more so, it seemed that this man was able to undo her core strength so easily with just his touch and lips.
Graham kissed her passionately, his grip on her tightening a tad, as though he did not want to give her any chance to slip away again. His hands began to roam over her body a bit more, and panic filled Joan suddenly.
What had she just done? Why would she admit facts that she knew would ruin her? What if he determined that Joan was not a suitable fit to raise their child and took Sophia away?
Regaining a bit of her senses, she tried to push him away, but Graham only tightened his grip on her, growling sternly.
“No. I will not let you slip away again. Marry me, Joan.”
Joan stared at him in shock and disbelief.
