Page 37 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
She glared up at him, stepping forward so they were toe to toe, her small form vibrating with her anger. “He is my brother. I won’t have you speaking of him in such a way.”
“Someone has to,” he gritted. “Someone has to stop your defense of him.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Why must my defense of my brother, my only living relative, stop?”
He saw it then, the glint of tears in her eyes, the slight trembling of her lower lip. His fury dissolved in an instant. Reaching up, he brushed an errant curl from her face, tucking it back behind her ear tenderly. “Because you deserve better,” he rasped, cupping her cheek. “You deserve happiness and security. You deserve someone who loves and cares for you.”And how I wish that person could be me.
She drew in a trembling breath, her eyes searching his face. A tear spilled over, trailing down her cheek. He used his thumb to brush it away. And then, because he couldn’t stop himself if he tried, he bent and kissed her damp cheek.
“Don’t cry, Katrina,” he whispered, her name escaping him of its own volition, like a benediction. He kissed her other cheek, her forehead, her nose, his lips traveling across her sweet face. And then his lips found hers, and it was as if every moment of his life had led to this.
She should have been shocked at his kiss. He was not for her, after all; he was nearly engaged to another. The last thing he should be doing was kissingher.
Yet she wasn’t shocked. Nothing had ever felt more right.
Her hands came up, twining about his neck, her fingers diving into the thick, wavy locks of hair at the nape of his neck. The strands were silk under her touch, curling around and through her fingers like a caress, and she flexed those fingers, drawing him closer. He groaned into her mouth, his arms coming around her waist, drawing her up and against the hard length of his body. She gasped as her breasts pressed against the broad expanse of his chest, as her belly met his, and he immediately tilted his head, plunging his tongue into her mouth. Her senses were overwhelmed, the taste of his tongue against hers, sweet and heady and utterly delicious, sending her mind spinning.
His hands, those strong, capable hands, trailed up her spine, bunched in her gown, massaged into her muscles. She sighed into his mouth, even as his name echoed through her mind:Sebastian. He was no longer the Duke of Ramsleigh, no longer His Grace. No, from this moment forward he wasSebastianto her, the dearest part of her heart.
Mouse’s warm body pressing into her side and his faint whine had her reluctantly pulling back. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up into Sebastian’s face. He was closer than he had ever been, so close she could see the faint ring of brown around his iris.
“Goodness,” she whispered.
His gaze caressed her face, as if he were memorizing her. “I have wanted to do that for four years,” he murmured.
“As have I,” she managed. And it was true. She recalled that last night in London before everything fell apart, how she had hoped beyond hope that he would begin courting her, how she had imagined him walking with her into the garden and kissing her. And before that, before she had even begun to realize her feelings for him had gone beyond mere friendship, how night after night she had dreamed of him taking her in his arms.
But never in her wildest imaginings, even after all the pamphlets and books Lady Tesh had supplied, had she imagined something so incredible, something that not only brought her body to life, but her heart as well. Something she felt down to the very bottom of her soul.
The moment of awe did not last long, however. In the blink of an eye she recalled just what had happened in those four years… as well as what was to come. Namely, Sebastian’s near engagement to Miss Bridling.
Hastily stepping back, she smoothed the front of her dress down with shaking hands and then caressed the top of Mouse’s head. Fool, fool woman. How could she have forgotten herself so completely? Perhaps she truly was as hopeless as her parents used to say she was, really was as horrible as everyone on Synne seemed to think. For no matter her determination to never again interfere with a relationship, she had done just that in kissing Sebastian.
And then, to make her mortification complete, Sebastian spoke the two words that destroyed her more than any others could. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” she choked out. “I cannot accept your apology for this.”It means you regret it. And I can stand anything but that.
She drew in a deep breath, raising her gaze to his. And the self-condemnation in his eyes was like a punch to the chest. He hated himself for his part in it. And she could not accept that. Not when she had been only too happy to fall into his arms.
“And please don’t regret it. I am glad it happened. The once. But I think we can both agree it cannot happen again.”
“No.” His voice broke on the word and he cleared his throat, trying again. “No, it shall not happen again.”
It was what she had wanted, a verbal agreement between them that this would remain a solitary event. They would get through the remainder of his trip on Synne and would put this moment behind them. He would marry his Miss Bridling and save his dukedom. She would search out and marry whichever gentleman on Synne was willing to take her on, thereby saving her reputation, as well as that of her friends and employer. And she and Sebastian need never see one another again.
But as she gathered up Mouse and headed for the path that led back to Seacliff, she knew she would regret the possible life she had lost with Sebastian until the end of time.
Sebastian watched her go, hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting that part of himself that shouted inside his head, urging him to go after her. What he had done in kissing Katrina had been abhorrent. Not only was it a complete betrayal of Miss Bridling and the vow she expected him to make to her, not only was it a betrayal of his family and the families counting on him to make that all-important match, but it also had been a betrayal of Katrina as well. She was going through so much after the devastation of Landon’s asinine climb into her bedroom window. She certainly did not need him pawing at her, threatening whatever tenuous hold she still retained in Synne society.
He watched her until she and Mouse were out of sight. Only then was he able to breathe. He dragged in great gulps of the cool sea breeze, letting the brine and life of it fill him up, praying it could cleanse his mind of all thought of Katrina. Yet she remained firmly planted, the roots of memory deep, clinging to the rocks of his heart. And there, he feared, she would stay.
Picking up a pebble from the sand, he lobbed it across the churning waves. What the blazes had he been thinking? But that was no difficult answer to come to. He hadn’t been thinking. He had looked down into her pain-filled eyes, and his need to comfort her had drowned out all else, even common sense. And then that need to comfort had transformed into something else, something deep and impossible for him to ignore. Something he had attempted to keep buried for four long years and that had clawed to the surface in one shining moment of weakness.
And apparently he was still weak. He could not stop the remembrance of her in his arms, the feel of her body pressed to his and her mouth under his own. It had been everything he had ever dreamed and more, like a piece of a puzzle falling into place. His body stirred to life again as the memory of her tongue sliding against his overwhelmed him in sensation, and he closed his eyes, as if he could blot it out. But, fool that he was, it only made the memory that much more acute, his need for her climbing to a painful degree.
His eyes flew open, his hands clawing at his cravat. He would purge her from his thoughts in any way he knew how. And right now that meant shocking some sense back into his errant body. Ripping his clothes off, tossing them to the sand in his haste, he did not stop until every inch of fabric had been torn from his body. Then, without hesitation, he strode into the unforgiving sea. The cold was like needles on his skin as he dove into the waves. He welcomed it, forcing himself through the rolling waves, until his feet could no longer reach the shifting, sandy bottom. His arms worked then, cutting through the water as he swam out. Praying with each stroke that he could leave Katrina far behind.
Chapter 13
