Page 52 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
“I should not have engaged in conversation with him at all,” he continued. “I was ready to walk away. But then he brought up Mouse, and separating you from him—” His voice cracked, taking the words with it, and he closed his eyes, the muscles of his jaw working.
Mouse. She thought of her pet, safe in her room, and Mr. Young’s cruelty came rushing back to her. She had been prepared to give up a good many things by marrying: her autonomy; her independence; her spirit.
But never had she thought any man would force her to give up her pet, the one creature who had been there for her when she feared her brother would die, who had followed her from her exile in London to that horrible cottage with her aunt, who had comforted her when her heart had nearly broken from Francis refusing to acknowledge her, who had remained by her side when she had been forced to come to the Isle to work to save herself from complete destitution.
Worse than that, however, had been Mr. Young’s readiness to not only separate Katrina from Mouse, but to dispose of him. He would have readily killed her pet. And she might not have known until it was too late.
It was the first time she truly acknowledged just how close she had been to losing Mouse. Though reason told her she did not have to worry about losing him any longer, that did not stop panic from saturating every muscle in her body. She had not realized she had swayed on her feet until Sebastian was at her side. His hands gripped tight to her arms, drawing her flush against him.
“Katrina, are you well?”
His scent enveloped her, that wonderful smell of pine and soap and memories. Even more potent, the heat of him seeped into her, right down to the bone, making her realize just how chilled she had become. His skin was smooth under her palms where they rested on his sides, and she ached to trace the lines of muscles, to use the sensitive pads of her fingers to discover every inch of him until he was as familiar to her as her own body was.
It was in that moment, with their bodies pressed together, that she knew why she’d come to him tonight. And what she needed from him.
“You’ve no need to apologize, Sebastian,” she whispered, lowering her head and rubbing her cheek to his chest.
He shuddered, his skin jumping under her touch, even as he pulled her closer. “What have I told you about respecting yourself when people apologize,” he rasped, an attempt at humor, before he exhaled heavily. “I deserve your censure, not your kindness. I should have ignored Young.”
“Yes, you should have,” she said. “And you will be happy to know I am angry at you for the small part you played in all of it.”
She raised her head and looked up into his tortured eyes. “But I also know you kept your promise to me.” Her lips quirked. “However fumbling it was.”
But there was no answering humor in his gaze. If anything, he appeared more miserable. “I ruined your last chance at respectability.”
“No,” she replied with firmness and certainty, “I ruined it myself. And I would do it again if it meant protecting Mouse.”
His eyes told her he didn’t believe her, that he still felt as if he were the one to blame. But Katrina felt a certain peace in her decision to stand up to Mr. Young that afternoon. Yes, her life was in shambles with no discernible way to dig herself free of the rubble. Yes, she had lost so much, a chance for a future with this man included. And she was in danger of losing even more.
But here, in this moment, in Sebastian’s arms, she could forget for a time all that loss and grief. She could pretend, just for one night, that she had everything she had ever wanted.
She pressed closer to him until they were flush from breast to knee. His eyes flared wide.
“Kiss me, Sebastian,” she whispered.
His sucked in a sharp breath, the dim firelight catching in the gray depths of his eyes, transforming them from regretful to shocked to hot with desire in the space of a single heartbeat. But though his arms tightened about her, he shook his head in a desperate denial.
“I can’t, Katrina.”
A devil perched on her shoulder then, brought on by a sudden recklessness, and she found herself asking, “Don’t you wish to?”
“What?” He gaped at her. “You cannot possibly ask that.”
But her moment of devilish teasing passed as swiftly as it had come. She reached up with gentle fingers to trace the tortured lines that scored his face. He drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes burning into hers.
“I know there is not a chance of a future for us, Sebastian,” she said, trying and failing to ignore the slash of pain in her chest at the thought.
But she would not focus on that now. No, right now was for them, no matter what the future held.
“That does not mean we cannot embrace the small amount of time we have together.” She cupped his cheek, reveling in the slight roughness beneath her palm, at the way he trembled beneath her touch, proof he was as affected as she. “Please, Sebastian. Kiss me—”
Before the words were out of her mouth he groaned, his mouth coming down on hers. She opened her mouth eagerly, meeting his tongue with hers, tightening her arms about him until not even a breath of space separated them. This was what she needed, what she had dreamed of, this falling into sensation, giving herself up to a joy so potent it sang from her every nerve. A glorious moment that would warm her for years to come.
His hands, those wonderfully strong, capable hands, kneaded into the muscles of her back, bunched into the fabric of her gown. She arched her back, a silent plea for more, even as her hands roamed up his sides and over his bare chest to twine about his neck. She could not get close enough to him. No matter how she pressed into him, no matter how tightly he held her, it was not enough. She needed more.
“Sebastian,” she gasped as she tore her mouth free. She pressed her lips to his chest, trailing a path with her tongue over his skin. He trembled under her touch, a rough sound escaping his lips. “Sebastian, I need you.”
“You have me,” he replied hoarsely, his hands tangling in her hair, sending locks tumbling about her shoulders. “You have all of me.”
