Page 53 of Her Beast of a Duke
When he was done, Oscar pulled away from her slowly, gently fixing her skirts. Isabella was already sliding down the desk, a breathless laugh leaving her lips. He turned her in his arms, guiding her over to the sofa behind him.
In an unusual, tender moment, he lay back, pulling Isabella with him. He would never dare to send her away, not now, not ever. Not anymore.
His arms went around her. Tensing, he waited for her to pull away, to mumble an excuse and hurry away as they had each done to one another.
Instead, she only relaxed into his hold, a happy, satisfied hum rising from her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Oscar let out a disbelieving chuckle. “You never need to thank me for something like that.”
Silence descended over them, comfortable and content.
After another moment, Isabella sleepily murmured, “The thunderstorm has stopped, I think. Perhaps I scared it off with my noises.”
“Your noises are enough to bless any force of nature personified, Isabella,” he assured her. “They are intoxicating, and I already wish to hear more of them.”
“Perhaps you will.”
He could hear how she aimed for a teasing remark, but her voice was already thick with sleep. He glanced down at where her head rested heavily on his chest, her lashes already fluttering as she closed her eyes.
Soon her breathing evened out, and Oscar simply held her. He had never let himself lie next to another. To do so with his wife—withIsabella—felt monumental enough that it swelled in his chest.
When her soft, sleeping noises filled his study, he knew he could never dream of rousing her to suggest that she retire to her chambers.
Instead, he lay there, feeling her weight against him, and he stared out the window where the clouds remained dark, but she had been right. There was no more thunder to be heard.
His own eyelids drooped heavily from the work he had thrown himself into the past few days to distract himself from her, but he fought the urge to fall asleep.
Heaven forbid he did tumble into slumber, only to frighten her again with his nightmares. It was never guaranteed that he would be free of them, so he did not dare risk it.
Sleep weighed heavily, exhaustion draining him, but he fought it vigilantly. When his wife slept so soundly in his arms, he would endure any fatigue to ensure she was not roused. He thought of his makeshift chamber in the northern turret, wondering if he ought to retreat there tonight, just in case.
But the notion of being too parted from Isabella, even straying from something as thin as a connecting door, felt quite unbearable. He had crossed a bridge tonight between them, and he did not want to go back.
Isabella was right a while ago when she had confronted him about living in the shadows.
Yet Isabella’s light was leaking out of her, infecting his life, and Oscar found himself wondering if perhaps stepping further into the light was such a bad thing. It was most certainly terrifying, but what if he could do it?
What if he could shed his darkness for her?
Glancing down at his slumbering wife once more, something in Oscar softened. He had hardened himself years and years ago, plagued by too many horrors, thinking himself too scarred and unlovable.
Until Isabella.
His thoughts tumbled as time passed. The clock ticked on, making him aware of how late it was. Soon enough, Isabella stirred in her sleep, his name a sleepy mumble on her lips.
“I am here,” he assured her.
“Have you slept, too?”
“Not yet.”
“You ought to.”
“And you ought to get proper sleep,” he countered, trying to get the attention off his lack of letting himself fall asleep. She shifted her head to look up at him, her fingers curling into his shirt. She clung to him as if he were some sort of anchor for her.
It was unbearable, and Oscar’s hand lowered to her hair, stroking the loose strands off her forehead. It was the most tender he had let himself be in a long, long time.
