Page 54 of His Mad Duchess
Something shifted within him, subtle yet irrevocable. It struck him with all the force of a blow and yet none of its pain—a sudden swell, a strange ache in his chest that both unsettled and steadied him.
What is this?
He tried to name it, to thrust it into some familiar shape. Desire? No—there was no fire in his blood, no restless urge. Possession? Hardly—he felt no triumph, no claim, only an overwhelming wish to shield her from every shadow that sought her. It was raw, unpracticed, as if his very heart had stumbled upon foreign ground.
He had held women before—countless if truth be told—but never like this. Never with such care, with such reverence. There was no hunger here, no pursuit, no game of conquest. Only a fierce tenderness, a devotion he had not known himself capable of.
A loose curl brushed his arm, and with a hand that trembled, he smoothed it gently back from her damp cheek. Her lashes lay dark upon her skin, delicately curled, glistening faintly where tears had traced their path.
As he pressed his cheek against her hair, the scent of her—soft, faintly floral, like summer rain lingering upon earth—filled his senses. The ache deepened.
Is this what love feels like?
The thought unsettled him, stark in its simplicity. He had scoffed at love, dismissed it as folly, a chain to ensnare the unwary. Yet here, in the quiet of night, with her breath steadying against him and her hand resting lightly over his own, he felt undone.
And though he told himself it could not be, that he must not allow it, the truth lingered all the same, raw and unyielding. He had never wished for anything more than to remain exactly as he was, yet her trembling eased, her weight against his chest, his arms the only shelter she needed.
It was the warmth that woke her first. It was not the timid chill of dawn air slipping past the shutters but something heavier and definitely alive pressing against her side. She stirred, frowning, unwilling to leave the soft cocoon of slumber.
In her half-dreaming state, she smiled faintly. “Is that you, Miss Fortune?” she murmured, her hand shifting as though to draw the creature nearer.
Then a brighter warmth touched her face. The sun filtered in golden threads through the curtains, and her lashes fluttered open.
For an instant, the world was blurred, hazy with the remnants of dreams. But then she became aware of the weight at her back, the faint rise and fall of another breath, the quiet presence of a body beside her.
It was no cat.
Her own breath caught. Slowly, dread sharpening into clarity, she turned her head.
Sebastian lay stretched upon the pillow, half-turned toward her, his dark hair tousled across his brow. His shirt hung open, exposing the fine hairs, the steady rise of his chest, and the strong lines of his shoulders. He looked impossibly at ease, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to be lying in her bed, in her room.
Margaret froze, every nerve in her body taut. A rush of heat shot through her as well as confusion, disbelief, and something unnamed that made her pulse stumble. She jerked upright, clutching the blanket to her chest, her heart thundering.
“What—what happened?” Her voice came out sharp, edged with panic.
“Why are you here? Tell me we did not—” Her words tumbled in a rush, breathless and high-pitched. “What did I do? What did you do? How did we—How long have you been here?”
At the sound, Sebastian shifted beside her. His lashes fluttered open, his brow furrowing as he blinked against the shaft of sunlight cutting across the bed. He pushed himself slowly onto one elbow, disoriented, his shirt still gaping open across his chest.
“Nothing happened,” he said at last, his voice rough with sleep yet calm, almost weary.
“Nothing?” her voice rose, trembling now. “You broke the rule, Sebastian. You swore you would not—” Her words faltered, but her fury returned in a rush. “How dare you touch me without leave!”
His head snapped toward her, eyes flashing. “Touch you?” His voice, though still low, carried steel. “Margaret, you were sobbing in terror. Would you rather I stood idle and let you suffer?”
“I would rather you kept your word!” she cried, clutching the blanket to her throat as though it might shield her. “You think yourself noble for playing the savior, but it was not your place!”
Sebastian drew a sharp breath, then leaned closer, his jaw tight. “Not my place? You were thrashing like one possessed. You called out as though the very devil had you by the throat. Do you imagine I could ignore that?”
Her cheeks burned, humiliation twisting with anger. “You should have! Better that than this—” Her hand swept between them, between the warmth of the bed they had shared. “You’ve made me—compromised.” Her voice cracked on the word, but her glare held fast.
His eyes softened for a flicker, then hardened again. “Compromised? Margaret, I did not take advantage of you.”
“You broke your vow,” she whispered, the words like poison in her mouth. “And I will not forgive it.”
The silence that followed was jagged, broken only by the sound of her uneven breath. At last, he rose, tugging his shirt into place though he left it hanging open, his movements taut with restrained anger. “You think what you will,” he said, his tone clipped. “But believe this, I would sooner break every vow I’ve ever made than watch you suffer when I might bring you peace.”
Margaret turned her face away, clutching the blanket tighter. His shirt hung open, his dark hair tumbled from sleep, and the sight of him sitting so near… too near… made her pulse unsteady. “You should have stayed in your chamber,” she snapped. “I did not ask for your help.”
