Page 73 of His Mad Duchess
Her chin lifted in defiance. “And why not? If you may roam, why not I? Or do you only allow freedom for yourself?”
“Because we are married, Margaret.” His words were soft as a whip crack. He took a step closer, then another until she felt the heat of him crowding her breath. “You are my wife. You are mine. No matter what you think of me, no matter what I pretend… nothing changes that. And I will not have you speak of giving yourself to another.”
Her pulse skittered, racing to keep up with her fury. “Yours in name, perhaps, but not in truth. You cannot lay claim to me with one hand while pushing me aside with the other.”
His hand shot out, not to seize her but to brace against the wall just beside her head, the gesture trapping her in a prison of his presence. His face lowered, voice rough.
“I do not push you aside. I keep myself from consuming you whole. Do you not see that?”
She froze, breath shaking. “And if I do not wish to be kept at arm’s length?”
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “Then you will drive me to ruin,” he said, his voice guttural. “Because I cannot be what you deserve, Margaret, and yet God help me, I cannot let you go.”
A pause fell, heavy as the silence between heartbeats. Margaret’s breath came quick, her lips parting before she dared give voice to the thought that had been pounding at her ribs.
“Then that means you will be mine,” she whispered, the words trembling yet unflinching.
His eyes narrowed, the flicker of surprise there swiftly buried beneath something darker, hotter. The space between them pulsed, charged as a storm. “Yours?” he echoed, stepping closer, his tone a silken challenge. “You would claim me so easily, Margaret?”
Her chin lifted, though her chest ached with the weight of her own daring. “If I am yours, Sebastian, then it follows you must be mine as well. Or does your pride allow only one direction to that claim?”
His breath left him in something perilously close to a laugh—low, sharp, disbelieving. He leaned down until the edge of hiswords brushed the curve of her cheek. “Tell me then, if I lay aside every rakish inclination, every careless indulgence, will you, in turn, stop being so infernally rude to the wolves who circle you? Will you give them no cause to think you are an easy mark?”
Margaret’s eyes flared. “Rude?” she hissed, her voice a tremor of outrage. “You mean the only weapon a woman is allowed when a man presumes too much? Am I to curtsy and smile sweetly while being cornered like prey?”
“No,” he snapped, fire sparking in his gaze. “You are to know when danger is danger and when defiance will only stoke it. If you are mine…” His hand brushed the air between them, as if resisting the urge to touch her. “You will be clever, not reckless. You will trust me to keep you safe.”
Her breath shuddered out, and for the first time, she did not meet the blaze of his gaze with defiance but with something rawer, more dangerous. Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted—so close now, she could feel the warmth of him seep across the narrow divide.
“Why?” The word left her almost without sound, fragile as a thread, a plea wrapped in challenge.
Sebastian stilled. Every muscle in him pulled taut as though she had set a blade to his throat. For a moment, silence roared louder than thunder between them.
“Because I cannot help it,” he ground out, the confession torn from him as though against his will. His voice was rough, husky,a rasp born of denial too long strained. “Because the thought of harm brushing against you makes me half-mad. Because I cannot…” He broke off, breath harsh, his forehead nearly touching hers.
Her eyes widened, her whisper spilling into the charged space. “Sebastian?—”
He could bear no more. Sebastian moved as if something inside him had finally broken. With a guttural curse, the restraint shattered. His hand shot to her waist, the other sliding up her spine, hauling her against him with a force that made her gasp.
His hand rose, cupping her face with a suddenness that stole her breath, and his mouth crashed down on hers, fierce and unyielding, as though all the fury, the tenderness, the torment he had fought were set ablaze in that one kiss.
When he tore his mouth from hers at last, both of them gasping, his forehead dropped against her temple, his voice hoarse and shaken.
“You drive me past all sense. I’ve never burned for anyone the way I burn for you.”
CHAPTER 25
Sebastian’s chest heaved as though he had fought a battle, though it was only her lips that had undone him. God above, what had he done? He could still taste her wild sweetness and startled surrender, the echo of her soft moan thrumming through him like a brand. He wanted her again, now, this instant.
Then she lowered her gaze. Color rushed to her cheeks, and the spell broke.
Her fingers, which a heartbeat ago had clung to his coat, now fell away as though burned. She smoothed her skirts with nervous precision, lips parting then closing again.
Neither spoke. Silence pressed heavily, more damning than any rebuke.
He searched for words—a jest, an excuse, anything. None came. Words felt like an insult after that fire. Beyond the door, musicswelled, laughter drifted, as if the world had not shifted beneath their feet.
For a suspended moment, they only stared. Then, with a jerky motion, he offered his arm.
