Page 68 of Bound By the Duke
Her breath hitched at the memory. His mouth on her breast, his teeth grazing, his tongue relentless until her cries became breathy. His finger sliding deep inside her until she was trembling helplessly against him. Until she shattered around his hand and could do nothing but gasp his name.
Heat rushed through her so suddenly that she pressed her thighs together. Even now, standing alone, her body betrayed her—wet, needy, aching.
“Get yourself together,” she whispered fiercely to her reflection, but her voice quavered.
And she feared that part the most. The part that shattered in Percival’s presence.
How was she going to endure tonight? They would leave for the ball soon.
A ball meant hours spent in Percival’s company. Hours of standing near him, sitting across from him, brushing against his sleeve when he offered his arm.
Could she truly survive it?
“I’m afraid not,” she muttered, before lifting one hand to fan herself, her cheeks burning.
Drawing a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and tugged at her gloves until the fabric was smooth. Her gaze flicked to the door.
The door. She must face it. She must facehim.
Before the little confidence she had mustered evaporated, she moved to the door and pulled it open.
And the world went still. One look was all it took to steal her breath away. There he was.
Percival lingered in the shadows with idle patience, though the way he was shrouded in darkness that invited either dread or worship was nothing close to idle. His coat was immaculate, his black boots polished to a fine shine, every line of his body so poised that it hurt to look at him. He was not waiting. He was hunting. And his prey had just walked into view.
His eyes found her instantly before she could even take a step forward. Blue. Piercing. Arresting.
She came to a halt, her breath seizing in her lungs. He looked at her as though she were wearing nothing, as though he had stripped her bare without lifting a hand.
Yet, he said nothing for a moment, and that was the part that always confused her the most.
“The gown.” His voice was thick with lust and admiration. “Charming.”
His gaze lowered, slowly trailing down her body. From the gleaming pearls at her throat, to the scandalous dip of dark satin across her chest, to the folds that hugged her hips.
His eyes lingered there, shameless, making her cheeks burn hot.
Desperate to break the silence before she shattered completely, her lips parted. “You’ve seen this dress before, Duke,” she said softly. “At the modiste’s. Surely it cannot surprise you now.”
His eyes rose from her gown to her face, and for a long heartbeat, he studied her, his expression unreadable.
“Do you think—” His mouth curled, not into a smile, not quite, but into something dangerous. “—that you fail to surprise me each day?”
The words slipped so carelessly, so smoothly, from his lips.
Her breath left her in a rush. She wasn’t sure of what to do. She should have laughed it off or scolded him for the way he spoke, for the power in his silence, but her tongue betrayed her, her lips too weak to form words.
And so she tore her gaze from the mesmerizing heat in his eyes. She pretended to look at the wall, as if it were suddenly of great interest. Perhaps staring at the portraits would stop him from noticing the tremors in her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the faintest twitch of his mouth. He was fighting back a smirk, proving that he had most definitely seen them. And that realization came with something darker, the kind of pleasure one took in knowing that another was losing control.
“I would rather,” she finally managed in a whisper because the silence might be the thing to break her, “you did not look at me like that.”
“Like what?” His response was immediate, his head tilting slightly.
It made Aurelia pause, debating whether to be honest or not. However, knowing she would feel worse if she remained silent, she blurted, “As if I’m not decent.”
That word was a small, brittle thing. It felt ridiculous to say aloud, as if she were bargaining her virtue for coin.
