Page 80 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
The long mournful sound rippled across Jules’s skin, raising the fine hair on her body. She had never heard a sound more beautiful and haunting from a human’s throat, and she stared at the muscled column of his throat in awe. She understood then this must have been the sound he had learned from the pack who had kept him alive. The eerie note lifted even deeper before softly fading.
She stared at him, her heart pounding, a desperate longing welling inside her heart. A dart of hunger quivered through her belly, and she wanted so badly to step into his arms and hold him to her and never let go.
This evening James wore black, except for his snow-white shirt and cravat, and the deep burgundy silk waistcoat which fitted his lean frame to perfection. He wickedly wore his hair loosely caught at his nape, its length flowing over his shoulders and down to his back. As they had moved through White’s, greeting old cronies and making new acquaintances, James had given the appearance of a gentleman in control of his behavior as he deftly avoided being touched, even in the barest of ways, by anyone.
A crack had formed inside Jules’s chest, and with each moment spent in the company of the duke and his friends, it widened. James had prowled through the hallowed halls of White’s, his gaze that of an arrogant and powerful duke certain of his privilege and position within the hierarchy of thehaut ton. The few who dared whisper had met his steadily amused glare or perhaps it was indifferent regard. With his unflappable countenance and elegance of dress, James had silenced every skeptic and critic who’d thought they would see a man plagued by malady and nightmares. Those who had gawked at him had made deferential nods and respectful bows even if their gazes had remained cautious. It was James’s indifference to their attention that perhaps convinced some that he was the duke.
If the duchess had been able to witness him, perhaps some of her fear would finally have abated.
I will miss you so much, James. So very much.
“You sound so beautiful, James.”
He lifted one hand and lightly cupped her cheek. Jules held his hand against her face, a lump forming in her throat as they stared at each other.
“I am going to miss you, Wildflower.”
A hollow sensation invaded her midsection. Unable to speak against the emotions tightening her throat, she nodded.
Please, pleaseher heart cried, but she did not know what it asked or who it was asking, herself or the duke.
“I…bloody hell, I feel too much for you,” he said, sounding once again like a wounded beast.
The feelings pulsing through Jules rose in a powerfully fierce swell, sensations she hardly knew what to do with until they encompassed her entire being. They crashed into each other, kissing for endless minutes, uncaring they stood in the rain, soaking their clothes where anyone might drive past in their carriages.
Her desperate madness was complete, for Jules knew then she had fallen in love with the Duke of Wulverton.
Oh God, what a fool I am.
…
A few hours after reaching his town house James was unable to sleep. Even after the three bouts of loving with his Wildflower. The first time had been hard and almost savage, then afterward they had read together and sipped whisky, before he had slowly made love to her. She had tumbled into sleep over an hour ago, but that dark, restless ache had been upon his soul.
James stared down at his lover as she nestled in the crook of his arms, running the back of his fingers over her cheek. She murmured sleepily, snuggling closer to his warmth, and instantly the emptiness closed and warmth filled his chest.
My heart is only looking at you, Wildflower.
Her lashes fluttered open, and her gaze ensnared him.
“You remain awake,” she murmured.
He touched the corner of her mouth. “I have been wondering about your laugh.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corner. “What about it?” she demanded pertly.
“It is low and husky. Have you ever laugh unfettered…high and tinkling like most ladies? Or is your laugh practiced and a part of your disguise?”
“I have never laughed freely.”
He saw when the loss of such a simple joy hit his Wildflower in the chest as if she had been physically assaulted.
“This is silly,” she murmured when her eyes burned with the ache of unshed tears.
His fingertip stroked lightly over her bottom lip. “Are you ticklish?”
Her eyes rounded. “Ticklish? You would not dare—”
James started to mercilessly tease the underside of her arm and side. She shrieked and laughter, free and unfettered spilled from her throat. It was a sound he’d never heard from her before, and James had never heard anything as beautiful…and free. She laughed for several minutes, dropping her weight against his chest and burying her face against his throat. Though her shoulders still trembled with humor there was a wetness on his skin. His Wildflower cried.
