Page 52 of The Duchess Trap
“You ought to be inside.” Her voice came thin, brittle, betraying the riot within her.
“And leave you out here alone?” His voice was quiet, and she could see a look of concern dart through his gaze.
He stepped closer until the scent of him flooded her lungs.
She had wished for a moment alone so that she might catch her breath, but now that her husband was here, she was reassured by his warm, stalwart presence. He gestured toward the bench beneath the yew arch, half-shaded from the lantern glow. “Come. Sit with me.”
She glanced quickly at the seat. In her haste to leave everyone and everything behind, she had dashed into the garden and lost all her bearings. She had not known the bench was there earlier, otherwise she would have already occupied it. Catherine peeled her gloved hand off the trellis, then made her way slowly to the spot her husband indicated. She sank onto the cool stone, her skirts whispering against the gravel, and he lowered himself beside her. Not so close as to touch, yet near enough that the warmth of him prickled against her arm, and set her skin alight with restless need.
“What troubles you?” he asked, his voice stripped of the sharp authority she knew so well.
Catherine let out a bitter laugh, though it trembled at the edges. “You, my lord. And my father. And half of London staring and sneering as though I am a spectacle to be gawked at.” Her headbent, eyes fixed on her gloved hands twisted in her lap. “I only wish to be left in peace.”
“You do not wish that.”
Her lips parted, breath snagging, but no words came.
“I see you,” he whispered. Each word sent a stroke of heat rippling against her nerves. “I see a woman who sacrifices herself endlessly, who bends for everyone but never for herself. I see the fire beneath your restraint, the ache you pretend does not exist. You do not wish for solitude, Duchess. You wish for companionship…for laughter…for love and adoration.”
“If you…” She paused and licked her lips, which suddenly felt dry as toast. “If you know all this, if you can see me so clearly, why do you fail to meet me on common ground? Why do you insist on maintaining prolonged silences and shy away whenever we draw nearer to one another?”
Intentionally, she scooted so close to him that her hip collided with his.
The Duke’s eyes flickered, showcasing his surprise.
“I see,” he went on, his voice sinking lower, rougher, “how desperately you long to be undone. To surrender to something… to someone who will claim you entirely.”
“W-what?”
“Until tonight, I saw a lady who was terrified of losing control.” He lifted his hand and placed it lightly on her knee. One of his eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “When I have touched you…When we have been this close before…you seemed terrified…horrified by the thought of being alone with me.”
Her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Her body leaned toward him of its own accord.
“No,” she whispered. “I have never been afraid of you. Even when I did not know you, I did not allow myself to cower before you.”
His brow furrowed as his expression grew puzzled. He lifted his free hand and stroked her bottom lip. “Then why do you quiver at my touch?”
She tipped her chin low so that as he removed his finger, his hand grazed the neckline of her gown. A delicious shiver darted up her spine.
“I tremble because my body is seeking an outlet. A release and…and…?”
She gulped. It was impossible to describe all the sensations that flooded her mind, body, and soul when Duncan touched her. Catherine knew that her quaking was involuntary. She could no more control the shaking of her hands than she could try to hide the blush that continually covered her cheeks.
But now…now she could see how her husband had misconstrued everything. He had seen a frightened young woman who had only sought his touch because it was her duty to provide an heir. He did not see…did not know…how much her heart called out to him, begging for a drop of his tenderness.
“Do you want to release it, Catherine?” His murmur slid down her spine, causing gooseflesh to prickle on the back of her neck. “To let go? To feel everything you have held back? To know that which I’ve kept from you?”
Her throat worked, a swallow thick with want. Her gaze locked with his.
Her nod was the faintest of movements, barely there, yet it undid everything.
Duncan’s mouth curved, slow and knowing, as though he had been waiting for this surrender all along.
“I have waited so long for this moment, darling wife,” he said.
And before she could draw her next breath, his lips claimed hers.
The kiss was gentle but insistent. It was consuming, deep, a conquest that stole the air from her lungs.
