Page 83 of The Duchess Trap
Catherine went still. Her breath trembled as warmth surged through her chest, threatening to undo her. She looked at him, at the man who had once seemed so untouchable, and saw not the duke or the relentless force that commanded every room, but the man who had carried her through the rain, who had sat beside her in silence through the longest night of her life.
Her throat ached. “Duncan…”
He reached across the small table and covered her hand with his. His touch was steady, grounding.
“From the very beginning, even when we were locked in that room together, I could see your goodness shining through.” He shook his head as a rueful smile graced his face. “I might not have believed your words outright, and perhaps I even doubted your naivety and sweetness. But Catherine, my dearest, your compassionate nature has never once been questioned.”
Her fingers tightened instinctively around his. The sound of the fire seemed louder now, the air thicker, her heartbeat wild and unsteady.
“Let me show you how deep my well of compassion sinks,” she whispered.
He rose slowly, never once releasing her hand or breaking eye contact. The chair scraped softly against the carpet as he stood over her, the fire painting his silhouette in gold and shadow.
“You have tended to everyone else’s needs for so long,” he said, his voice roughened by something she could not name. “Now I will tend to yours.”
He reached for her chin, tilting it upward until her eyes met his. The intensity in his gaze stole what remained of her composure. For a moment, he said nothing, only studied her, and the weight of his gaze sent her pulse racing, heat blooming through her in dizzying waves.
“Duncan,” she managed.
“What may I do for you?” His thumb brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Ask anything of me. I will give you everything.”
She leaned far forward and brushed her lips gently against the corner of his mouth.
And then he kissed her.
It was not the careful restraint she had known before. This kiss was deep, claiming, the kind that left no space for air, no thought but his mouth and the warmth of his body leaning into hers. She rose to meet it without realizing she’d moved, her fingers catching at his shirt, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her touch.
When he drew back, she chased his taste without shame. His breath grazed her cheek.
“You forget,” he murmured, his tone softer now, “I am yours as much as you are mine.”
Her reply was lost when he bent again, slower this time, his lips tracing the delicate curve of her throat. Each kiss lingered, warm and unhurried, his breath catching against her skin as though he meant to memorize her taste.
The slide of his mouth left a trail of heat that made her tremble, every exhale from him answered by a sigh from her.
He guided her back in the chair until she reclined against its curve, his hands steady at her waist. Only sensation remained. The scent of him, the warmth of his breath at her collarbone, the quiet command in every movement.
He kissed her again, softer, then drew back just far enough to look at her properly. His eyes darkened, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Tell me,” he said, his tone low, “how I am please you.”
“I will.” The words trembled out of her before she could think.
He laughed lightly.
“Very well…” His hands framed her face, rough and careful all at once, his thumbs stroking her temples. “What would you have me do next?”
“I do not know,” Catherine admitted. “I have no experience to draw upon and…”
“Shall I show you what I want to do next?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she gulped nervously. “Please.”
He stifled a dry laugh before moving with quiet certainty. The whisper of fabric slid over her skin as he removed her nightdress in one quick motion. The air that met her was warm and heavy, and yet it felt shockingly cool against her newly bared skin.
She shivered from the awareness of him, of his nearness, of the way his gaze traced her as if he were memorizing her through sight alone.
For one unsteady heartbeat, she almost reached to cover herself. His hand caught her wrist first—firm, reassuring, utterly sure of its right to be there.
