Page 23 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Something significant, I'd wager. You carry yourself like a man used to command, and Peters—that's his name, isn't it?—he treats you with the sort of deference that speaks of more than simple employment."
Too perceptive by half, his Catherine. Not that she was his. Could never be his.
"What I am, what I'll become...it doesn't matter. What matters is that you understand why we cannot...why this must end here."
"I understand," she said quietly. "I do. We both knew this was temporary."
"Did we? Because I find myself remarkably reluctant to accept that."
Her breath hitched. "James..."
"Tell me you'll remember this," he said urgently, his hands framing her face. "Tell me that when you're married to some worthy gentleman who adores you properly, you'll sometimes think of the storm and the stranger who couldn't keep his hands off you."
"As if I could forget." Her voice broke slightly. "You've quite ruined me for worthy gentlemen, you know. How am I supposed to accept tepid kisses and fumbling caresses after... after you?"
"You'll find someone who makes you burn," he said, though the thought made him want to put his fist through the wall. "Someone who deserves you."
"And you? Will you find someone?"
"I'll find someone appropriate," he said bitterly. "Someone with the right bloodlines and connections and accomplishments. Someone who'll give me heirs and host dinner parties and never, ever make me feel the way you did last night."
She kissed him then, fierce and desperate, and he responded in kind, backing her against the wall, his hands already pulling up her shift. This was madness, Peters was waiting, his father was dying, the entire inn was stirring to life, but he couldn't stop, couldn't resist one more taste of her.
"Please," she gasped against his mouth. "Once more. Just once more."
He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist, and took her against the wall with all the desperation of a man saying goodbye. It was fast, intense, both of them muffling their cries against each other's shoulders. When it was over, they clung to each other, breathing hard.
"Now I'm truly ruined," she said with a shaky laugh. "Standing up, against a wall, in broad daylight. What would the ton say?"
"Curse the ton." He set her down carefully, steadying her when her legs wobbled. "Are you all right? I wasn't too rough?"
"You were perfect. You're always perfect." She touched his face gently. "Go. Your duty awaits."
He kissed her once more, softly this time, trying to memorize the taste of her. Then he forced himself to step back, to leave her chamber, to return to his own room and dress properly.
When he emerged, properly attired in his traveling clothes, Catherine was dressed as well in that awful brown wool that somehow still made her look lovely. Martha had returned at some point, looking exhausted but pleased to report that Robert would recover fully.
They stood in the sitting room, the three of them, in awkward silence.
"We should breakfast," Catherine said finally. "It would look odd if we didn't, after sharing the chambers."
"Of course." James offered her his arm formally. "May I escort you down?"
The public room was already crowded with travelers eager to depart now that the storm had passed. James was acutely aware of the curious glances, the whispered speculations. He and Catherine had shared rooms and chaperoned or not, it was enough to fuel gossip.
They found a table near the window, Martha tactfully sitting at the next table to give them the illusion of privacy while maintaining propriety.
"I trust you slept well, Miss Mayfer?" James asked formally, though his eyes said something else entirely.
"Tolerably well, Mr. Wrentham, I thank you. Though the storm was quite fierce."
"Indeed. I found it rather... invigorating."
Her cheeks pinked. "How singular of you, sir. Most find storms disrupting."
"I suppose it depends on one's perspective. And one's company."
"Mr. Wrentham!" A jovial voice interrupted. It was one of the cavalry officers—Morrison, James recalled. The man had been deep in his cups the night before. "And the lovely Miss Mayfer. How fortuitous that you both weathered the storm so well."
