Page 46 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
“Then what would you have me do?” His voice was rough now, ragged with frustration, his hands clenched at his sides as though the only thing keeping him from seizing her was sheer will. “Stand by and watch Pemberton court you? Watch him marry you? Watch him take what is mine?”
“I am not yours,” Catherine said. She meant it to sound firm, but the words emerged weak, trembling, unconvincing even to her own ears.
“Aren’t you?” His restraint snapped in that instant. He reached out, the barest touch; just a finger beneath her chin, tipping her face up until her eyes locked with his. His voice dropped to a husky challenge. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Tell me you don’t remember. Tell me you don’t want me as fiercely, as desperately, as I want you.”
Catherine’s breath hitched. Around them, laughter and music still floated from the lantern-lit garden, but the world had narrowed to the heat of his nearness, the dangerous intimacy of his gaze, the tingling awareness of his touch. They might as well have been alone.
“What I want,” she whispered carefully, fighting for control, “has never been the issue.”
“Hasn’t it? Then what is?” His thumb brushed along the soft curve of her jaw, a subtle caress that sent shivers racing down her spine.
“You know what.” Her voice was taut, her pulse betraying her. “You said it yourself that morning. We are from different worlds. You are a duke. I am the daughter of a dead earl, with no fortune, no connections beyond my aunt’s good graces.”
“I do not care about any of that.”
“You should.” She pulled back, though her body screamed in protest. “Your mother cares. Society cares.”
“Curse society.” His words were fierce, reckless, his mouth a breath away from hers.
“Can I?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Is that why you spent three months ignoring me? Wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t speak to me?”
For a heartbeat he said nothing. Then, when he spoke, his voice was raw, stripped bare. “I ignored you because seeing you was agony. Because every time you crossed my path, all I could think of was that night. The taste of your skin. The way you sounded when you...”
“Stop.” Catherine cut him off sharply, her eyes darting around in panic, making sure no one was close enough tooverhear. Her cheeks burned scarlet, her body betraying her outrage with desire.
“Why?” he murmured, his lips almost brushing hers. “It is the truth. You want to know why I stayed away? Because if I let myself near you, I knew I would do something unforgivable. Something reckless. Something like tonight—staking a public claim I had no right to stake.”
“Then why did you?” she asked, her voice breaking under the weight of her own need.
“Because the thought of you ruined by gossip was unbearable.” His eyes burned into hers, fierce with hunger and torment. “But the thought of you in Pemberton’s arms? As his wife?” He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “That would destroy me. That would kill me.”
Catherine stared at him, her heart pounding wildly. Here he stood...the man who had stolen her innocence in one night of reckless passion and who had held her heart captive ever since, breaking it slowly, relentlessly, with every cruel silence and every unbearable look.
"I can't do this," she said finally. "Not here, not now, not with everyone watching and waiting for me to fall."
"Then when? Where?"
"I don't know. I need to think."
"Catherine..."
"No." She stepped back, needing distance. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to ignore me for months and then suddenly decide you want me when another man shows interest. That's not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair," he said quietly. "It hasn't been fair since the moment I saw you in my ballroom and realized the woman I'd been dreaming about was the one woman I couldn't have."
"Why couldn't you have me?"
"Because you deserve better than what I can offer. You deserve someone who can give you joy, not just passion. Freedom, not obligation."
"What if I don't want better?" Catherine asked, the words escaping before she could stop them. "What if I just want you?"
His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her right there in Lady Sefton's garden, scandal be damned. But then someone coughed nearby, and they both remembered where they were.
"Your Grace," Lady Pemberton appeared, having apparently appointed herself chaperone. "I believe Lady Catherine needs some time to compose herself. Perhaps you might continue this conversation at a more appropriate time and place?"
It was phrased as a suggestion but delivered as a command. James stepped back, though his eyes never left Catherine's face.
"Of course," he said formally. "Lady Catherine, might I call on you tomorrow?"
