Page 11 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke (The Athena Society #1)
CHAPTER 11
“M ake sure of it?”
Victor felt the words escape his lips, his voice dropping to a low growl that mirrored the storm of very passionate emotions her declaration had stirred within him.
The Dowager Countess stood her ground, her chin held high in defiance, even as that delectable flush of indignation spotted her cheeks. The vibrant hue only enhanced her natural beauty, making it all the more challenging for him to keep the distance that propriety dictated.
So he took a step closer, intentionally encroaching on her space, curious to see if she would back down.
She didn’t.
“What exactly do you think you can do, My Lady?”
He was genuinely curious about this woman, who seemed to think she could threaten him on his own property.
The question lingered in the air, seemingly about her son, but Victor sensed that something deeper was unfolding between them—a tension that had little to do with her son and everything to do with her ragged breaths and dilated pupils.
“I will do whatever it takes to protect him,” she declared, her voice steady despite the rapid pulse visible at the delicate hollow of her throat.
Victor’s gaze was drawn to that pulse point, captivated by the evidence of her heightened state. The damp fabric of his shirt did nothing to quell the heat rising within him. For weeks now, he had been grappling with an inconvenient and entirely inappropriate awareness of Lady Cuthbert.
This stubborn widow, with her fierce protective instincts and flashing eyes, had invaded far too many of his thoughts, despite his best efforts to put her out of his mind. And now, here she was, invading his private space once more, color high in her cheeks and challenge in her gaze, demanding things of him as if she had every right to do so.
The sheer audacity of it all pushed him past the careful boundaries he usually kept when around others.
And that Beast—the one the ton spoke of in hushed whispers—began to stir in the depths of his mind.
“You think to intimidate me? What was it? Ah, you will do whatever it takes?” he echoed, noticing how her eyes widened just a bit at his tone. “How determined of you, Lady Cuthbert. But have you thought about how little your demands matter here?”
His hand moved almost instinctively, capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so she couldn’t look away from him.
The moment their skin touched sent a jolt through him; her warmth and softness contrasted sharply with his rough fingers, making him acutely aware of how inappropriate their situation was.
“You think you can control everything around here, don’t you?” The words rolled out in a low rumble meant just for her ears, even though no one else was around. “Let me share a little secret with you, little kitten. I’m the one in charge. And you’re going to find that out, whether you like it or not.”
He felt her sharp intake of breath more than heard it, and noticed her eyes widen for a moment before they darkened with something that was definitely not fear.
And he felt a rush of desire that was almost painful. So much so that he moved without a second thought.
His hands found their way to her waist, the delicate curve fitting perfectly in his grasp as he pulled her closer, closing the gap between them.
“Your Grace—” she started, but whatever she was about to say was lost as Victor finally gave in to the urge that had been building and building since she first appeared at the lake’s edge.
His mouth found hers with a hunger that took him by surprise, all his control crumbling in the face of this unexpected, unwanted, and utterly irresistible attraction.
The instant their lips touched, everything shifted into an urge far too perilous.
She tasted like morning tea mixed with an essence that captured her so perfectly—a sweetness that beckoned to him like a siren’s call.
“I want you,” he murmured against her mouth, his breath coming hard and fast.
As if his absentminded words somehow undid her, her lips, initially rigid with surprise, melted against his in a surrender that sent a rush of primal satisfaction through him.
Victor deepened the kiss, one hand moving from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer, while the other cradled the nape of her neck, his fingers weaving through the soft strands of hair that had escaped her coiffure.
For a fleeting moment, she stayed frozen in his embrace, and he braced himself for the slap—he had crossed the line now, after all.
But then, with a soft sound that could have been either surrender or revelation, Lady Cuthbert’s defenses crumbled.
Her hands, which had been pressed against his chest in what might have been an attempt to resist, curled into the damp fabric of his shirt. Her lips parted beneath his, inviting him to explore deeper—a temptation Victor found impossible to resist.
So he simply did not.
He savored her with careful attention, noting every gasp and subtle shift and the way she leaned into him as if drawn by an invisible force.
What had started as a battle of wills transformed into something far more mutual—and infinitely more dangerous. A shared longing neither had expected and both were powerless to deny.
Victor felt her tremble against him, the delicate shiver of a woman awakening to desires long buried, and the realization that he had elicited this response from the proper yet feisty Dowager Countess was more intoxicating than the finest brandy.
One hand moved to cradle her face, his thumb tracing the gentle curve of her cheekbone as he adjusted the angle of the kiss, silently urging her to let him in deeper.
When she let out a soft, breathy sound that seemed to resonate within him, almost like a physical touch, Victor growled low in his throat.
“Do you want more, little temptress?”
“Y-yes,” she gasped against his mouth, obviously out of her mind with passion.
Her eager—yet inexperienced—response hinted that she, too, was taken aback by the intensity of whatever this was that was happening at this moment.
Victor realized, albeit dimly, that he had completely lost control of the situation. Even more troubling was the realization that he didn’t want to regain that control; he would gladly embrace this unexpected vault of unruly emotions that threatened to completely shatter him if it meant savoring the sweetness of this woman’s surrender.
“Your Grace—Oh!”
The voice was uncertain, a bit embarrassed, and unmistakably belonged to his head gardener.
Victor felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, cooling his passion in an instant.
He let go of her right away, stepping back as if he’d been burned, even though his body protested the sudden distance with a force that nearly drowned out his sense of decorum.
“What in the world…” he mumbled, as though his arms had not pulled her to him.
When the Dowager Countess’s eyes met his, they were wide with shock—whether from his actions or her reaction to them, he couldn’t quite tell.
Her lips, still swollen from his kiss, parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, a deeper blush crept across her face as the reality of their situation came crashing down.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” the gardener said, his gaze fixed firmly on a spot above their heads. “I didn’t realize you had… company. The butler asked me to let you know about an important matter that needs your attention.”
Victor nodded, not trusting himself to speak without faltering. While the interruption was unwelcome, it might have been a blessing in disguise—a stark reminder of the boundaries he had just recklessly crossed.
Lady Cuthbert was already moving, gathering her skirts and her dignity with trembling hands as she stepped back.
“I should go,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. “This was—I must?—”
She didn’t finish her thought, instead turning to bolt across the garden with a speed that revealed just how rattled she was. He couldn’t blame her; his own mind was in complete turmoil.
Victor watched her retreating figure, knowing he should call out to her, offer some sort of apology or explanation for his outrageous behavior.
But what could he possibly say? That he had been swept away by a desire so unexpected and intense that it had shattered his careful restraint? That for a fleeting, impossible moment, he had forgotten the broken man he had become and remembered what it felt like to want something—someone—with every fiber of his being?
No, it was better to let her go. The Beast of Westmere had no right to claim a woman like the Dowager Countess, regardless of the surprising alchemy that seemed to occur whenever they were in one another’s presence.
As she faded from sight, Victor found himself returning to the memory of her kiss—a feeling he knew would linger in his dreams for many nights ahead.
* * *
“For a man who spent the day basking in such beautiful weather, you look surprisingly like a storm cloud on legs,” Nathaniel remarked, sliding a tankard of ale across the battered wooden table. “One might almost think you’re not enjoying my charming company.”
The tavern—a rundown place three villages away from the prying eyes of Society—buzzed with the kind of energy that comes from men of all walks of life letting go of their daily burdens.
“Your company is, as always, a trial I must endure,” Victor shot back, though his tone lacked the bite that would have made the remark truly stinging.
He lifted the tankard and downed half of it in one go, a gesture that spoke more to his need to escape his thoughts than any real thirst.
Nathaniel leaned back, eyeing him with a keen look that contradicted his carefully crafted persona as a carefree rake. “Something is clearly wrong. You’ve been more distracted than usual, and that’s saying something, given your usual demeanor.”
Victor slammed his tankard down a bit harder than he had intended. “When have I ever been one for hearty chatter? We are clearly not a match made in heaven, due to your incessant prattling.”
Nathaniel broke into a genuinely happy smile. “Oh, deflection!” He laughed. “You, my dear friend, are trying to hide something from me, are you not? I can sense it. Something is wrong.”
Victor grunted. “There’s nothing wrong. I merely prefer silence.”
“You’ve made that quite clear over the years, yet here we are,” Nathaniel shot back with a smirk. “Come on, spill it. Is it Cuthbert’s widow? I noticed how you were watching her at Griggs’. And don’t think I didn’t see you two chatting after the hunt as well.”
Victor’s grip on the tankard tightened, the mention of the Dowager Countess and her son dredging up memories he’d been trying to drown in cheap ale.
The taste of her lips. The soft gasps she made when he deepened the kiss. The way her body fit against his, as if it was made just for him.
“Drop it, Knightley,” he warned, his voice lowering to a rumble that would have made most men flinch.
But Nathaniel was not most men.
“The boy reminds you of John, doesn’t he? I noticed how you looked at him. And his mother—she’s quite a striking woman. Spirited too, from what I can tell. Not the type to swoon at the first sign of trouble.”
“I said drop it,” Victor repeated, more firmly this time. “The Cuthberts are none of your business, nor mine.”
The lie felt bitter on his tongue, but he kept his face neutral out of sheer habit. Whatever had happened by the lake that morning was a fluke, a fleeting madness that wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again.
Before Nathaniel could dig deeper, their chat was interrupted by the arrival of two women whose low-cut dresses and painted cheeks made their profession clear as a printed sign.
“Well now, what do we have here?” the taller woman purred, her eyes gliding over Nathaniel with a practiced appreciation before briefly pausing on Victor, taking in his scarred face. “Two fine gentlemen drinking alone? That must be amended immediately.”
Her companion, a curvy redhead with sharp eyes, sidled up to Victor with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing how to handle male attention.
“You look like soldiers,” she remarked.
“Oh, you’re absolutely correct, my perceptive beauty,” Nathaniel replied, wrapping an arm around the taller woman’s waist as if it were second nature. “The finest officers His Majesty has ever had the pleasure of commanding. We’ve sailed the seven seas and lived to tell the tale.”
“Is that so?” the redhead said, inching closer to Victor, undeterred by his lack of encouragement or his scarred visage.
“So, you’ve served king and country. Seems only fair you get a little service in return, don’t you think?”
Victor stayed quiet, but he didn’t push her away as he might have on another night. There was a certain logic to what she was suggesting—a physical release to rid himself of the unwanted desires that had been nagging at him since that morning.
Straightforward. Mutually understood. A business deal without the complications of real feelings.
“What a splendid idea,” Nathaniel said, already getting to his feet. “I think I’ll take my new friend here and see what kind of patriotic gratitude she’s willing to show.”
He shot Victor a look, no doubt urging him to join in the fun with the redhead.
Yet Victor hesitated. The woman was attractive enough in the obvious way of her line of work. She would likely be skilled and efficient, asking for nothing but physical performance and payment. It would be easy to close his eyes and lose himself in the sensations if only for a little while, to escape the confines of his mind.
But even in the face of this opportunity, he realized it was pointless. Instead of seeing the woman next to him, his mind conjured up the image of Lady Cuthbert, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide with surprise. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue, making any thought of a substitute not just unsatisfactory but downright unappealing.
“Not tonight,” he said to the redhead, pulling out a handful of coins from his pocket—more than enough for the time they’d spent together. “I appreciate your company, but I really don’t need it.”
“I truly am a master at oral ministrations, Sir.” She leaned in even closer, her proximity plumping up her bosom against his arm.
“I don’t doubt you are,” Victor returned, “but I truly am in no need of your… particular brand of entertainment this night, Madam. Perhaps another time.”
Her face fell for a moment, but then she sauntered off in search of better opportunities, leaving him alone at the table while Nathaniel headed upstairs with his chosen partner.
At that moment, Victor made two decisions. The first, he stood up and left. And the second… he decided that one reckless kiss by the lake with the Dowager Countess couldn’t— wouldn’t —jeopardize the balance he had fought so hard to maintain.
He would make sure that it didn’t.