Page 31 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

“They should be,” he replies flatly. “There’s a murderer inside these walls, and I’ve no idea how many more will die before we find the culprit.”

“We can’t let them see our fear or there will be hysteria.”

“We’re past appearances, Katherine.”

“No.” I frown deeply and pull a blanket over my thighs. “Now more than ever, we must perform.”

There is a light touch in my hand.

“Dorian, are you listening?”

DORIAN

She’s still wearing her red gown, now creased and rumpled, with one sleeve falling down her shoulder. Her hair is pinned, but strands have escaped to brush against her cheek. She looks regal, defiant, exhausted and…

Incredible .

I want to touch her just to know she is real .

“They’re watching us,” she continues. “The ton, the staff, the Crown. If we fall into hysteria, Ashwood will, too and then everything.” Her voice lowers to a horrified whisper and a hand closes around her throat as if to demonstrate our eventual demise.

“And then they will hang us.”

I place a hand over hers, pulling away her hands and toward my chest. Her gaze follows.

“Stop. You are upsetting yourself, Princess.”

She frowns at my words. “How can we pretend everything is fine while another girl is butchered?”

My palms cover the back of her hand.

“We lead, Duchess. That is what we are here for.”

That silences her.

She turns to the fireplace of the connecting room.

“The castle feels like a sealed tomb,” she complains. “Perhaps I am going mad.”

Her concern is evident, but the world does not stop turning.

“I opened the vault,” I say.

Katherine goes still.

“Tonight?”

“If the killer is after the Crown’s assets, they might try again. It is best to not risk it. I sent them back with his Royal Highness.”

Her voice drops. “Are you sure that’s what they want?”

“No.” I look at her. “But there must be a reason for these murders.”

“I’ll speak to Nora and the staff,” Katherine says. “We’ll reinforce the guest corridors, tighten the checkpoints. I’ll see to the women.”

She leans in close, enough for her sweet perfume to waft into my nose.

Whatever she bathes in, it is divine.

“And I’ll see to the men,” I murmur.

Our eyes meet. Without thinking, I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sleep if you can.”

A moment of heated silence passes between us. Perhaps I feel it.

Perhaps my heart skips a beat.

“I’ll try,” she lies with a whisper.

Neither of us move to leave.

I sit there, watching her. Unable to look away. My cock knows what it wants.

Kiss her.

My brain tells me I am damning her.

She’ll die if you allow this to continue.

The moment stretches like thread pulled too tight—until finally, Katherine glances down.

She is unhappy, that I know.

I am a fool, but it is better than her death.

She places the sheepskin blanket over the armchair and returns to our shared room.

“Good night, Your Grace.”

True to my word, I do not sleep .

KATHERINE

The silence is worse than the screams.

Ashwood sleeps—fitfully, unevenly. I can hear it in the walls. In the groaning timbers and inside the wind that howls down the chimney pipe.

My chambers are still, the fire low, the scent of beeswax and rosewater still fragrant from the bath Nora forced me to take. She undoes the laces the back of my nightgown, whispering reassurances she doesn’t believe.

“Do not worry, your Grace. There is a runner stationed outside your door.”

I change into my night gown and when she departs, I lock the door behind her. I should sleep. Instead, I pace. Outside, the courtyard is empty and lanterns burn in their glass cages. There, I lie, until the clock in the hallway strikes two.

I turn in bed. Restless.

I cannot sleep.

A soft creak breaks the second strike and the door to the hallway between our chamber opens. When I peer up, Dorian stands at the far end. Shirtless, barefoot, he holds a chalice of wine in one hand, his hair slightly ruffled.

Our eyes meet.

“Come, Duchess,” he offers, “at least, for this night, let us wander in solitude, together.”

With a nod, I ease from bed and cross the room barefoot, with my nightgown whispering across the rugs, and cold stone kissing the soles of my feet. The silence between us is thick as I follow him. Once inside, Dorian places his cup on the stand.

“You’re not sleeping,” I say.

He shakes his head. “How can I, with a killer in my house?”

I cross the hall to him.

Slowly.

The candlelight illuminates over his muscled skin. I cannot help but stare at the indecency.

Why must he be so beautiful?

When I stop in front of him, he peers down, those eyes still watching. Then, they roam over my bare arms… the neckline of my nightdress…and toward my unbound hair. He lifts a hand and brushes it down the curve of my neck. My skin prickles with heat.

“Did they settle?” he rasps, his voice now hoarse.

My pulse beats wildly against my throat as I answer. “The guests? Some. Not all. There was weeping. Some accusations. A countess accused her maid of witchcraft.”

His mouth twitches. “Sounds about right.”

“And the men?” I offer.

He shrugs as his fingers glide downward. “They’re drunk and terrified. But they follow orders. They seek to bury their fears inside maidens they can no longer touch… ”

DORIAN

She’s shakes, and her breath trembles near my collarbone, fingers digging against her own wrist.

I pull her into me, just to hold her.

To have her near.

Gods, I want her.

Katherine rests her head against my chest, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, there is something akin to peace.

“They’re all looking to us,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“What if we fail them?”

“Then we fail.”

She goes still in my arms.

“And if I break first?” she asks.

“Then I’ll break with you.”

She lifts her head and her eyes search mine.

I do not question the feeling.

I lean down and kiss her.

Her hands slide up to my shoulders. Mine settle at her waist. We stand there in the half-dark, kissing like sinners more than husband and wife.

And when she pulls away, I don’t stop her.

She steps back into our room and throws her gaze over her shoulder, with a left hand clasped against her thigh of her skirts.

KATHERINE

He doesn’t speak.

Just stands there, shirtless in the open doorway, his face hidden behind the shadows. With both arms at his sides, he waits for permission, perhaps, even to breathe.

The candle beside my bed throws gold across the room and over the curve of my spine, and beneath the thin linen of my nightdress. Heat scores me as I boldly cross the room without looking at him.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

My chest puffs out.

Let him watch.

Let him stare.

Taking my time, the silk hem drags behind me, and shadows dance over skin that’s no longer chilled, but scalding fire. I pour myself a glass of red wine and drink. The tension pulls tight across my back. I know he’s watching.

I want him to.

I don’t speak. I unfasten the row of buttons down my nightdress. One by one, they part. The gown slips off my shoulders and pools at my feet. I don’t pick it up.

He still hasn’t moved.

But somehow, I know he watches.

I walk to the fire, naked and unhurried, and lean down to stoke it with a poker. Warmth blooms across the back of my thighs as I stretch, knowing exactly what he sees: the curve of my buttocks and the arch of my foot against the cold stone.

When I stand again, I say nothing.

Toward the bed I glide, then I lie upon my side. With my body exposed to the candlelight, I let one arm drape lazily across the pillow, and the other trailing across my stomach, grazing the line of my hip.

My fingers move slowly.

Down.

I never look at him.

I don’t have to.

See me, you fool.

Black eyes gleam as he watches, still standing in the dark, a wicked man with no control of his senses. The thought is enough to drive me mad in kind.

Yes…

I bring my fingers down and a growl rumbles somewhere from that dark space.

When I touch myself, it’s not frantic.

I want him to see how I burn…

I want him to feel what he could have.

What he can’t take.

I spread my legs as my fingers trail upward.

Still, I do not say his name.

His breath drags deeper and heavier.

I imagine his fists clenched, and the strain in his chest, and the growl in his throat as he takes me. As he is inside me.

He lets me do this.

I finally glance at him between that doorway. And his eyes do not stray as I insert two fingers deep within me. Pleasure dribbles down, soaking the sheets beneath. My breath goes taut.

Heavens…

I touch where I remember his fingers were, where he last ravaged me. As he stands watching, I mimic his actions, never forgetting that he is there.

My fingers trail upwards until all there is nothing but ecstasy dripping from my fingertips. How I long to feel him inside me.

How I long…

The image erupts and he is there, his cock driving inside me until I am breathless.

“You do not wish to speak of formulas and theories, Princess.”

“No, Your Grace,” my mind whispers. “I do not wish to speak of formulas and theories. I wish for you to ravage me.”

My fingers plunge deeper. With a shudder, I reach nirvana.

“I’m going to sleep now,” I whisper into the darkness.

And I roll over, curl into the sheets, and do not look back. But the darkness doesn’t leave. The darkness stays, watching me, until long after the candle burns out.