Page 15 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Fifteen

“T hank you,” whispered Christine, taking the glass of sherry that the duke offered her. Her face flushed hard, and she took a deep breath, staring straight into his eyes. “For everything.”

She was sitting next to the fire in the parlor at Ironstone.

The clock on the mantelpiece had just chimed nine o’clock. It wasn’t particularly late, as they had left that dreadful dinner party earlier than expected, on account of the viciousness of the ton toward her.

When he had suggested they have a nightcap before retiring, Christine hadn’t been able to think of a single excuse not to do it.

He had been gallant in her defense. And fierce. She’d never expected it.

She watched him as he sat down, sipping his brandy, staring into the flames of the crackling fire. She sipped her own drink, feeling the sherry hitting her blood stream, warming her completely.

She blinked, trying to rouse herself. The combination of the liquor and the heat of the fire was lulling her. It was the first time she felt as if she could clearly draw breath for the entire night.

“You do not need to thank me,” he rapped suddenly, taking a long sip of his brandy, before placing it on a side table. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her own. “Those people were impossibly rude to you.”

“I do need to thank you,” she insisted, her heart thumping hard. “So let me do it properly.”

He sighed but waved a hand in the air. “If you insist.”

She took another deep breath. “I truly appreciate you backing me up like that,” she said, swallowing hard. “I heard them gossiping about me all night, saying very mean things about me, comparing me to Violet, finding me inferior in every way…”

Her eyes glistened with tears.

He kept staring at her intently. “It will not happen again. Lady Hungerford was soundly chastised and everyone who heard knows I will not tolerate a word against you.” He hesitated, picking up his sherry, taking another sip. “By the way, you were quite magnificent in your own defense. And in defense of my daughters. That took gumption.”

Their eyes met and held. The air seemed to crackle between them.

“I must apologize for how… discourteous I have been toward you since our wedding,” he continued quickly, frowning. “What happened with your sister’s disappearance was unsettling, and I took it out on you. It was ungentlemanly.”

Christine stifled her surprise. A glow of warmth spread over her again, which had nothing to do with the sherry, or the fire, this time.

“Thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head, turning to the fire and staring at the orange and red flames licking the grate. “That means a lot to me.”

He cleared his throat. “And I was ungentlemanly when you asked me to search for your sister, as well,” he said, his eyes flickering. He didn’t speak for a long moment. “I will employ a man to find your sister. You have my word.”

Christine’s jaw dropped. She gaped at him.

“Really?” she breathed, her heart surging wildly with hope. “Will you do that for me?”

“I will,” he said, the expression on his face shifting, like clouds moving across the sky. “You deserve to know what has happened to her.” He hesitated. “My only caveat is that you must steel yourself—to be prepared for whatever is found. You might not like it.”

Christine opened her mouth to protest, to insist once again that Violet had not run away to lead a life of debauchery, but then closed it again firmly. He had finally relented and was doing this for her. She didn’t want to endanger it. And besides, she didn’t have a clue about what had happened to her sister at all.

She gulped. “I will be prepared for whatever you find,” she replied slowly. “But I will also pray that my sister will be found well and brought back into the bosom of her family.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I miss her terribly.”

Suddenly, her gratitude toward him for agreeing to try to find Violet, and for how he had defended her this evening, overwhelmed her. She put down her glass of sherry, jumping to her feet, approaching him. Before she could stop and think whether it was a good idea or not, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

She forgot that he was still holding his glass of brandy until she felt something warm on the bodice of her evening gown. She jumped back with alacrity, staring with dismay at the brown liquid spreading rapidly across the expensive silver silk and lace.

“Oh!” she cried, biting her lip. “I should go to my chambers…I need my maid to attend to it before it sets…”

“No,” he growled, standing up and pulling her close. “Leave it. I will buy you another.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I will buy you a whole wardrobe of them.”

Christine trembled in his grasp, every inch of her acutely aware of his nearness. His breath brushed her skin, igniting a slow burn that unraveled her composure, scattering her thoughts like silk in a storm.

His hand fisted in the delicate fabric of her gown?—

And then came the sharp, unmistakable sound of tearing.

“Oh!” A gasp caught in her throat as silk parted like water, and suddenly, she stood before him, breathless, the remnants of her gown slipping from her shoulders.

Her bare breasts rose and fell beneath his hungry gaze, heat blooming across her skin as desire flared in his eyes.

She jumped slightly when his hand rose—but he didn’t grab or grope. Instead, he hovered for a moment, his gaze riveted, reverent, as though he were seeing something sacred.

Then, with a slowness that stole her breath, his fingers brushed the curve of her breast, exploring the softness with a sensual, almost aching tenderness. His thumb swept gently over her skin, not seeking permission so much as listening to her every breath, every shift, every gasp, as if her body were speaking a language only he understood.

“I… I…” Her voice was hoarse and the words tripping.

“Yes?” he arched an eyebrow.

She nodded, almost completely mesmerized.

“Mmm,” he purred as his hand cupped her fully now, warm and sure, fingers spreading possessively as he weighed the softness in his palm. He gave a slow, deliberate squeeze—firm enough to make her gasp, yet tender enough to feel like worship.

His eyes never left hers, as if her pleasure was a sacred thing he’d vowed to honor. When his thumb brushed over her nipple in a teasing, circular stroke, her knees nearly gave way beneath the heat spiraling through her.

“What are you doing to me?” She shuddered.

“Let me show you, little mouse,” he whispered, his eyes blazing. “Let me show you exactly what I want to do to you.”

Suddenly, he tilted her back in his arms, so that her head fell back, exposing her long white neck to his gaze. His lips fastened upon it, one hand threaded through her hair, the other holding her around the waist, gripping her tightly.

She let out a strangled gasp as she felt the suction of his lips upon the tender skin of her neck, licking and sucking it, nibbling and biting. She gasped again, surrendering to this astonishing intimacy. It felt like he wanted to devour her. Her thoughts were growing scattered, and her body felt like it was being consumed by a white-hot fire.

I am drowning. I am going under.

He growled, deep in his throat. Abruptly, he raised his head from her neck, pulling her closer still, winding his hand deeper into her hair. When his lips finally fastened on her own, in a desperate way, it was an utter relief.

She whimpered as he opened her mouth with his tongue, causing the fire within her to intensify. She was so enflamed now that she thought her body might suddenly explode like fireworks in the night sky.

A yearning, heavy feeling was overtaking her—a feeling of deep need, that something needed to be sated, something that she couldn’t even begin to name.

Vaguely, she realized that his hand had left her waist, journeying to her breast once more. He growled again in his throat, his tongue dominating her mouth, as his hand found a nipple, tweaking it and twisting it with the nub of his thumb.

The sensation was so unbearably exquisite, causing tiny sparks of delight to shoot through her body, that she twisted her head away from his lips, seeking escape from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

“Oh,” she whimpered. “Oh….”

The sound of her voice seemed to rouse him from the spell of it. He pulled away, so suddenly that she almost fell, stumbling backwards.

Panting, she watched him with wide eyes. His face was consumed with need, his dark eyes smoldering like burning coal.

“Pardon me. This was a mistake,” he whispered, voice rough with something that sounded far too much like regret.

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly unraveling, his jaw clenched, eyes still blazing with the aftermath of what had just passed between them.

But then he moved.

Still silent, he shrugged off his evening coat and stepped forward. Gently—almost tenderly—he draped it over her bare shoulders, his hands lingering just a moment too long. She could feel the heat of his palms even through the fabric, the way they trembled faintly against her skin.

“You shouldn’t be seen like this,” he muttered, his gaze sweeping over her torn gown, now hidden beneath the heavy coat.

He straightened with rigid posture, smoothing his waistcoat with hands that betrayed him—shaking, just slightly, as though he were holding something feral at bay.

“Good night, Duchess.”

“But…” Her voice was small, raw. She bit her bottom lip, confused, aching. “I do not understand…”

Without a backward glance, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, the door slamming shut in his wake.

She stood frozen, the echo of the door still vibrating in the air. Slowly, she sank into the nearest chair, still breathing hard, his coat wrapped around her like a lover’s ghost. She clutched it tightly, pulling the lapels to her chest, trying to slow the frantic rhythm of her heart.

What had just happened?

And why, oh why, was he playing with her like this?

Did he want her?

Because if he did… why was he trying so desperately not to?