From Duke till Dawn: 2018’s most scandalous Regency read. Eva Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ a safe distance between them. She stayed where she was, the air thick with hunger, the scent of him all around her.

      He opened his mouth to speak.

      She interrupted. “Is this the part where you apologize for insulting me like that?” Her voice sounded breathless. “Because if you do, I may truly slap you.”

      “Gentlemen don’t kiss ladies without express permission.” His own voice was a dark rumble, going against the politeness of his words. “I behaved like a rogue.”

      The word ladies almost made her laugh. She was no lady—but he didn’t know that. And she preferred his rogue’s kiss instead of the well-mannered, bloodless kiss from a gentleman.

      “Then we’re both scoundrels,” she said, continuing to fight for breath. She sounded much calmer than she felt. Her mind and her body shouted for more. More of him. More of the dream he offered.

      She tried to take a step back, but had nowhere to go, the balustrade pressing into her spine.

      “Never say such a thing about yourself,” he growled.

      “Let’s both accept responsibility,” she said with more confidence than she had, “and agree that it will never occur again.” If it did, what came next would be certain. She’d throw herself into his bed and never want to leave. And sooner or later, the truth about who she truly was would surface. He would learn that she was no widow, there was no villainous cousin, that she was nothing she’d claimed to be. It would be a complete disaster. And the heartbreak that would surely follow would devastate her.

      His jaw flexed, as it always did when he was angry. Yet she knew his anger was entirely for himself. No matter what she said to him, or how she had reacted to his kiss, he’d still believe that he’d behaved like a beast, in a way utterly unbecoming to a duke.

      The sudden desire to muss his hair and tear open his clothes grabbed her. She wanted to see him completely naked, watch him lose his treasured self-control. He’d come very close when they’d had their one night together. He’d pinned her hands to the bed—to her excitement—but had released her almost at once, as if afraid of crushing them both with his need. His touch had been careful, almost humble, verging on too gentle . . . though she’d seen fierce desire in his gaze and the flare of his nostrils. Even then, he’d kept part of himself back, as if afraid of hurting her with the full force of his hungers.

      It had been just one night with him, yet she still felt every part of it, the memory never fading.

      Now he seemed close to letting slip the tether that bound his urges. His words were barely more than growls, and his chest rose and fell with hard-drawn breath.

      “But you need to leave,” she concluded. “Now.”

      He didn’t move. “I want to see you again.”

      She exhaled, and glanced away. Shards of invisible hurt stabbed themselves into her chest. “That would be ill-advised.” Turning back to face him, she added, “Women on the margins don’t have much reputation. What little remains of mine would be obliterated by your continued presence. People would see us. They’d know we had been lovers. I’d be ruined.”

      It wasn’t a fair thing to say, striking him just where he was most vulnerable—her respectability. But in the world where Mrs. Cassandra Blair was an upright, well-bred widow, she spoke the truth.

      A shadow crossed his face, painful and fierce. But he quickly ruled his feelings and was in control of himself once more.

      “You’re right,” he said. “We cannot see each other again.”

      How she hated hearing him say those words, even if they were the truth. Feeling like a rusted machine, she held out her hand. To her aggravation and fear, her fingers trembled. “Shall we part as friends?”

      “I’m always your friend, Cassandra.” His hand engulfed hers. Vulnerability flickered through her. He could crush her easily. “If you ever have need—please find me.”

      A hard ache formed in her throat, and she found herself blinking furiously.

      “I will,” she said, with no plan of ever doing so.

      Instead of kissing her knuckles, he released her quickly, as if holding her too long would make him act wildly. He took a step back. Then another.

      Her chest hurt. Everything hurt.

      “Goodbye, Cassandra,” he said lowly.

      And then he was gone.

      She whirled around to stare blindly at the dark garden. A jagged throb clenched in her chest, and her throat burned.

      Swindling was the only life she knew. Though she’d been tempted to find more honest work in the two years since Cheltenham, she had no skill in any trade other than running schemes. The few times she’d applied to shops, the proprietors had stared at her with hard, cutting gazes, and demanded references. Once, to work at a bookshop, she had fabricated a letter of character, but it had all fallen apart when she’d been quizzed thoroughly on her knowledge of authors and their works. The shop owner sneered with contempt as she’d slunk out.

      If she had the capital to start her own business, that humiliation wouldn’t be repeated. No one would deride her or snicker.

      But to make that dream happen, she couldn’t go after Alex. She had to stay here.

      She ground her knuckles into her closed eyes, forcing back anything that resembled a tear.

      “Move forward,” she whispered to herself. “Always forward.”

      But that didn’t sound as good as it once had.

      His heart still thundering from his hard morning ride, Alex stood in the stables behind his home, with Sirocco tethered to an iron ring set in the stone wall. The horse’s velvety sides glistened as Alex sponged cold water over its sweat-coated body. He’d already walked Sirocco at a steady, slow pace for several minutes after they had finished their ride. The horse needed further cooling, however. And while the job might be more suited to one of the stable hands rather than the master of the house, Alex took some soothing comfort from the routine.

      Anything was better than brooding and stewing over last night. Reliving the kiss again and again until he fairly throbbed with wanting. But he couldn’t stop the bitter taste of Cassandra’s definitive dismissal. Yet another woman showing him the door.

      The sting of Lady Emmeline’s rejection was nothing compared to what he experienced now. Sharp agony pierced him when he recalled the feel of Cassandra’s lips against his, her body lithe and snug to his own. The bright intelligence and dignity in her gaze. She could coax a smile from him, too, when even his closest friends accused him of being overly somber, exceedingly dignified.

      That gravity vanished whenever he was around Cassandra. He’d kissed her on the terrace of a gaming hell—hardly the actions of a gentleman.

      He didn’t miss his poise. He only wanted her. Wanted, and couldn’t have.

      He ran a wet, cold sponge along Sirocco’s neck, over the horse’s back and down its flanks. The animal snorted, dancing slightly, but it held itself mostly still, happy to be cooling off.

      Alex СКАЧАТЬ