"Please don't break it," she whispered into the fire and closed her eyes as her chest constricted with that all too familiar pain of rejection. Benedict never said he wanted her, and it was clear that Paisley had still thought her a little girl. Fear squeezed the walls of her throat threatening to close it all together. Was he toying with her? Or did he truly enjoy their flirtation? And if he did, was it enough for him to marry her in earnest?
The flames licked into the air as if mocking her. The very flames that the Devil Duke was born out of no doubt, yet a small part of him it seemed was not the man he wanted everyone to believe he was. The more moments they had together, the closer she was to understanding the man behind all the rumors.
He was actually fun.
Invigorating.
Beautiful.
She cursed. A decision needed to be made. Her heart was already lost, her body his. So, it was without pause that Katherine decided on giving in to the very thing she as most afraid of. If he denied her, refused to repay her vulnerability with his own truth, then at least she'd have tried and would have no regrets, save the absolute horror of falling without the proof that he would be there to catch her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Erotic Dinners and the Like
The evening of the first day of the house party was upon them, and already Benedict was feeling lost.
A snowball fight? Whatever had he been thinking? Or her for that matter! Then again, he hadn't remembered a time since he was a boy that he'd laughed so hard, or felt freer.
It was her fault.
She even turned her clumsiness into a private joke between the two, smiling at him, making him feel warm inside as if her smile held the secret to the sun's rays.
The secret to the sun's rays?
And apparently, in his mad state, he was turning into a poet.
Heaven help him.
He was losing not only his sanity but also his heart. Benedict could only hope that Katherine would do something, anything to make him remember the girl she once was, not the seductive woman he currently saw.
It had taken the power of God alone to get him to stop kissing her in the snow and the strength of angels to push his feet toward the house.
He made his way down the stairs to the dining room and cursed his eyes for scanning the room in hopes of seeing Katherine.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Perplexed, he didn't even see Lord Marks until the man cleared his throat. "Say, I'm not sure I've ever seen you so distracted, your grace."
"Yes well, I…" Benedict felt off balance, as if someone had pushed him onto ice without skates. "Have an aversion to cold weather," he offered, wanting to slap himself for such a ridiculous excuse.
"Do you now?" Lord Marks looked amused, his brown eyes twinkling as he folded his arms across his chest.
"Yes." Benedict stood his ground and promptly began to sweat. He still felt odd as if something was off, perhaps the universe was trying to communicate with him that he needed to stop being a besotted fool and kissing girls who would rather fillet him alive than marry him. And then, his eyes again scanned the doors to the dining room. They opened.
His jaw slackened.
Lord Marks cleared his throat. "Close your mouth before you scare the poor thing. She is not to be the meal."
Saints alive, let her at least be the dessert then.
Katherine walked in with more grace than she ought to possess considering she had only hours ago tripped out of the carriage and started the most arousing snowball fight he had ever had the pleasure of participating in.
His eyes openly admired her form in the blue dinner dress. Had she any idea how much skin she was showing? The poor thing was going to freeze to death! Suddenly irate and irritated that she would think nothing of her health, Benedict stomped over to where she stood and grabbed her arm roughly, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow and covering it with his own. A feral growl rumbled in the back of his throat.
Yes, like a dog. He growled to show his displeasure. Was he now at odds with his body? It seemed to instinctively do things it ought not do. Poetry? Growling? Staring? Salivating? Sweating?
Cursing, he clenched her hand and gave her a tight smile. "Beautiful dress."
"Why thank you. I—"
"Where would the rest of it be? Hmm?" His eyes flickered to her breasts and then back up to her face, and to his ultimate shame, back down to her breasts where they stayed for a painfully long time until Katherine nudged him in the ribs.
"Manners, you devil." She winked.
His stomach did an odd sort of flop.
His heart increased his blood flow to all the wrong areas of anatomy, and when he made introductions to the rest of the dinner party, he felt such a stab of jealousy when Sir Constantine's gaze flew to her bosom, he thought his head would explode.
If not for Katherine being on his arm, he would have ripped the man's head off and beat him with it. But the minute he tensed, Katherine looked up through dark lashes and smiled brilliantly, striking him dumb and immobile.
"Shall we sit?" she whispered, her lips only inches from his.