He moved across the chamber and dropped in a wingback chair before the fireplace with a heavy groan. As though nothing untoward had happened.
He lifted a hand to his face, lightly probing his swollen jaw. She felt a twinge of pity that she quickly squashed. He would not have her sympathy. Not now when she was angry with him.
She stalked toward him, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. He dragged a hand through his hair, wincing.
That softened her somewhat. Slightly. Evidence of him in pain deflated some of her ire.
She was glad he wasn’t dead, after all. Sighing, she dropped her arms and inched closer. Closer to him. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice so low it was practically a whisper.
“Did you think I’d leave you here?”
“Why not? They wouldn’t harm me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“That’s right.” She snorted. “Trust no one.”
He pointed at himself. “Have you seen me? They left me for dead.”
“Aye, you for dead. Not me,” she retorted.
“Oh, that’s splendid. As long as they didn’t wound you they are trustworthy.” He glared at her and pushed to his feet. “And you know you would be safe here? With absolute certainty?”
“Nothing is certain in life. I don’t know my fate with you . . . as your . . . whatever I am . . .” She stared at him, waiting, hoping he would fill in that silence so she could at least know what he was thinking and then she would have some indication as to what was happening here. This was when he would explain that he did not really consider them married—that he had just said that to appease the crowd downstairs.
Except he didn’t do that.
“There’s no point arguing about this. You’re my wife. You heard me say it. They know that now.” He shrugged. “And apparently they respect it.”
“Stop saying that,” she hissed.
“What?”
“That I’m your wife!” she exploded. “You know I am not.”
He pushed to his feet. “You are my wife!”
His claim sparked something inside her. Fear. Hope. And that hope only made the fear twist tighter because she had no business feeling such a way. There was nothing to hope for with this man. They had no future.
“I’ve got the bill of sale to prove it.” His words dropped like heavy rocks inside her, settling in the pit of her stomach.
Fury spiked through her. Fury at this world that deemed her property. Fury at he who would remind her of that and make her feel suddenly lower than she did when the auctioneer was shouting her attributes to a frothing crowd.
“No!” She slapped both hands against his chest and shoved. Hard. Hard enough to sting the palms of her hands. Hard enough to force him back a step. “Stop saying that. From the very beginning you’ve insisted we are not that. I’ve never been that to you! I’m simply your burden!” Her chest lifted with savage sobbing breaths. “I never will be your wife.”
The words tore from her like a bandage being ripped free. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t look away from his face. A muscle pulsed to life in his jaw. He looked fierce—like some warrior walking into battle . . . or emerging from it. All that was missing was his sword.
Too late she realized her mistake. She was still touching him. Her hands were still on his chest. His heart beat hard and fierce under her fingers.
She’d forgotten herself and laid hands on him.
She forgot who she was. A simple commoner without a penny to her name. And, more importantly, she forgot who he was. A duke moons above her.
There was no sound save the crash of their breaths filling the space between them. She slid back a step, but his hand shot out, looping around the back of her neck, hauling her close until all of her pushed up against the longer length of him.
It was like being pressed up against a living, breathing wall. A wall radiating its own heat. Their breaths collided, mingled. Their gazes devoured each other.
Then he broke. He moved. His head swooped down, his mouth claiming her own.
She couldn’t move. Her hands were trapped between their bodies. His other arm stole around her, pulling her in tight, wrapping her up in him. It was impossible to break loose. Not that she wanted to. The moment his lips touched hers, she was lost.
His kiss was demanding, punishing and yet seductive. Her head swam as his mouth softened against her lips, coaxing. His fingers delved into her hair, fisting in the heavy mass and pulling her head back, better angling her mouth.
Her lips parted on a gasp, and his tongue slid along her bottom lip. Her blood sang, everything in her going soft. She opened her mouth wider, inviting him in. Their tongues touched and it felt like a bolt of lightning shot through her.
All hesitation fled. She leaned forward, diving into the kiss, into him like he was the air she so needed for survival.
He growled, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening in her hair. He took. He claimed, and that only made need pulse more swiftly inside her. Made her need him more.
She struggled to free her hands from between them, so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and climb inside him. There was no such thing as too close. No such thing as too much or too far. No such thing as impossible.
It was the longest kiss of her life. Not that she’d had many. Only chaste ones with Yardley and her recent ones with him . . . Marcus. She didn’t know that a kiss could make her lips all tingly and numb. Her entire being ended and began where his mouth melded with hers. Sensation flooded every nerve in her body
Minutes ago there had been fury and now there was this. Desire. Want. Fury of another manner.
A twisting ache started at her core and spread like wildfire.
He broke away, one hand in her hair, an arm locked around her waist.
He looked down at her with blazing eyes.
She moistened her tingling lips. Her fingers flew there, touching the tender flesh. His eyes tracked the movement of her tongue. The dark blue of his eyes went darker, almost black.
She waited expectantly. She knew what would come next. He would pull away and put a stop to this. That’s what he did the previous times.
Only that didn’t happen.
His dark head swooped in and kissed her again. He picked her up in a sudden move and brought her body flush against his. He carried her . . . somewhere. She couldn’t see and she didn’t care. Her head spun, eyes closed as his mouth moved on hers. She opened her mouth wider and increased the fervency of their kiss, her tongue stroking and tasting his.
A growl rumbled up from his chest, vibrating into her. The sound made her feel desired. Wanted by this man with his too beautiful face and piercing dark eyes. A duke! She shoved that thought away. She didn’t want to think about that right now.
He lowered her on the bed, following her down. He came over her, pushing the red material of her dress up to her hips so that her legs were bared and freed. He sat back and eyed her as he peeled her stockings off her legs, slow inch by slow inch, tossing each one aside. Finished, he paused to stare down at her with his relentless gaze. She fidgeted, her dress rustling around her.
“I should have been the one to put you in a fine dress.”
She glanced down at the ruby fabric. He touched the edge of her bodice, pinching the fabric between his fingers as though testing the texture. “This makes your eyes glow.”
She wanted to tell him the dress had nothing to do with making her eyes glow—that it was him. It was what he did to her. Instead, her hands went to the laces at the front of the dress. Loosening the ribbons with shaky fingers, she watched him under heavy lids.
He stilled, watching her fingers work. She loosened them enough so that her bodice gaped open, exposing her shift—along with the top swells of her breasts.