The footsteps faded at last, the voices receding. Still James kept her pinned, his fingers stroking lazily but firmly, his manhood pressing insistently against her.
“James,” she gasped when he finally moved his hand from her mouth. “We have to stop.”
“Not yet,” he growled. “Not until you remember who you belong to. Not until you come on my fingers, right here, like the Duke’s little secret.”
Her entire body shuddered, torn between panic and surrender, shame and need.I should pull away. I should stop this.But instead she arched back, helpless, caught between his hand and his body, her breath coming in frantic, broken gasps.
“Not until you shatter for me, here in my arms,” James murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her ear, his voice low and rough.
Catherine trembled.I cannot… heaven help me, I cannot.And yet she leaned back into him, unable to resist the heat of his body pressing so intimately against hers. His hand slid higher, slipping beneath her gown, fingers grazing bare skin again until they found her most sensitive place. She gasped, her knees nearly giving way.
“James,” she whispered, scandal and need warring in her voice. “We cannot...”
“We can,” he interrupted, his tone iron. “And we shall. You are trembling for me, Catherine. Do not deny it. I have dreamed of this for months, and I will not be denied a moment longer.”
His hand moved with devastating certainty, stroking her with a rhythm that robbed her of speech. Her gloved fingers clutched at the polished desk behind her, her body arching helplessly as wave upon wave of sensation crashed through her.This is madness. Absolute madness. And yet—oh, how I have longed for him.
“You are mine,” he said hoarsely, his mouth descending to claim hers again. “Only mine. No other man will ever touch you so. No other man could.”
The words undid her as surely as his touch. Her breath broke, her body convulsed, pleasure shattering through her with shocking force. She clung to him, muffling her cry against his shoulder, her body yielding utterly as he guided her through the storm.
When at last the tremors subsided, she sagged against him, spent and shaken. James held her close, his face pressed to her hair, his chest heaving as though he too had been undone.
“My Catherine,” he whispered reverently, though his voice still carried the edge of hunger barely leashed. “Do you know what you do to me? I could wait a hundred lifetimes and it would never lessen. You are in my blood, in my soul. And when you are my wife…” His hand still lingered at her waist, histhumb stroking absently. “When you are my wife, I shall take you without restraint, and you will know the full measure of my devotion.”
Catherine’s heart thundered. Her body still quivered from the intensity of his touch, her cheeks burning with the knowledge of what they had just risked. And yet, beneath the shame, beneath the fear, there was a fierce joy.
Three weeks. Heaven preserve me, how am I to endure three weeks more?
"I know." James rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "Three weeks?"
"Three weeks."
"You're going to kill me."
"You'll survive."
"Barely." He straightened her gown with gentle hands, fixed her hair as best he could. "You should go first. I need... a moment."
Catherine understood, could see the evidence of his arousal straining against his evening trousers. "I love you," she said softly.
"I love you too. Desperately. Now go, before I do something that gets us both thoroughly ruined."
She left, slipping back into the ballroom where her aunt immediately descended upon her.
"Where have you been? Everyone's looking for you!"
"I needed air."
Vivienne's eyes narrowed, taking in Catherine's slightly mussed appearance. "Air. Of course. Well, come along. We should go. You've had quite enough excitement for one evening."
Chapter 14
"Your mother is here."
Four words that could strike terror into the heart of any young woman, but particularly one who'd just spent the morning being fitted for a wedding dress that cost more than most people's annual income.
Catherine stood frozen in the doorway of her aunt's morning room, still wearing her pelisse from the trip to Madame Delacroix's. Her aunt Vivienne stood by the window, her usually cheerful face drawn with tension.
