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

“Try,” she urged him. “For me,” she could not resist adding.

“How can I deny you?” he asked playfully.

“Or risk my wrath,” she teased.

“Watch me tremble.” He held up his rock-steady hand.

She pushed his hand away. “Mocking a lady is poor form, Your Grace.”

“Very well,” he allowed. “I’ll go back inside.”

Her heart squeezed tightly. This was it. The last time they would see each other. She thought she understood pain, but it kept surprising her with its depth, its tenacity.

“Before I do . . .” Alex continued, “forgive me, but I cannot stop myself.”

“Forgive you for—?”

Before she could finish her sentence, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_25e4d4d3-efe3-5eaf-aa52-8e7e93426977)

Cassandra couldn’t move. Her thoughts halted in place, too. For a moment, she could only stand frozen with shock as Alex kissed her. The sane part of her mind fizzled like water on a candle, until it burned away. Because her body knew just what to do, and what it wanted. Need and hope and happiness swelled within her, until she felt she would burst with the press of emotions.

It had been so long. Too long.

He kissed her with the hunger of a man long denied. She echoed his need with her own, their mouths hot and open and searching.

She pressed close to the unyielding span of his body, curving into him, finding all the places where they fit. Her fingers wove through the thick silk of his hair, angling his head to give her better entry to his demanding, velvety lips. He made a low, animal sound as she deepened the kiss, his hands fitting to her waist and urging her closer still. No more decorous duke. He was a man letting his carnal self go free, a self that demanded to be known.

This is a mistake. A bloody mistake. It opened the dam of her own wants and desires. She wanted him, in every way—his soul, his body. His proud, honorable heart. She wanted him so much it made her eyes burn. So much that she wanted to say to hell with the gambling and Martin and money and the promise of a secure future, to simply sink into the storm of passion that couldn’t be held back or refused.

They continued to kiss, even as he walked her back into the deeper darkness of the balcony. She followed his lead.

Dreams long denied swirled to the surface. He could carry her away, and they would be together, fully together in every way. Her past would mean nothing. The future didn’t matter. They would revel in the now.

Yet Alex was a complication she couldn’t allow. Everything he made her feel threw obstacles in her path.

She couldn’t make herself break away. She kissed him hotly, giving in to desire and fantasy. Just this once, let me have what I truly want.

He was the one to pull back, his chest heaving, his gaze sharp and fierce. Slowly, his hands slid away from her waist, leaving her aching with need.

She lowered her hands from where they cupped his head. But she didn’t move to put 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.