Romance: Regency Romance: A Lady's Powerful Duke (A Regency Romance) by Hart Matilda & Historical Deluxe

Author:Hart, Matilda & Historical Deluxe [Hart, Matilda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

He stays. He stays and everything falls away but us two.

He sits for a moment on the edge of the bed, his hand passive, held tight by mine. ‘Say something,’ I say.

He looks at me with a smile on his face, but says nothing.

‘Then kiss me again,’ I say, and he smiles.

‘You are always so in control, Alice. Such strength of will,’ he says. I pull his hand to my heart and reach up to him. He mounts the bed, kneeling. My heart is beating wildly beneath my breast, and I am as afraid now as I was on Galahad the day he nearly fell at Thatcher’s Corner the first time. But I know more than the fear what I want, and what I want is not Lord Atwater. I push through the fear, knowing – without knowing how or why – that what waits for me on the other side of fear will be worth it.

This is the Marquess I want, and he has never looked to me so fitting of his titles and honours. In fact, he looks positively regal in the firelight, and I realise how much of him I just took for granted. How his good features completely passed me by because they were always there by my side as we grew up together.

We were children together, he was always there, always older and more knowledgable, more careful. He took the place of my own better judgement, kept me from my more wilfully dangerous pursuits. But until this moment I had missed the fact that he had become a man, that we were no longer children, that he had held onto his feelings for me and I had ignored, or never noticed, my own for him.

He says I am strong, but right now I feel weak, close to fainting, and only the force that made me kneel before the keyhole drives me to pull him into me as I drop back onto my pillow. I can see whatever that force is pulling him to me as much as it is dragging me to him. We cannot stop it now, all that follows is a foregone conclusion. And I wouldn’t want to stop it, even if I could.

I am saying, ‘Kiss me, Evan,’ and he does, a long lingering kiss. As with last time. My lips part gently and I breathe him in. His lips part too and push harder against my own. He is above me now, pushing my head into the pillow, just as I imagined Clayton doing, one hand holding himself over me, the other cupping my cheek, caressing it, running through my hair, over my neck.

I feel like there is a fire burning in me, one that needs quenching, and can only be quenched by him. My hands run grip his hair, pulling him harder into the kiss. His tongue is against my teeth pushing them apart, harrying, probing, testing for weaknesses. I meet it with my own tongue, and they touch

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