A Good Duke Is Hard to Find by Christina Britton

Author:Christina Britton
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-06-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

The house was quiet, everyone in bed, when Peter made his way on bare feet to Lenora’s room.

He shouldn’t go to her. He knew that as surely as he knew the sun would rise on the morrow, bringing him one day closer to leaving the Isle for good. Yet he also knew that if he didn’t see Lenora this instant, to verify with his own eyes that she was well and safe, he would go mad.

He stopped before her door. Everything was silent within. Perhaps she was sleeping. He should go back to his bed and try to fall asleep.

His toes curled in the plush runner, his entire body leaning toward the wooden panel as if it held all the answers to life. And perhaps it did. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked lightly.

The door opened almost immediately. As if she’d been waiting on the other side, as if she’d expected him.

“Peter,” she breathed.

It was as natural as breathing to take her in his arms, to claim her lips with his own. Her slender arms came about his neck, her fingers grasping greedily to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his shirt. Heaven. She was absolute heaven in his embrace. Berries and sunshine and sweetness filled him. He walked her back into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.

“I had to see you,” he murmured into her mouth. “I had to make sure you were well.”

An understatement. These last hours, after they had whisked Lenora from him, closing her up in her rooms, had been the longest in his life. He’d paced the floor, sick with worry. Had he been too late? Had his decision to carry her through the pouring rain been the right one? Or had he merely made certain she would fall ill? The urge to see her, to make certain she was safe, had been more than a need; it had been a compulsion.

Now she was in his arms, safe and dry. And he couldn’t stop touching her. He ran his hands down her back, over her hips, up her sides until his thumbs brushed the gentle swell of her breasts. She wore only a nightgown, a thin cotton affair. There were no layers upon layers of clothing, no stays to keep his hands from exploring every delectable inch of her.

“I was hoping you would come,” she whispered, running her lips along his cheek to his ear.

“Were you?” He pulled back, looked down into her face. The fire had been banked, the faint orange embers sending barely enough light to where they stood half the room away. Yet the warmth, the hunger in her gaze, was as clear as if a thousand candles burned bright.

His breath caught in his throat. He had to leave before he did something they both regretted. “I’ll let you rest,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You need to sleep.”

Her hands came up to cradle his face when he would have released her. She swayed against him, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest.

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