Page 153 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

She looked down at their joined hands before meeting his eyes again. “I think you already have.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. Outside, dusk deepened beyond the windows while candles flickered softly between them. For the first time in weeks, Jane realized she was not rushing through a meal.

She was simply sharing it. And somehow, with Hector across the table smiling at her over a glass of wine, that ordinary moment felt extraordinary.

After dinner, Hector took her by the hand and led her upstairs to her room. Jane’s knees shook as she followed him, counting each tread on the stairs, a ridiculous stalling, but it kept her feet moving. She had the feeling that something more extraordinary than she had experienced earlier was coming.

Upstairs, her room was smaller and colder than she’d left it, the window cracked to bleed the heat. All Jane felt, though, was the flush of desire. He went straight to the bed, pulling her down to sit with him on the luxurious mattress. His hand found her knee beneath her dress. His thumb traced her leg up to the apex of her thighs. She shivered, unsure if it was the chill or him.

“Jane.”

He said her name in a way no one else managed, like he’d invented it, like it was a secret. His lips grazed her ear, then moved down, slow and deliberate. The room shrank around them, her chest ballooning with desire so pure it almost felt good.

He cupped her jaw and guided her mouth to his. His lips were dry, his breath sweet with the wine from dinner. Her mind went blank except for the pressure of his hand on her most private area as he stroked her wetness, kissing her deeply at the same time.

He undressed her slowly. Once she was naked before him, he pressed her gently back onto the bed, his mouth suddenly everywhere, or so it felt. His tongue circled her nipple, flicking it gently before moving on to her belly. Then ever lower. When his mouth reached her pussy again, her breath caught in anticipation.

“Hector,” she whispered.

He looked up at her with a wicked grin before lowering his mouth, making her gasp. She brushed his collarbone with her thumb, then tried to memorize the shape of him, the heat of his skin, anything that would make this a memory worth keeping.

She gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles gasping white, and rode out the waves of whatever this was, this new and private humiliation. It lasted longer than she expected, or maybe time did tricks in the close air of her room, stretching and snapping back, the way her own body did under his hands. She was nearly at the peak again when he pulled away.

He kissed the hollow at her hip, the soft flesh above her knee, everywhere but the places she expected. She whimpered in protest, but then he undressed quickly. She admired his lean, muscled body as he positioned himself between her thighs.

When he slid into her, there was a moment of discomfort, but her body seemed to expand to accept him. At first he moved slowly, but once he seemed assured that he wasn’t hurting her, he began to move faster.

The friction built so fast, Jane almost couldn’t accept that it was happening. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him further inside. Her climax came suddenly, causing her to cry out.

Hector slid out of her and came onto the spread beside her. Jane noticed, but did not think anything of it. Her body thrummed from the release. Hector drew her into his arms, and held her until she fell asleep.

On the third morning of their marriage, Jane found Hector exactly where she expected him to be. In the library.

Sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long golden beams across shelves lined with leather-bound books. Hector stood beside his desk, reading a stack of correspondence with a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. His brow was furrowed in concentration, one hand resting against the polished wood as he read another letter.

Jane paused in the doorway. Marriage suited him.

Or perhaps it was simply that she was seeing more of the man beneath the title now. Away from crowded ballrooms and dangerous alleys, he seemed more at ease. Not carefree—never that—but quieter somehow.

She leaned lightly against the doorframe, content to watch him for another moment.

Without lifting his eyes from the page, he spoke. “If you continue staring at me, I shall begin charging admission.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed the moment you entered.”

She crossed the room slowly. “You never looked up.”

“I don’t need to.” Only then did he fold the letter and meet her gaze. “I know the sound of your footsteps.”

Her smile softened. “Already?”

“They’re lighter than everyone else’s.”

Warmth spread through her chest. “Good morning.”

He rounded the desk and stopped before her. “Good morning, my wife.”