Page 46 of To Steal a Duchess

He seemed not to hear her words, or perhaps he simply could not process them past the thunder of his own heart.

With a harsh, ragged exhale, he pulled her abruptly into his arms.

Eloise caught her breath as he held her crushed against his chest. She could feel the hard, rapid beat of his heart against her ribs, the tension locked in his shoulders, the desperate strength in the arms wrapped around her. She rested her chin against his shoulder, still stunned by the sheer magnitude of his fear.

Slowly, his hold loosened, and he pulled back just enough to look at her.

Their faces remained inches apart, his warm breath fanning across her cheeks. The wild, frenzied look in his gaze had settled into something deeply bruised, vulnerable.

“Promise me,” he whispered, his voice trembling on the edge of a plea. “Promise me you will never come here again.”

Eloise stared at him, taken aback. She had never seen Dorian frightened—never known him to look at her as though the world might shatter if he let her go. The weight of his terror settled heavily in her own chest, leaving no room for argument.

“I promise,” she breathed softly, caught entirely in the spell of his intensity. “I won’t come here again.”

A shuddering breath left him at her word. His hands slid gently up the length of her neck, his fingers resting along her jawline until he was cupping her face with aching tenderness.

“Good. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something… If you…” he muttered. “Not you.”

His eyes searched hers one last time, frenzied and tender, and then⁠—

He kissed her.

When Dorian kissed her this time, it was no gentle, chaste thing. His mouth pressed to hers, every inch of that desperation evident, and his hands fell to her waist. Eloise had been caught in so much confusion of her own, needing him, wanting his company, and in her own bewilderment, she grasped his face, her fingernails trailing through his beard.

A small noise came from her, and it seemed to make Dorian snap. He made a rough, low noise of his own as he walked her backward until she hit one of those countertops.

She didn’t know how it had escalated, but she did not want it to stop. She was drowning in this display of need, and she kept murmuring I am fine, I am all right, between kisses, as Dorian let his torn breath wash over her before he claimed her mouth again.

His tongue parted her lips, and Eloise gave a soft moan as she opened up to him.

His fingers bunched her skirts, almost lifting them to her shins, but she still did not stop him. She did not want to, not when the heat of his mouth and hands had her dizzy with a yearning she had not known existed.

Eloise groaned softly as she dared to let her tongue sweep against Dorian’s, giving in to the closeness she had wanted.

She had never predicted it would be in this way, however.

He pressed his body to hers, his hands falling back to the countertop behind them, cornering her against it. His hips brushed against hers, and a low noise sounded from him once more. One hand cupped her jaw, the other still braced on the countertop. He leaned into her, and his hand slipped past her body, and something clattered to the floor.

At the sound of the crash, Dorian tore away from her wildly.

His eyes were as wide as earlier, but less panicked and more lost now. He gazed at her, something deeper swirling in those storm-gray eyes.

“Dorian—”

She barely got her words together before he retreated, clearing his throat.

“Dorian.”

“We should return to the house,” he said sharply. “Come, Duchess.”

Without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Eloise could only take a moment longer to collect herself and to look around the space before she hurried after him, gathering her shoes and stockings. She had no time to redress them, not before she followed Dorian back to Oldcliff Hall.

Chapter Twelve

Dorian paced back and forth throughout his bedroom, his mind unraveling. Eloise’s face rang in his mind’s eye, and the feel of her mouth, the softness of her curves—the very curves he had disastrously noticed upon meeting her, and had chosen her wedding gown based off of—could not stop repeating in his head.