Page 40 of Duke of Rath

The morning would come, but Mr. John Rose would never feel the warmth of the sun on his skin again.

With the memory still heavy in his chest, Dorian watched Mr. John Rose’s sister—his wife—lost in her work, humming softly to herself.

He wondered what would have happened if John had lived. Would he have harmed more women? Would he have saved his family, like they had hoped? With better circumstances, would Miss Patience Rose be married to another man now?

Fear and jealousy clasped at his heart. Most men would have been better for her than him, no doubt.

Most men weren’t her brother’s murderer.

His right hand ached more and more under the heat of the glove. He needed to go to his physician again. Except, the man would say the same thing. He should remove the glove and let his skin breathe. His skin was suffocating, red and swollen, irritated and now aching all the time.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t just openly show the world the physical evidence of that morning. Have people ask about it. Wonder about it.

Like his sin, it had to remain hidden.

Patience had already begun to chip away at his defenses with every sweet smile and tender caress. With her surprising ability to be an excellent duchess. She had gotten through his barriers, which terrified him in a way that no duel ever had.

Dorian clenched his jaw, his heart racing as he watched her straighten, brushing the dirt from her hands. He knew he should turn away, put an end to this foolish infatuation before it consumed him entirely.

He’d need to show up with her to London’s events: balls, soirées, dinners.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, she looked up, her blue eyes meeting his through the glass.

And he knew he no longer belonged to himself. And never would again.

But he had to keep his dark secret. No matter the cost to his soul and to his heart.

14

The next night, Patience came to him again. Honest to God, he tried to protest, alarmed at the desire in his body to feel her against him again, at how much he craved to have her under the same blanket, in the same bed.

She only brushed him off. And Titan was no help. By the scent of raw meat and the crunching of bones behind the door, he guessed she’d found a way to his loyal beast’s heart, too.

Then, to Dorian’s weak protests, she slid into the bed by his side, her small body warm and full and soft. And as she sighed and melted against him, he simply didn’t have the heart to send her away. The scent of roses in his nostrils, her skin like silk, her hair like the sun… Who could resist?

But it was the feel of her plump behind against his groin that was his downfall.

While she calmed down and was falling asleep against him, he was becoming aroused, his cock hot and hard, pressing into her flesh, so close and so forbidden.

Forbidden by his own rules.

Stupid him and stupid rules.

The first night, she had slept while he lay barely breathing, watching her serene face, hard as a rock after making her come but feeling no release himself.

The torture of feeling her body against him had him groaning in helplessness.

The second night, she was more restless, and even after half an hour she kept wriggling in his arms and against his body. His iron-hard erection prodded into her soft curves.

“What is that?” she asked innocently. “The hard thing? Do you have a stick?”

Very…very slowly, he exhaled.

“Not a stick, sweet girl.”

“What then?” she asked breathlessly.

Good Lord forgive him, was she as soaked down there as when he’d spanked her?