Page 34 of The Big Bad Duke

“Oh.”

Gideon grimaced, immediately regretting his harsh tone. He realized there had been no better recourse for a young girl than to marry rather than be left alone at such a tender age. And she seemed to have married well—at least in a financial sense—though he was beginning to suspect that wealth had provided cold comfort.

“Leila,” he began, then stopped, running a restless hand through his hair. “That night… when you appeared in my bedchamber… I hope I didn’t offend you with my proposition.”

“A proposition?” she asked, finally turning to look at him, confusion flickering across her features.

“A question,” he corrected, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

“About my affairs,” she supplied, stepping closer to him.

“Yes.” The admission was barely audible. “I know you’ll leave soon,” he continued, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“I will,” she confirmed, her voice steady despite the tremor he could see in her hands.

“And it would be easy to have a brief liaison.”

“Brief, yes,” she repeated in a breathless whisper.

“And God knows I long for this…” The confession tore violently from his chest.

“I do too,” she whispered, and the admission nearly brought him to his knees.

She longed for him—just as he did for her.

He raised his hand and cupped her cheek, warmth spreading from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch like a cat.

A panther.

His little panther.

He swallowed. “Your marriage is just in name only,” he reasoned with himself.

She opened her eyes and licked her lips. “It is.”

“I still don’t feel right pursuing a married woman,” he said, though every fiber of his being screamed in protest.

She took a step back, the loss of her warmth hitting him like a physical blow. He curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand.

She turned away, her shoulders sagging slightly, and he immediately wished he could take back his words.

She retrieved something from the pocket of her gown and brought it to her face.

A handkerchief?

Was she crying?

“No matter how much I want to,” he continued desperately, “or how much our bodies seem to gravitate toward each other…”

When she turned back to him, she tilted her head slightly, her lips glimmering in the moonlight, looking absolutely enthralling. The sight of her—vulnerable yet defiant, sad yet achingly beautiful—made his breath catch in his throat.

She swallowed, the movement creating a delicate ripple in her throat, and gazed at him from beneath her lashes with an expression that made his world tilt on its axis.

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice carrying a note of resignation that cut deeper than anger ever could. “You sound like a man who’s experienced pure love and lust within marriage.”

“I have,” he said honestly, the words scraping his throat raw.

“I never will,” she replied with such quiet certainty that it broke something inside him.