One moment, he seemed interested in her life and showed he cared for her. The next moment, he was avoiding her or reprimanding her for not magically making Percy better.
She could not sleep, even half an hour after retiring to bed. Frustrated, she got up and put on a dressing robe over her nightgown before going downstairs to the kitchen.Perhaps a glass of milk will calm my nerves enough so I can get to sleep. I will not do anyone any good if I am tired and short-tempered tomorrow.
The house was silent, the kind of silence that made every creak of wood and whisper of wind seem louder. The kitchen was litonly by the dancing fire in the hearth. A faint clatter, fork against plate, made her pause.
“Is someone there?” she called softly, peering into the shadows. She half expected a servant, but the person who stepped forward made her heartbeat catch.
Dominic.His figure emerged from the darkness, an empty plate and fork in hand. “I did not think anyone else would be awake at this hour,” he admitted, his voice low but not unkind.
“Neither did I,” she said, trying to sound casual. Her eyes fell on the plate. “Feeling peckish?”
“I had a slice of the lemon cake,” he said. “Apparently, Percy had some this afternoon and approved. My grandmother raved as well.”
Selina felt a flush of warmth. “And what didyouthink?”
His brow lifted, and he gave the faintest smile. “Better than expected.”
Her own lips curved, her heart fluttering at what she considered high praise. “I am glad you enjoyed it,” she said, stepping closer. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet… a sweet tooth is not entirely out of reach.”
He set the plate aside. “Perhaps I just like lemons. They are sour, after all.”
She giggled, reaching to flick his sleeve lightly. “I do not believe that to be true. You’re just trying to sound disinterested.”
His dark eyes met hers, flickering with something unreadable. In the dim firelight, shadows made his features sharper, almost dangerous. But she was no longer afraid. Rumors of his cold heart didn’t matter here. She knew he had a gentler side, somewhere beneath all the control and restraint, and a stubborn part of her ached to see it.
“Why are you in the kitchen so late?” he asked, his tone neutral yet probing.
“I could not sleep,” she said, shrugging. “I thought a cup of milk might help.”
“Do you usually have trouble sleeping?” His brow furrowed in genuine curiosity.
She glanced down. “Not usually. Becoming the Duchess of Greystone… It’s a lot to adjust to. Perhaps my mind simply refuses to rest.”
He studied her quietly, gaze intent enough to make her stomach flutter. There was something measuring, something searching in his look. She tried to focus on pouring her milk, but a subtle awareness prickled along her skin… he was closer than necessary.
She hadn’t noticed him step behind her until his hand rested lightly on her arm. Startled, she spun around. His eyes, dark and intense, held hers as he bent slightly, wiping a drop of milk from the corner of her mouth.
The contact was shocking. Selina inhaled sharply, a small, unintended whisper escaping her lips. Dominic’s expression changed in an instant; desire flaring, dark and unrestrained.
“You… you shouldn’t—” she began, but her words faltered as he stepped closer.
“Shouldn’t what?” he murmured, his lips hovering near hers, a teasing smirk playing on his features.
“You… this,” she said breathlessly, her hand brushing against his chest, feeling warmth radiating under her robe.
He chuckled softly, low and dangerous. “This seems… inevitable.” His hands rested on her waist, firm yet gentle. She felt the strength behind them, yet the tenderness made her knees weak.
He bent closer, his lips grazing hers in a slow, deliberate tease. She shivered, her breath catching as the warmth of his mouth pressed against hers. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she felt the hard line of his chest beneath her fingers.
Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as a low groan escaped him, vibrating against her lips. Every brush of his lips against hers sent sparks of heat curling through her, a delicious, almost painful longing that made her knees weaken.
He traced one hand up her back, fingertips gliding along the curve of her spine, and she gasped at the intimacy of it. His other hand rested at her hip, thumb brushing teasingly over the soft fabric of her nightgown, making her pulse thrum.
When his tongue gently swept over hers, she moaned softly, heart racing as heat pooled low in her belly. His hands were insistent, exploring, yet careful, as if memorizing every inch of her. His fingers caressed her arms before he cupped the back of her neck with his warm hand.
His other hand continued to explore her body, gently touching her back, her arm, and her waist. His fingers left trails of fire on her skin that had her yearning for more. The subtle scent of him, the weight of his body against hers, the way he held her without pressing too hard. It was intoxicating.
Her own body pressed closer, craving more, trembling against him, every nerve alive. Her chest brushed against his own, and she became very aware of how muscular and strong he was. She wanted to run her hands down his chest, memorizing his muscles with her fingertips, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she rested her hands on his hips as she lost herself in his touch.
