“What do you truly want from me, Your Grace?” Kitty asked, fingers pausing their nervous work on her skirt pleats. His gaze left her feeling oddly exposed, as if he could see every conflicted thought beneath her careful composure.”Do you make a habit of invading ladies’ private moments, or am I uniquely privileged?”
Norman moved closer, the heaviness of his presence in the air between them. “I have come to inform you that the guests have arrived. I assumed you would be ready. You must come down.”
“Appearances can deceive,” she countered, tilting her head. “Tell me—does it trouble you at all, this performance we’re about to stage? Or is your ducal pride satisfied so long as the ton sees a docile bride on your arm?”
His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes before shuttering. “I expect precisely what we agreed upon—a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
The clinical phrasing struck like a slap. Kitty turned toward the mirror, if only to hide how her breath caught. Of course. She’d hoped for... what? Some acknowledgment of the charged moments between them? “How fortunate that we understand each other,” she said lightly, adjusting a curl at her temple. The woman in the glass looked back at her, all practiced poise and wounded eyes. “You may inform the guests I’ll descend shortly.”
His lips parted a fraction, a gleam of pleasure playing in the back of his eyes. “Is that so?” He drew nearer, their distance reducing in a way that cinched her abdominal muscles.
His nearness was a provocation, the heat of him radiating through the scant inches between them. That maddening scent—cedarwood and starched linen layered with something darker, somethingessentialto him alone—coiled around her senses.She could chart its path…the way it slithered down her spine, pooled low in her belly, turned her bones to liquid.
The injustice of it all prickled along her skin—how dare he stand there so composed while she fought this humiliating battle with her own traitorous body?
Disgusting.She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.This is how animals react.
A wager formed in her mind—one she’d win if it killed her. She wouldn’t sway into him. Wouldn’t let her lashes flutter. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how his proximity undid her.
Yet even as she made the vow, her pulse thrummed a relentless counterargument against her throat.
“Would you have me go?” he queried, his voice husky, velvety.
Kitty breathed harshly, struggling to be annoyed, struggling to recall it was nothing—nothing whatsoever but an exercise of self-control. She lifted her hand, intending to dismiss him on a flourish of her fingers, but before her wrist went up, Norman clasped it.
His grip was firm. Masterful.
She tensed.
The corner of his mouth curled into a twist that sent pain through her stomach. “What was that?” he asked, his thumb skating over the pulse on the inside of her wrist, moving so slowly, so deliberately.
Kitty swallowed, her throat dry.
Her heart thumped against his fingertips, and she saw the spark of awareness in his eyes and knew he felt it, too. He didn’t release her. Instead, his gaze fell, sweeping over her face,landing on her lips, before traveling lower—to her collarbone, to the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the tautness of her bodice.
The heat of his look lingered there before drawing its way back up again to her face.
His hand eased on her wrist, but the pressure of his touch burned long after he let her go.
“We’re late,” he murmured, the amusement still lingering in his voice.
Then, just like that, he turned and left.
Kitty stood there, pulse pounding, watching as he disappeared through the door. Her breath came quick, her skin still tingling, her stomach knotted tight with something she refused to even think about.
She exhaled in a rush, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Damn him,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.
With one final effort, she forced herself ahead, slipping into the hallway. The muted hum of voices drifted up from below, laughter and clinking glasses proclaiming the party already underway. Down the stairs, her face was sternly set, but in her mind there was a raging storm.
The house was full of guests, all eager to witness the spectacle of their engagement. She could already hear the whispering, theflattery, the pretentious good wishes. But all she could think about was the ghost of Norman’s touch, still vibrating like a whisper on her skin.
As she descended the sweeping staircase, the evening to come loomed over her like a heavy boulder.
The guests turned their heads as she walked in, their gaze following her every step, their smiles modest but their looks sharp with interest. Kitty kept her chin up, her face serene, though her pulse raced with each pace. She sensed the burden of their expectation, the silent criticism, and the unending scrutiny.
The dining room was a blur of candlelight and sophistication, the long table set with gleaming silver and crystal. Norman stood at the table’s head, his presence daunting as ever, his eyes locking with hers with a flicker of something uninterpretable. Kitty sat beside him slowly, her movements measured.
The air in Wharton Hall had grown heavy with the scent of spiced wine and candle smoke, the dining room alive with laughter and the occasional clink of a glass. Kitty sat upright at the table, her back straight, her hands gracefully clasped together in her lap, although the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
