She’d tasted like heat and defiance. Her skin had been warm beneath his palm, her breath shallow when he leaned in. The sound she made—God, that little catch in her throat—haunted him. It had left him aching, half-mad, and utterly adrift in the aftermath.
He’d pulled away before it went further, but only just.
And he had wanted to go further.
He had stopped himself—by sheer force of will—so that he wouldn’t.
“—however, the remaining debt from your late father’s dealings has yet to be cleared, and now that the engagement announcement has been published, it is likely your creditors will grow bolder, should they suspect the match is a solution to financial strain.”
Norman’s spine straightened at that. That sentence landed.
“They won’t,” he said evenly. “The match is legitimate. She has nothing to do with this.”
Wrenley tilted his head. “Of course. I meant no offense. Only that Katherine’s family?—”
“Miss McGowan,” Norman corrected him.
Wrenley blinked. “Yes, of course. Miss McGowan.”
Norman waved a hand. “Continue.”
The man resumed his monologue about liabilities and estates, but Norman barely heard a word of it. His thoughts were too loud. They raced around Kitty’s laugh, her scent, the impossible softness of her mouth.
It was the softness that undid him. It shouldn’t have surprised him—he had noticed her lips before, curved and plush and often pressed together in some expression of wry amusement—but he hadn’t expected them tofeellike that.
He hadn’t expected to want to keep kissing her.
And when her hands had caught his shoulders—when she’d leaned into him, not away—Norman had felt the rest of his self-control fray like a thread pulled loose.
What disturbed him more than the desire, though, was the anticipation.
He wanted to see her again.
He wanted to see what she would do next.
And that was dangerous.
You’re supposed to be in control, Egerton.
He refocused just in time to hear Wrenley say, “—and the matter of the engagement party must be addressed. Have you finalized a date?”
Norman grimaced. “A week from Sunday.”
Wrenley’s brows lifted. “So soon?”
“The invitations were sent yesterday. It’s meant to be modest.”
The solicitor didn’t reply, though his expression did. Modest by Wrenley’s standards still meant crystal and fine silver.
Kitty was proving to be an unforeseen complication.
Not just because she was clever, and not just because she was unpredictable.
But because she’d slipped past his defenses when he wasn’t looking. Because something in the way she looked at him—when she wasn’t teasing or deflecting—made him feel like shesawhim.
Not the duke, not the title or the perceived wealth he was supposed to have, but the man beneath it.
And worse—he wasn’t sure he minded.
