Cosette was uncomfortable with the way he was raking his gaze over her, as if he could delve into her deepest secrets, but when she tried to pull back, he held firm. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me who you really are,” he whispered.
“I already told you . . .” She began, but he cut her off with a growl.
“I will gain the truth from you, one way or another.”
With a flash of his eyes that caused her to gasp, he pulled her to him with such force that she was caught off balance. She had to brace her hands on his chest, but the contact of that hard, warm body wasn’t nearly as shocking as the feel of his mouth on hers. His lips were hard and unforgiving as they ground down on hers, until they gentled slightly with an expertise that caused Cosette to respond, however unwillingly. She parted her mouth to suck in some air, feeling suddenly breathless, and unknowingly granted him greater access.
When his tongue swept inside to mate with hers, the contact was sizzling. She moaned as a surprising wetness broke out between her legs. In spite of her response, the demons of her past abruptly rose up to choke her. Cosette pushed the duke away from her at the same time she reached for the door handle, and leapt from the moving vehicle. The jump to the cobblestones temporarily jarred her, although she quickly recovered. She held her sodden dress up with one hand and pounded through the rushing water clogging the street.
The rain lashed at her viciously, but she didn’t slow down until she saw the faded sign of the workhouse. It was like a beacon in the storm, when it was often the reason for her distress. Only when she was safely within reach of the front door did she finally stop and sag against the steps. She stood there, her hair hanging down about her shoulders in a wet, scraggly mess, and her breath coming in short pants.
As she glanced at the gate, she blinked as the duke’s intimidating outline emerged from the gloom. He stood perfectly still and unruffled as if the storm didn’t even faze him. She could feel that hot stare upon her, the imprint of his mouth still tingling through her body. She gently touched her lips with her fingertips before she turned and ran inside.
Reaching her cot, she started shaking when she stripped down to her shabby bedgown. She hung up her sodden dress over a string by the wood stove in the hopes it might dry before morning, and laid down on her makeshift bed, pulling her threadbare blanket up to her chin. Most of the populace was asleep at this hour, but she was used to the crowded, sleeping unfortunate all around her. It was a more difficult task to remove the duke from her mind, even though she closed her eyes tightly against that haunting image—the one that still caused her blood to heat with awareness.
Her teeth chattered. Not only was her precious bag lost, but there was a pounding in her head that she hadn’t felt for nearly seven years, ever since she’d left the orphanage and all its bad memories behind. Since then she had been given a brief reprieve from the horrible blackouts that had plagued her since childhood, the episodes occurring only few and far between. But now, after one chance encounter with a mystifying nobleman, it seemed they were returning with a vengeance.
She held her head in agony as it began to slowly split apart in pain. She concentrated on her breathing and tried to keep the darkness at bay, knowing what would happen if she gave in to the oblivion.
