“I have it,” he said, his voice low. “It’s all right.”
The air between them thickened once more, as if oxygen itself had been replaced by the sheer weight of his presence and she was breathing him in. His hand held her with a steady grip that anchored her to the floorboards, for without it she surely would have floated away. She looked up then and found him staring at her, his face inches from hers. In the flickering, low-burning light of the kitchen, his eyes were as dark as pine trees. Beneath his gaze lay something raw and predatory. Something hungry.
I should pull away,Eliza told herself, even as she felt herself leaning imperceptibly closer.I should say something witty, something to break this spell. But my tongue is useless.
Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic bird trapped in its cage. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint, intoxicating scent of pine and brandy wrapping around her. The world outside ceased to exist.
“Your Grace,” she whispered, the title sounding less like a formality and more like a prayer she did not know the answer to.
He tightened his grip just a fraction, his eyes darkening until the pupils swallowed the green altogether. She prayed he was Hades and he would drag her down, have his way with her, whatever that meant. She knew his reputation and yet, he didn’t move with the practiced, efficient speed of a rake. Instead, he began to lean in with an agonizing slowness. He closed the distance by millimeters, giving her every second to retreat, every breath to find her voice and stop him.
But Eliza stayed. She watched his lashes cast long shadows over his beard, the tension stretching between them so tight she thought she might snap. And then…
He kissed her.
His warm, soft lips caressed hers, tentative and almost as though he was giving her time to pull away. But she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t. She leaned into him, her eyes fluttering closed, and the kiss deepened.
She pursed her lips and kissed him hard, tugging on his full bottom lip and savoring the taste of sweet liquor. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring and searching. Her hands found his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though she might fall without him.
They began to kiss feverishly, mouths connecting fluidly as they alternated between pecks, reverent licks, and hungry tugs. Itwas everything she’d never let herself imagine and yet couldn’t fathom until this moment.
Heat and tenderness and a hunger that made her dizzy pooled between her legs as she arched into him. He kissed her deeper then, like she was precious, like she mattered, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do exactly this.
Eliza melted into him, all her carefully constructed walls crumbling. There were no secrets, no pasts, just this moment. She wasn’t a runaway. Wasn’t a liar. Wasn’t hiding. She was just a woman, being kissed by the most handsome man she could have ever dreamed of, as if conjured from a story book of her own imagination. A man who made her feel alive.
His lips moved to her jaw, then her neck, where he moaned into her. Eliza gasped as the vibration of his deep voice on her tender skin, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. He, in turn, pulled her impossibly closer, and she could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
“Ellie,” he murmured against her skin, and the sound of her false name on his lips undid her as reality crashed back in.
Not her real name. And in this reality, she was just a maid in his household. A lowly servant. A woman who could lose everything if this went any further.
Eliza pulled back abruptly, her breath coming in gasps as she clutched her shawl around her shoulders.
The Duke let her go immediately, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m sorry?—”
“No.” Eliza stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. “No, I can’t… We can’t…” she stammered.
“I crossed a line.” The Duke’s voice was rough as he ran a hand through his beard. “I shouldn’t have…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Eliza said as her voice shook. “We should both forget this ever happened. It’s… it is for the best, Your Grace.”
He looked like he wanted to argue perhaps, but after a moment, he nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Very well.” He stepped back, putting more distance between them.
“I’ll clean this up,” Eliza said, not meeting his eyes.
He hesitated, then nodded slightly. “All right. Goodnight, Miss Graham.”
“Goodnight, Your Grace.”
He left, his footsteps echoing down the corridor in time with her breaking heart. Eliza stood alone in the kitchen, her lips still tingling from his kiss. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and tried not to cry.
What have I done?
What have we done?
