A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. "You ask exceedingly difficult questions."
"I thought you enjoyed difficult questions."
"I usually do." His voice had softened enough for her to notice.
He pushed open her bedchamber door with one shoulder and carried her inside before setting her upon the bed. He pressed his body on top of hers. His hands held her wrists down as he issued her orders.
"You are not," he said firmly, "to wander Wexford Manor in your nightclothes again."
She blinked. She liked feeling him restraining her. They were alone. She could feel him, all of him, though the thin fabric of the nightdress. Still, her pride would not let her concede to his.
"That is your greatest concern?" she asked, tilting her head as she studied him.
"It is tonight," he replied, his gaze flicking to her mouth.
"What if I refuse?" she challenged, lifting her chin with a spark of defiance.
"I shall carry you back every single time," he said. "And bind you to this bed with my own hands."
She gasped. She could not help it. The thought of him holding her firm into the mattress every night made her pulse quicken.
"There," she said triumphantly, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You admitted it."
He looked wary, one brow lifting as he regarded her with careful suspicion.
"Admitted what?" he asked, his voice low and measured.
"You would come after me," she said softly.
"I should hope so," he replied, and the quiet certainty in his tone made her pulse flutter.
"You would not simply let me go."
Silence settled comfortably between them. Damien looked at her for a long moment. His stern expression gradually softened. Seraphine's heart beat faster beneath his steady gaze.
There it was again, that warmth she always felt whenever he looked at her with hunger.
"You should be asleep," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face.
"I could not sleep," she replied.
"I noticed," he said, one brow lifting faintly.
A faint smile touched her lips as she tilted her head.
"So you knew I was looking for you?" she asked.
"I heard from three startled footmen," Damien said, one brow lifting as a faint, reluctant amusement touched his mouth, "that the Duchess of Wexford was marching through the corridors with remarkable determination."
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She stared at him in horror. "They said that?"
"They did." Something in his expression changed. "And I will have no other man looking at what is mine."
He reached down hesitantly and brushed an escaped curl back from her face. His fingertips lingered for the briefest moment against her temple.
The gentle touch stole her breath.
"You truly frightened me," he admitted quietly. "Do not do that again."
