Page 64 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

He searched her open stare, certain he’d heard her incorrectly.

“That cannot be—”

“Do you wish me to leave, Your Grace?” she asked, her blue eyes averting with hesitation.

How could Rowan admit that he never wanted her to leave him? That he would certainly perish without her near. Their past was a tangled web of lies and deception—he was unsure how to strip those layers away to tell her exactly how he felt and what he wanted.

Blessedly, Marce made the words unnecessary when she lifted to her toes and set her lips to his.

He longed for his kiss to show her there was no other place Rowan wanted to be than here: at Tobias’s townhouse with Marce in his arms.

It was not only her breath that held the sweet scent of sherry, her mouth tasted of the remnants of their evening, as well. His tongue touched the seam of her lips, thirsty for more, as her fingers ran through his hair and settled on the back of his neck, holding him tightly to her.

A tendril of alarm coursed through him, but he pushed it aside, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her.

If they were making yet another mistake, he didn’t want to think on it. They’d been through too much, they’d said too much, and yet there was so much more to say. There would be days, months, years to dwell on what he and Marce were doing this night, but he refused to allow what he hadn’t done to linger as a regret for all eternity. There would be time—Rowan would make certain of it—for him to earn her forgiveness, to share everything he’d learned about himself and her. For now, Rowan was content to settle for a few moments where their past didn’t intrude.

Rowan carried her to the lounge and laid her upon the deep red brocade, an alluring contrast to her light green gown and blue eyes, alight with…desire. He wanted to step back, take in the beauty of her hair cascading across the cushion, the way her lips turned up in a mischievous grin, and how her eyes, wide with surprise only moments before, were now hooded with longing.

The pale orbs of her breasts strained at the bodice of her gown as if begging for his attention.

How had their night come to this?

Rowan had laid his every transgression before her, and she’d shown him mercy.

“Rowan?” she coaxed, her voice a deep, strained tone as she held her arms out to him.

As he answered her call and lowered himself to the lounge, Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if he were falling in love with his counterfeit wife—or had he been in love with her all along?

He wanted to question nothing in that moment, only give himself to her—and hope Marce didn’t regret their joining by morning’s light.

Chapter 27

The air around Marce was warm, bordering on hot and confining, but not in a bad way. Her hair teased her cheek, making her long to push the curl aside to do away with it; however, something held her arm at her side while the other was trapped beneath her. As she stirred, awakening fully, she realized that it was an arm—a very male arm with a dusting of ebony hair—lying across her midsection…her very overheated, naked torso.

She should feel alarmed, shocked, terrified.

However, none of those things filled her. Her stomach fluttered as memories from the previous night invaded her: Rowan speaking with such softness and caressing her with even greater tenderness, his hands exploring her every curve while hers did the same to him, and his fiery, firm mouth traveling from her swollen lips to her neck and then lower.

Together, binding themselves as one, they’d stripped away the many years of lies, the many years of unfulfilled expectations, and pledged never to return to their tortured past—all without saying a word. Their bodies had come together as if it had been meant to be from the moment Rowan stepped into her life.

A tingling sensation began at the juncture of her thighs. It should be foreign to her.

But their hours entwined with one another during the early morning hours had made the tingling awareness far from unfamiliar. No, it was something she would now desire every day of her life because she knew that when the longing was satisfied, she would find her contentment, her fulfillment.

Rowan’s arm around her did not hold her in place and make movement impossible, but brought her a sense of security. No man had ever made her feel secure and safe before. It went against everything she’d believed to be true between a woman and a man. Her mother had used intimate contact with men as a commodity, a way of securing whatever she needed at that moment—yet, none of it had lasted long.

However, here she was with Rowan’s arm slung over her, his naked chest pressed against her back as he held her close, and their legs tangled in the blankets after their night of lovemaking. Something about it all felt unbreakable, though she knew it was foolish and naïve to believe that could be true.

She’d been utterly honest when she’d spoken of her desire to be nowhere else the previous night.

Had this connection between them always been there, lingering just under the surface and waiting for the perfect time to bring them together in such a manner? But why now?

Marce longed for the answer to those questions…and so many more. There was no doubt a connection—an unexplainable pull—had always existed between them; however, she’d thought it was due to the negative aspects that continued their association: his need for retribution and her need to save her family.

Rowan had been a mystery to her for so many years, but last night, he’d allowed his guard to fall and had spoken of things so private, so intimate, so innately him, that a part of her understood every action from his past—their past.

And she forgave him.