Page 65 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

She glanced about the room. The drapes were drawn so tightly, she was uncertain if the sun was still lingering on the horizon or if they’d languished in bed long past the noonday meal. Either way, Marce wasn’t ready to depart Rowan’s bed as his soft breathing caressed the nape of her neck.

The coals in the hearth had long since turned to ash in the grate.

Rowan sighed, pulling her closer to him.

Protective even in his slumber.

She couldn’t help but smile, remembering the way he’d delicately taken her in his arms and carried her from the study to his private chambers, their eyes focused on one another the entire time. He’d asked her if she was certain, said that it was not too late for her to return home as if nothing had occurred between them.

To deny their intimacy would have been to negate everything they’d spoken of…and Marce wanted to remember both.

The mask of the arrogant, severe lord had fallen away the moment she’d set her lips to his. The ever-in-control man had been undone by a simple joining of mouths. It was almost as if he’d been waiting—for years—for the moment he could relinquish his firm hold on life and simply enjoy a night of raw, pure passion.

Or perhaps it was her own longing she was projecting onto him.

Either way, Marce remained still, relishing the final moments in his arms before the reality of their situation returned.

He was still a duke, still the man who’d convinced himself that punishing an innocent woman would give him the power to put his father’s betrayal behind him.

Yet, that did not mean those two things went hand in hand. It did not make it impossible for change—both inside and out.

On the other side, she was still the forgotten daughter of a marquess…the madame of a famed London brothel.

Neither of them was foolish enough to think that this one night could entirely change everything about their pasts. She would return to Craven House, collect her belongings, and await the solicitor’s word that the property in Kent had been secured. Rowan would depart for Scotland or another business engagement, leaving London and Marce behind him.

“Good morning,” he whispered, brushing the curl from her cheek. “Or is it afternoon?”

“I wondered the same thing,” she said with a light laugh. “I should rise, gather my things, and be on my way.”

She attempted to wiggle toward the edge of the bed, but his arm fell across her once more, and her legs were hopelessly tangled in the bedcovers.

“I will ring for a meal. There is no hurry.” He pressed his lips, dry from sleep, to her neck.

Her body responded instantly to his touch, as if they’d spent a thousand nights before entwined with each other. Her body tensed with the promise of the pleasure to come…if only she’d allow it. If only her feelings of security were not clouded by her doubts from the past. She’d remained guarded and skeptical for so many years, questioning everything Rowan said and did, it would be nearly impossible to alter her way of thinking so quickly.

“Rowan…I—”

He lifted onto his elbows as she shifted to her back, gazing up into his sparkling eyes, enhanced by his tanned skin and ebony brows.

“Shhhh.” He silenced her by pressing his finger to her lips. “There will be plenty of time to talk. Allow me a few moments to gaze upon your beauty.”

The hardening of his length pressed into her stomach, but his eyes never left hers.

“Gaze upon my beauty?” she asked, her trepidation fading.

“Yes. However, one need look no further than your enchanting, wide eyes to witness your immense loveliness.” Her cheeks flushed, and he leaned down, their noses touching. “I cannot fathom how I went so many years without you in my arms.”

She longed to agree with him, make light of their sordid past, but a thump at the door stopped her.

Her back stiffened, and she scrambled for anything to cover her naked body from view if Rowan’s guest should enter the room.

“Your Grace, Your Grace!” The frantic call was only highlighted as the man continued to pound on the thick, wooden door. “Your Grace.”

“What is it?” Rowan growled.

“Word arrived from your estate,” the voice lowered as if relieved to have located the duke. “You are needed. Immediately. At Hadlow. Your driver, Charles, awaits you in the drive.”

“I have yet to leave my bed,” Rowan called back, the cords in his arms tensing. “What is so urgent that I need rise and depart with such haste?”