Page 45 of The Duchess Games

“Are you sure?” He tugged her lower lip into his mouth, soothed the sting with his tongue. His hands fisted in the material of her dress. She nodded, half frantic. “Prove it.”

She slid her hand between their bodies, but instead of lifting her skirts as he expected, she palmed his erection instead. “You first,” she said. She wanted to undo the buttons of his breeches. With her teeth. “Prove how hard you are for me.”

A soft graze at first, just enough for him to still, and then she stroked him harder until his breath hissed out. Who was she? How did he make her feel both so wild and so safe that she could make outrageous demands. Power and surrender twined inside of her.

“You wish me to prove it, do you?” he asked, fitting his body to hers and driving forward. His cock pressed deeper against her softness, heedless of breeches and skirts and the fact that anyone might walk down the road and glance their way. She gasped, rubbing along his length until he cursed. “I want to—”

A loud bark, followed by much louder, much more frenzied barking.

The dogs had realized someone was lurking in the back of the garden. There was a howl, just bordering on hysterical. Impossible to ignore. Percival had realized it was her. He would chew through the walls to get to her.

Callum dropped his forehead to hers. “Is your brother likely to send them out to tear me from limb from limb?”

She smiled, apologetically. “Yes.”

“Might be worth it.” He kissed her again, just once but it was hard and possessive in a way she would not have thought she would like so much.

“Callum?” she said as they broke apart.

“Yes?”

“I still won the footrace.”

His soft startled laugh followed her all the way around to the front door of the cottage.

Chapter Seventeen

Callum loved Sparrow cottage.

It was small and full of dogs and the gentle clutter of an actual home, not a mausoleum to a line of dead dukes going back practically to the bloody Battle of Hastings. More, it kept Cat safe and warm and dry and for that alone he would have gilded it as a monument. It did all of the things he was desperate to do and could not. Not properly.

She would never let him.

She seemed nervous as she led him inside. It was too hot for a fire in the grate, so the wooden table was pulled in front of it, piled with bowls of berries, a heel of bread wrapped in cloth, two empty cups.

“Matthew?” Cat called out even as three monsters fell upon her barking and whining with hysterical joy. If he hadn’t already known they were dogs, he might have considered them beasts charging out of some fairy tale. Their heads reached her collarbone, even with all four paws on the floor. She laughed, staggering to hold her balance. Callum placed his hand against her lower back to keep her steady.

“I was gone for a few days,” she protested, evading a happy lick from a tongue the size of a ham. “Percival, down.” Percival snuffled against her adoringly. Three long whips of tails wagged back and forth, knocking over a basket of knitting, a candle and a cup. Cat just laughed again. “Alright, you monsters, back. Pretend you have manners.”

At the command “manners,” all three dogs sat. Callum was impressed. An older black dog of indeterminate breed lifted his head from a cushion. His gray muzzle was very dignified. He’d seen royalty with less dignity. “This is King Arthur,” Cat said, stepping over to pat his head. Of course. “He’s in charge.”

“Naturally.”

“And this is Guinevere and her pups, Merlin and Percival. The rest of the menagerie is outside.”

“There’s more?” He looked around. He couldn’t imagine fitting three humans and four dogs in the cottage. Where did she sleep? He frowned at the straw mattress tucked in the back corner, behind a screen.

“Matthew?” Cat called out, gathering dirty dishes as she went. He wasn’t sure she even noticed. He could see a different kind of confidence—and weariness—in her. He wanted to send his entire household staff, all seventy-seven of them, down to sweep the floors, bake the bread, do whatever it was Cat clearly did to keep house for a small zoo on what must be pennies. He would have Cook pack several baskets and send them by carriage. And he’d send a real bed, damn it. She could curse him all she liked. It was as good as done. He might have a word with her brother as well, for letting his older sister sleep on the floor.

Footsteps sounded from the loft above. Cat looked up and called out, louder this time. “Wake up, slugabed.”

Matthew’s head poked over the ladder. He was young, his hair mussed, his expression confused. “Cat? What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

A snort. “You came to check on your dogs.”

“True.”