Her gaze darkened as he eyed her. He swore he heard her pulse echo in time with his. It thudded hard—harder than when he’d been confronted at gunpoint. Even more was at stake here, he was certain of it. This was not about whether he lived or died. This was about whether he lived the rest of his life for Violet.
“I do not think that is true,” she uttered.
“It most certainly is.” He allowed himself a soft smile. “You must know why.”
“Because...I am your friend?”
He shook his head with a slight smile.
“Because you care for my opinion?”
“Because, dear friend...” He took the glass from her hand and set it upon the edge of the fireplace surround, then curled his fingers around hers. “I love you more than I believed possible. Your every opinion matters to me because it is the opinion of the woman I love, of the person I treasure most in this world.”
Chapter Twenty
The slice of cheese dropped from her fingers to the plate. Or perhaps the rug. Violet could not bring herself to look away from Duke to find out.
Had he really just spoken of love?
She opened her mouth then closed it. The word rattled through her mind, over and over.
Duke loved her.
He loved her?
She couldn’t come up with any kind of reasonable response. As she eyed his sincere expression, another two words emerged in her mind.
Kiss me.
“Violet?”
She’d spoken aloud. Oh dear, she’d whispered the words. Whispered of wanting him. What was wrong with her? When she met his gaze, she saw no amusement or even surprise, however. His pupils were dark, his mouth pulled into a grim line. They had agreed on few things of late but the very least of them was they would not fall for one another.
The way he looked at her now, she feared it was too late.
“Kiss me,” she said.
The words, though a harsh whisper, bounced around the room like a gunshot. At the same time as wanting to recall them and bury them deep down, a great sense of release and anticipation coursed through her. As though giving voice to her desires had lifted a weight from her.
Breath held, she waited. And waited. Somewhere in the distance a church bell chimed. His gaze skimmed her face over and over, each time landing on her lips.
“Are you certain?” he asked, voice gritty.
She knew why he asked. They’d kissed before. To kiss again was scandalous but nothing new. If he kissed her now, in the dark of the night, it would go further.
But yes she was certain. Certain that if he did not touch her, she might explode. Certain curiosity might eat away inside of her if she did not feel his hands upon her and his mouth exploring hers. She wanted more.
Hadto have more.
Violet had never really expected more. Being the eldest and most acceptable of the Musgrave girls meant maintaining a certain dignity and ignoring all demands for something selfish, something of her own. Her sisters were her priority.
For the first time since she was perhaps a girl, she wanted more. More Duke. That’s what drove her now.
“Yes.”
The word snapped something. She almost expected a great cracking sound to tear through the room as Duke’s composure ripped. His body appeared to shake loose, and a hand came to her lower back to draw her into him. Violet found herself thrown against his chest. Her hands automatically came upon those hard muscles, and she gasped. Heat surged under his palm as though marking her through the fabric of her damp gown.
His other hand came up to press back an errant curl and to skim over her forehead then down. He stroked a gentle path over her cheek, the move so at odds with the forceful hand on her back.