Page 11 of Distracting the Duke

She dragged her mind away from the awful memories and blinked at the sunlight peeking through the little gap. She felt a strong masculine presence behind her, his hands clasped firmly about her waist, keeping her still.

Not Simon.

Ulvercombe.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she whimpered.

“No matter. Don’t try to talk. Keep breathing. I want to feel it here.” He pressed a hand against the upper part of her abdomen.

She fought to hold onto each breath, to make it fill every corner of her lungs, pushing out against the duke’s fingers.

He began kneading and massaging her shoulders. Wherever he touched her, she discovered her muscles had twisted into knots of pain, but they gradually loosened under the pressure of his fingers. All the while, he spoke comforting words, as if to a little child.

She tried desperately to bring her anxiety under control. It was mortifying that he should know of her weakness. But it was no use. A little gulping sob escaped her.

Instantly, she was turned around and pressed against his chest. “Don’t cry, Clara, please don’t cry. You’re in no danger. We’ll be released soon. In the meantime, we’ll just have to put up with each other and try to be friends. Shall we tell each other our life histories? Or recite some lines of Byron? Sing, even? There, that’s better. I hope that was a laugh and not another sob.”

It had been a long time since Clara was offered such comfort. Perhaps not since Mama had died. She buried her head beneath the duke’s chin and locked her fingers into the lapels of his jacket. He was a rock in a raging sea, a lone point of stability amidst a welter of fears, fears that always reemerged when she became anxious.

His hands smoothed down her back, and she tried to still the thumping of her heart. Every sense was magnified by her terror. She could feel his blood pumping through his veins and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The scents of him surrounded her—the crisp smell of gentlemen’s cologne, the clean and cloying smell of shaving soap, the faint whiff of starch from the collar of his shirt. So different from the acrid animal smell of her late husband and the odor of sour alcohol that had always hung about him.

She clasped her hands behind Ulvercombe’s back and clung on tightly.

Simon was gone, Simon was dead.

He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

“It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

She’d never heard the duke speak so softly, so feelingly, before. One thing she’d not expected to find beneath that privileged exterior was compassion. If he could be this genuinely kind, this sympathetic, then he might make a very good husband for Ellie, after all.

His hands came up to her shoulders once more, and he held her a little away from him. She felt the warmth of his cheek against hers and the brush of his hair on her face.

And all at once, she forgot about being locked in an enclosed space…and began to panic for a completely different reason.

“What are you doing?” she managed breathlessly.

“Distracting you.” His thumb nudged against her chin, making her tilt her head up.

And she felt his firm mouth press against hers.

Good Lord. He was kissing her.

Why on earth was he kissing her?

And why, in the name of all that was holy, was she kissing him back?

Chapter Seven

Marcus held Clara closer. Damnation! He should be thinking about compassion, not seduction, but the feel of her lips beneath his, the touch of her hands on his back, made him forget himself. His concerns for her well-being were replaced with an enticing heat that made his muscles tight, his heartbeat quick and urgent.

He drew back for a moment, trying to regain control. “Feel better yet?” he asked her.

“I do. You’ve been very…attentive,” was the reply. Her voice was so low, so languid, he could barely credit that this seductive-sounding temptress was Lady Clara Tinniswood. What had he unlocked with that kiss?

“Excellent.”

He simply couldn’t help himself—she’d aroused his curiosity as well as his desire. His mouth sought hers again, and he slid his tongue over her lips, tasting her. And then—remarkably—she did exactly the same thing to him.