Page 37 of An Unwanted Bride for the Duke
I hate that none of those statements are entirely true.
“Please,” she whispered again, lifting her chin as she looked up at him. Her fingers curled against her skirts in an effort to steady herself. The command should have sounded firm, yet it emerged far softer than she intended.
Damien remained exactly where he was, watching her with indefatigable patience. Then he leaned closer and pushed a curl behind her ear.
Her breath caught as awareness swept through her. Every instinct told her to step back, yet she remained rooted to the spot. The warmth radiating from him seemed to surround her completely. Determined to regain some measure of control, she lifted a hand toward his chest. She meant to push him away and reclaim her space. Instead, the moment her palm met him, she simply left it there.
Why? Pull your hand away, you foolish girl.
A soft groan escaped his mouth.
The sound startled her more than she cared to admit. Even through the layers of his coat, she could feel his steady strength. More alarming still was the powerful beat of his heart beneath her palm.
Damien froze instantly, and all traces of teasing vanished from his face. Neither of them moved as the silence stretched between them. For one suspended moment, the entire world seemed to disappear around them.
Then Damien lifted his hand slowly, as though any sudden movement might shatter the moment. His fingers brushed lightly against her cheek, sending heat rushing through her. She could only stare at him as his thumb settled gently along her jaw. The touch was impossibly tender from a man who was rarely gentle with anyone. His gaze searched hers with an intensity that made her pulse stumble.
“Seraphine,” he murmured, his voice rough as he cupped her face.
The way he said her name sounded almost like surrender. Before she could think of a response, he closed the remaining distance between them. His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was neither tentative nor uncertain.
It was certain and passionate. The force of it stole every coherent thought from her mind. Her fingers tightened instinctively against the front of his coat as the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
For one impossible moment, she forgot everything. She forgot William and the deadline hanging over her future. She forgot Society and every expectation that governed her life. She forgot the ballroom only a few rooms away and the people waiting inside it. There was only Damien and the warmth of his kiss.
The heat tore through her. A wave of bliss. She found herself kissing him back with a reckless abandon.
Why does this feel so good? It’s very wrong, but so good.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.
The loss hit her immediately, leaving her breathless and disoriented. Damien's chest rose and fell as though he was fighting for control. His eyes remained fixed on hers, dark with emotions she could not fully decipher.
Seraphine stared at him, her heart aching with a truth she had tried desperately to ignore. This was the man she had asked to marry her. This was also the man who had refused. Slowly and painfully, she straightened her shoulders and gathered the remnants of her composure.
Remember who you are. Remember what you need. Not some rogue that refuses marriage.
Her voice was steady when she finally spoke, though it cost her dearly to maintain it.
“If you have no intention of marrying me…then leave me be,” she said quietly, lifting her gaze to meet his.
Damien remained silent, his expression unreadable. A terrible feeling settled heavily in her stomach. She already knew the answer before he gave it. Still, she forced herself to continue.
“This cannot happen again,” she said, drawing in a careful breath as she spoke.
Damien's jaw tightened visibly at her words. He looked away for the briefest moment before returning his gaze to hers. Yet he offered nothing in response. No promise, no argument, and no denial. Just silence.
And somehow that silence hurt more than any rejection could have. It told her everything she needed to know without a single word being spoken. Seraphine swallowed against the ache risingin her throat. There was no point prolonging the conversation any further. She had her answer, whether she wanted it or not. All that remained was to leave with her dignity intact.
She offered him a small, graceful nod, refusing to let her disappointment show.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said, dipping her head politely before straightening once more.
His expression flickered for a brief moment at her formal address. She detected regret perhaps, or longing, or indifference. She could not bear to examine it closely enough to find out. Gathering what remained of her composure, she stepped past him.
And he let me… he let me go.
She walked back toward the ballroom with measured, elegant steps. She kept her head high and her expression perfectly composed. No one who saw her would suspect the turmoil raging beneath the surface. She did not look back as she crossed the threshold. She refused to give herself that indulgence. And Damien did not stop her.
