To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars 6)

As for her own future, she didn’t like to remember that her marriage to Ian was still so unsettled.

A short while later, Tess said good night to her friends and made her way to her husband’s bedchamber. A welcome fire burned in the grate, and after changing into her nightclothes, she went to the hearth and held out her hands, drawing on the warmth from the flames.

She knew Ian was right; there was no reason for her to wait up for him. She ought to go to bed, yet she couldn’t possibly sleep just now. Her thoughts were still much too restless, her stomach churning with a vague feeling of dread.

She hated that gnawing dread, Tess thought as she stared into the fire. Hated the uncertainty, the endless waiting, never knowing if the future would hold tragedy or hope.

That unspoken fear was what the wives and families of soldiers endured every moment that their loved ones were away at war.

What she had endured while Richard was away.

What she had felt for Ian during several endless moments tonight.

No doubt she was more sensitive now precisely because she had lost her betrothed, Tess knew. Logically, she had no reason to worry about Ian. He was perfectly safe now. And yet …

Tonight she had faced a disturbing revelation, she acknowledged unwillingly: The emotions she felt for Ian were far stronger than she had let herself admit.

Wincing, Tess turned away, although she still couldn’t make herself go to bed. She tried to read, but wound up pacing the room, pausing now and then to stare out the window at the dark night.

It was some half hour later when she spied several horsemen riding toward the castle. Ian had returned home, Tess realized, yet she still didn’t know how she would deal with him.

She settled in a chair to read, determined to pretend indifference. But when eventually she heard his quiet footsteps in the corridor, she abandoned her book.

As the door swung open, Tess rose to her feet. Then Ian met her gaze and the air was suddenly charged with suppressed emotion.

She didn’t mean to react so foolishly, honestly she didn’t. She meant to remain calm and totally in control of herself.

Yet when Ian stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, Tess lunged forward and ran straight into his arms.

She had surprised him, Tess realized, burying her face in his broad chest—and worried him as well. Ian’s voice was rough and low in her ear as he demanded, “What is wrong, sweetheart?”

Her muffled reply was shaky. “Nothing is wrong. I am just glad that no harm came to you.”

He held her for a moment longer before putting a finger under her chin to make her lift her head.

When their gazes locked again, the air crackled as if an electrical pulse arced between them. Ian’s face was enigmatic, impassive, but his muscled body was tense and rigid, his eyes silver-hot.

His blood was up, as was hers.

Tess’s heart began to pound as she read the purpose in his eyes: He wanted her and he meant to have her.

Yet she wanted him just as much.

She didn’t protest when Ian turned with her and backed her against the wall. And when he brought his mouth down on hers, she responded by raising her hands to clutch at his hair and draw him even closer.

His kiss was hard and urgent. Tess whimpered gratefully, her lips burning, aching, needing to be soothed. At the needy sound, he increased the pressure, roughly cupping her face, holding her still so that he could have his fill of her.

His kiss, as fierce as fire, smoldered with pent-up emotions that stopped her breath.

She was trembling when suddenly Ian broke off and lifted his head, his eyes burning with intensity. The gray depths had darkened into something both primitive and powerful, and Tess could sense the coiled need in him, feel the passion throbbing between them, hear the clash of their excited breaths in

the quiet hush of the room.

When Ian’s hard body pressed hers more forcefully against the wall, Tess realized that he meant to take her then and there. A thrill coursed through her that made her stomach clench. She already felt swollen and ready for him to claim her and wished he would hurry.

“Please, Ian …” she whispered.

Obligingly, his mouth fell on hers again, hungry and hot. Not content with merely kissing, however, Ian lowered his hands from her face to mold her breasts through her nightdress, kneading, arousing.