The Duke is Wicked (League of Lords #3) - Tracy Sumner Page 0,79

calm capture of breath. A ticking mantel clock and a crackling hearthfire, the only sounds filling the night. Grabbing the Soul Catcher from the bedside table, she tiptoed across the room, perched on the chaise lounge and dropped her head to her hands, delaying entering her attic, which, after leaving Sebastian’s moonlit bedroom, would be gloomy indeed.

She glanced back, hesitant, even for a moment, to abandon him.

The images hit her like punches. Sebastian’s cunning smile across a chessboard, the dreamy look in his eyes when he surrendered to passion, the way his mouth dipped on the right side when he held back laughter. His new spectacles, which made her feel practically faint every time he wore them. The tick in his jaw that appeared when he was vexed. The scars on his body she’d traced with her fingers until she could locate them in the pitch-black.

His kindness. His arrogance. His uncertainty. About her and life.

The man who woke from nightmares, lungs churning, hand reaching to clasp hers to bring him back to life.

She loved every wondrous facet—the lost boy shivering by a fountain most of all.

Drawing a shaky breath, Delaney stepped into her dimly-lit attic, found a calendar on a high shelf and flipped back and forth between the pages, counting days in her mind. May, June, May, June. Eight weeks since she’d arrived in Oxfordshire. Six since she and Sebastian had started—

Six. Oh.

As Piper had instructed her to do, Delaney focused on an element of Sebastian’s bedroom—the charred edge of the Aubusson carpet, a bequest from one of his less controlled moments—to bring herself back. The room was unchanged when she returned, flushed with moonlight and a duke’s faint breaths. Sliding to the floor, she pressed her hand to her belly, imagining a baby, their baby, growing inside of her.

Although Sebastian had been careful—to the point of insult—staying inside her only the one time, their first time, she’d known pregnancy was possible. She spun the Soul Catcher in her hand, a golden glitter sprinkling the walls.

A dilemma. Because she didn’t want to be a duchess, and he didn’t want to be a father.

She’d overheard Sebastian speaking to Julian about Lucien’s apparent talent and detected the raw dread in his voice. He wasn’t taking such strict precautions when they made love due to a deep attachment. His withdrawal created distance during an intimate act. She was bereft, each time, alone as he gained his release apart from her.

And he wasn’t planning to propose again, when she’d decided she would say yes if he did, even to that horrible duchess bit. He planned to have her remain his mistress until he married—and now this.

She squeezed the Soul Catcher until the sharp edges cut into her palm.

She would forever question his choice if he asked her to marry him now, never knowing if he’d asked because he wanted her or because he’d made a tactical, biological error. Heaven knows, they’d tried regularly enough for her to get pregnant. In every room in the castle. The stables, the orangery. The bridge crossing the moat in the pitch darkness. Her cheeks flushed, her body heating as it did when she envisioned him, in bed, rising over her or pulling her atop him. Moving behind her when she woke in the creamy light of dawn.

One touch, and he set her aflame.

When she looked up, she found him watching her. Resting against the headboard of his monstrous bed, sheet settled in a neat tuck at his waist. Attraction, affection and trepidation thrummed through her like she’d knocked the sensitive spot on her elbow and caused a painful vibration to rattle her body. Always pain and pleasure with this man. His gaze fell to where her hand covered her stomach, then slowly lifted to her face. The expressions crossed his too rapidly for her to gather them, like trying to catch petals set loose in the wind. But his chest lifted and dropped on a labored sigh that didn’t sound like joy.

“Delaney?” he finally asked.

She hung her head, the tears that were ever-present recently, flooding her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not sure what is what for which she apologized. What she wanted, what she needed. The Soul Catcher warmed in her hand, an amber glow against pale skin.

Then the room erupted in flames.

Chapter 16

Our love affair is over, Delaney guessed, as she watched the east wing of Sebastian’s home smolder from her spot sitting atop the stone wall surrounding her beloved