Scoundrel of My Heart (Once Upon a Dukedom #1) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,68

his chamber before the echo of sound faded. He tore down the hallway and up the stairs.

Only one other person was in this residence with him. The woman who did the cooking and cleaning lived in the village with her husband and returned to him every night. Griff had learned it was that bloke’s clothing that had been lent to him. He had no idea where the coachman and footman slept. Perhaps in the village as well, where they liveried the coach and horses. At that moment none of it mattered. All that mattered was her.

Another shriek, his name woven through the wail.

His heart pounding so hard that he was surprised the walls didn’t shake with the force of it, he reached the landing. Three doors were visible. Two open, one closed. He went for the one that would have given her privacy when she’d retired. He didn’t bother with testing to see if it was locked. He simply kicked it in.

His gaze swept through the room, searching the shadows that evaded the faint moonlight spilling in through the window. But he could make out no dastardly silhouettes or menacing figures cloaked in darkness.

Yet still another shout came, the danger real, but only to her, as she thrashed about in her bed. He’d had enough nightmares over the past several months to know how terrifying it could be when lost in the throes of one. Crossing quickly to the bed, he sat on its edge and grabbed the wrists of her flailing arms, bringing them in close, holding them against her heaving chest. “Kathryn, love, I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you. Wake up.”

While speaking the words forcefully and determinedly, he gave her a gentle shake. “Come back to me, sweetheart.”

Her eyes fluttered open, wild, unfocused. Then they fell on him and widened. She blinked. Her breaths came in harsh pants. “What are you doing here?”

You were screaming like the hounds of hell were chasing you probably wasn’t what she needed to hear at the moment. “You cried out.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” She tried to move an arm, and he realized he still had them clamped tightly, badly needing the touch of her to reassure himself she was safe. He released his hold.

Grateful he had, when her first action was to reach out and cradle his jaw. “I was back by the Thames. You were being attacked only . . . you weren’t winning.”

He settled his hand over hers, held it in place as he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the heart of her palm, all the while managing not to take his gaze from hers. “I shall always win, Kathryn.” Because his father’s actions had given him a taste of what it was to lose—and he was determined to never experience a soul-crushing defeat again. While he wasn’t going to win Kathryn, it was by choice, a decision not to try, a resolution to ensure she won something far greater than anything he could offer her.

Her enticing lips twitched as she fought a smile. “I would claim you arrogant. Except I’ve seen you fight.”

Then she grew somber because what she’d witnessed had been responsible for the nightmare that had plagued her. If it visited her again, away from here, he wouldn’t be near enough to rescue her from it. He needed to give her a better memory to replace the awful one.

After standing, he tossed back the covers, took her hand, and gave a little tug. “Come with me.”

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t question, simply slipped out of the bed, and like an ethereal being, limned by silver moonlight, she came into his arms. He captured her mouth with an urgency that he was grateful didn’t seem to frighten her. It was maddening how desperate he was for the taste of her, the feel of her, the warmth of her.

Her fingers scraped up his scalp, tangled in his curls. He wanted them to remain there forever, to hold him in place so he could never stop kissing her.

As for his own hands, they were sliding up and down her back, grateful for the thin linen of her nightdress that allowed him to feel the movement of her muscles as he adjusted the angle to take the kiss deeper.

Perhaps it wasn’t his letter to the duke that had seen her selected. If she had put in her missive to the arrogant peer that she kissed with wild abandon, had described the enthusiasm with which she partook, had