The Secret Wallflower Society - Jillian Eaton Page 0,89

and when her hand touched nothing but air her knees wobbled and she began to teeter sideways.

In an instant, her captor was there, his strong arms wrapping around her trembling body in a tender embrace. “Easy, love,” he murmured into her hair. “Breathe. In and out. That’s it. In and out. In…and out.”

Percy’s shaking slowly eased as she listened to the soothing, rhythmic flow of his voice. Pinching her eyes closed to stave off the tears that wanted to fall, she drew in a deep lungful of air, and then another, and another.

“That’s it,” he said approvingly. “That’s a good girl.”

As her panic eased, she gradually became aware of the hand on the small of her back and the other looped around her shoulders. His satin waistcoat was smooth against the side of her face. His chin was heavy on top of her head. He did not wear cologne, but she found his earthy scent, a combination of leather and cedar, pleasing. Andrew had worn cologne as religiously as he’d worn a cravat, but the smell had been nauseatingly overpowering. She’d come to hate it, for it meant he was close. And when he was close, pain was never far behind.

But she certainly wasn’t in pain now.

And she was no longer afraid.

Instead, she felt safe…and protected.

Two emotions she’d never experienced in the arms of a man before.

“Thank you,” she said softly, lifting her head from his chest.

“You’ve nothing to thank me for.” The hand at her back trailed up her spine until he reached the nape of her neck. He squeezed lightly, massaging the corded muscle until it was all Percy could do not to sigh with pleasure. “Do you have them often? These…”

“Attacks?” she supplied with a humorless smile. “They aren’t as common as they used to be.”

His thumb pressed into a knot at the base of her skull. “That’s good.”

“Yes, I suppose.” She like to not have them at all. But then, there were a lot of things she would like to do. Such as go to the local market without startling at every single noise. Or attending a house party and without hiding in the corner. Or going for a walk in the park without constantly looking over her shoulder.

Andrew had taken those things from her. With every push and slap and punch, he’d taken more and more until there was nothing left. Nothing left of the young, carefree girl she’d been when they’d first met. Nothing left of the confident, self-assured duchess she’d hoped to become.

He had turned her into someone she didn’t recognize. Someone who flinched, and scurried, and begged forgiveness for the smallest of grievances. Someone terrified of men.

Except, it would seem, for the one holding her.

Percy frowned. She didn’t have a single reason not to be frightened of her captor. He had kidnapped her, for heaven’s sake! Taken her away from her friends and her home in the dead of night. But he’d also vowed to keep her safe.

And he had brought her sweet muffins.

“I still don’t know your name,” she said, gazing up at him from beneath her lashes.

“My enemies call me the Devil of Duncraven.”

Of course they did.

“Are you?” she asked. “A devil, that is.”

Having worked the tension from her neck, he moved on to her shoulders, his fingers sinking into five years’ worth of pressure and strain. It felt heavenly.

“What do you think?” he asked.

What did she think?

“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly. “I suppose it depends on what your intentions are.”

“Oh, love. My intentions are always wicked.” His eyes darkened to bronze, her only warning before he lowered his head…and kissed her.

Chapter Five

Sweet.

Persephone tasted so very sweet.

Like a perfectly ripe peach, or a cake that was warm from the oven, or sweet honey drizzled over porridge.

Lucas hadn’t planned to kiss her. But then, he hadn’t planned to take her to his secret hideaway on the outskirts of the city, either. Having already broken one cardinal rule…why not another?

Why not indeed, he thought as his fingers tangled in all that dark, silky hair. The duchess quivered, like a bowstring being pulled taut, and he stilled, allowing her to dictate what direction they would take. If she resisted, even for a second, he would instantly halt. Some women liked to be pressed. To be restrained. They enjoyed the thrill of it. The danger.

But Persephone wasn’t like those women.

She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met.

All of his past female acquaintances had been experienced. Bold. Audacious. The delicate brunette in his