Felicity knew she should go back to the ballroom. It was beyond foolish to hide herself away like this. She attempted to soothe her agitated nerves with a few deep breaths and looked up at the night sky, the stars twinkling above her and the full moon shining down on her. It was a beautiful night and should be making her feel tranquil, but all it appeared to be doing was mocking her.
How many times had she and the duke escaped from balls such as this, and found a dark corner where they had finally been able to give vent to the fervent desire that had been building up inside them?
She touched her lips, remembering those kisses they had shared. Their intensity had literally taken her breath away and made her feel loved. He had kissed her with such deep passion, as if he could not get enough of her, and she had certainly never been able to get enough of him.
On one night such as this, when the moon had cast its enchanting silvery glow over the dark trees, when the air had been scented with roses, and she had been caught up in the romance of the moment, she had told him she wanted him to take her.
She had expected a proposal to be imminent and could see no reason to wait until their wedding night when it was something they both wanted so desperately.
And he had told her they had to save themselves. That was something she supposed she should be grateful for. He could have taken her, ruined her reputation and abandoned her. Instead, all he had done was abandon her. Her reputation was intact, but damn it all, despite what happened, she still wished that on that night he hadn’t, for that brief moment, acted the gentleman.
His kisses had always been so intoxicating, and when he caressed her body, her breasts, and stroked her most intimate of parts she had lost herself completely. He had taken her to such heights of ecstasy, lighting a fire within her that still burned for him.
Her body throbbing at the memory of his sensuous touch, she sighed and ran her hand lightly along the neck of her gown and across the swell of her breasts.
And then he was gone, out of her life, without an explanation, without saying goodbye. That was what she should be remembering, not the way he had made her feel when she was in his arms. She should remember the pain, how her body and heart had ached when he left.
But now he was back, and he was no longer hiding his true character. When they were together last season she had not realised he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Now he was a wolf in wolf’s clothing, a man who did not care if he insulted her, hurt her, humiliated her.
That was the man he really was. She should not be giving him a second thought, and she certainly should not be the one hiding away in the dark. She should be in the brightly lit ballroom, dancing, flirting and laughing. And that is what she would do.
She took in another deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned towards the French doors. She stopped. A gasp escaped her lips.
He was standing in the doorway, his tall, powerful body framed by the French doors, and he was staring straight at her.
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