“Careful, Miss Winslow,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You're treading on very thin ice.”
Catherine knew she should back down, should apologize and try to diffuse the situation. But something in her refused to yield. “Am I?” she challenged. “And what will you do if it breaks, My Lord? Terminate me? Send me away?”
Edward leaned in closer, so close that Catherine could feel his breath on her lips. “Is that what you want?” he murmured. “To be sent away?”
Catherine's heart raced. She knew she should say yes, should end this dangerous game they were playing. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself whispering, “No.”
Something flashed in Edward's eyes—triumph? Desire? Before Catherine could decipher it, he spoke again. “Then what do you want, Miss Winslow?”
The question hung between them, loaded with unspoken tension. Catherine's gaze dropped to Edward's lips, then back to his eyes. She knew what she wanted—what her body was screaming for. But she couldn't say it. Wouldn't say it.
“I want…” she began, then faltered. “I want you to trust me.”
Edward's expression darkened. “Trust is earned, Miss Winslow. Not given freely.”
“Then let me earn it,” Catherine pleaded. “Give me a chance to prove myself to you. My Lord, please… I have nowhere else to go. I will not betray your trust again. I swear.”
For a long moment, Edward said nothing. He simply stared at her, his eyes searching hers for... something. Catherine held her breath, afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over them.
Finally, Edward spoke. “And how do you propose to do that? Earn my trust?”
Catherine swallowed hard. “I... I don't know,” she admitted. “But I'm willing to try. If you'll let me.”
Edward's jaw clenched. He leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. “Be careful what you offer, Miss Winslow,” he murmured, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “You might find yourself in over your head.”
Then, without warning, his lips pressed against hers—his tongue coaxing her mouth open before dueling with hers. Catherine let out a soft moan as her hand moved to explore his chest again before moving up his shoulders and wrapping her arms around his neck.
His hardness pressed against hers firmly, and a hand moved to cover the supple softness of her breast. Catherinereturned his kiss with fervor, her body aching for him. Her breath quickened when his finger trailed a path down her stomach before brushing over the apex of her thighs through the material of her dress.
Shyly she moved her own hand to the top of his trousers before just barely brushing against the hardness of his manhood.
Then, just as quickly as he had kissed her, he let her go—his expression pained.
“Sleep well, Miss Winslow. See me in my study tomorrow morning. Urgently.” he muttered before rushing out of the room—leaving her a weak puddle of desire against the bedchamber wall.
Chapter 9
Though he had wished her a peaceful sleep, Edward himself could not find rest at all. Rather than his bedchamber, he walked directly to his study, a dark frown between his brows.
His body felt as though it was on fire—alight with feelings and desires he believed he’d given up on ages ago. The hardness pulsating between his thighs, however, was a stark reminder that he had not, as he’d thought, truly forgotten what it meant to be human. To be a warm-blooded man.
With a grimace, he moved to sit behind his desk, his heart racing. She’d been so vulnerable beneath his touch, and she was so eager to respond to his kiss. His body heated up when he remembered the way she’d clung to him, the dampness he’d felt even through the material of her nightgown.
Without a sliver of doubt he knew. He knew that if he chose to return to her bedchamber, she’d be receptive and ready for him. The realization coursed through him, and he leaned forward slightly, his breath racing. How he longed to see and touch those curves without barriers between them, how he longed to press himself into her and feel her welcoming warmth as she’d wrap herself around him…
The thoughts plagued him until the first light of dawn penetrated the heavy curtains and Edward looked at it, almost surprised. He had not slept at all, he realized. The memory of Catherine Winslow, defiant and wide-eyed in her nightgown had kept him up, and was still sending an unwelcome surge of heat through his body.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. This woman was a threat, he reminded himself. She had invaded his privacy, stumbled upon secrets that could destroy everything he had worked to protect. And yet...
The knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, his voice rougher than he intended.
Mr. Harper appeared, his expression as impassive as ever. “Miss Winslow wishes to see you at your earliest convenience, My Lord.”
Edward nodded curtly. “Send her in.”
As Catherine entered, Edward forced his face into a mask of cool indifference. But he couldn't help noticing the way the morning light caught her hair, the determined set of her jaw.
"Miss Winslow," he said, his tone carefully controlled. “I trust you slept well?”
