Chapter 32

32

Dorian sat on the chair in the chamber of the inn where Patience was staying, a decanter of brandy glinting in the candlelight on the table by his side. Slowly, he rotated a glass of the amber liquid between his fingers.

He watched Patience walk around the room as she got ready for bed. Mademoiselle Antoinette had already undressed her, and she'd had her bath, and now that they were alone. Patience brushed her long, golden hair as she hummed to herself, catching his gaze occasionally and smiling.

He didn't deserve her. She had too high a regard for him, especially after Christine's words earlier today.

He deserved to be punished.

Even though, it seemed, the problem of her ever finding out about her brother's murder was resolved, and he could now simply let go and enjoy their life together, he had never felt worse.

"Patience," he said.

Her name on his lips was enough to stop her. Wide blue eyes, guileless and pure, gazed back at him. Pink lips parted on a hitched breath.

Desire pulsed through his veins as he looked her over. He stood and stripped his shirt and breeches off. The cool air of the room caressed his skin, raising goosebumps along his arms.

"Undress for me," he commanded huskily. "Slowly."

She bit her lip as she untied the belt of her dressing gown. Her small hands shook as she untied the ribbons at her bosom. The thin white fabric of her chemise slipped from her smooth shoulders, revealing the tantalizing curves of her breasts, tipped with tender nipples. Lower it fell, catching on the flare of her hips before floating to the floor.

Dorian's lungs refused to take in any air. She was perfection—flawless limbs and soft femininity. He walked to her. Reaching out a calloused palm, he cupped the warm weight of her breast, brushing a thumb over the peak. She gasped, arching into his touch.

He gathered her close, crushing her soft curves against the hard planes of his chest. One hand fisted in her hair, the one in the glove splaying across her lower back. Dipping his head, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperate hunger.

As she melted into him, pliant and responsive, something fractured inside Dorian yet again. She was softening his resolve, making him believe, if only for a moment, that he was worth her love and affection…capable of a deep connection.

Something he craved like air and yet feared.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue hungry for hers. It was more than base lust. More than fleeting pleasure or carnal satisfaction. In her guileless embrace, her sweet responsiveness, he found…home. Acceptance. Love. Everything his life had lacked .

And yet, he didn't deserve her.

Cradling her face, he pulled back to meet her dazed eyes, his thumb stroking her kiss-swollen lips. "My darling Patience…" His voice broke on her name. "What are you doing to me?"

Dorian gazed down at his wife, his heart swelling with emotions he dared not name. Her eyes, dark with desire, also shimmered with a tender vulnerability that made his breath catch. Slowly, almost shyly, she trailed her fingertips down his chest, mapping the contours of his flesh.

"Let me love you…all of you," she whispered. "Let me show you how I feel."

Her words made a shudder run through him, collapsing his restraint.

All of him…

With a groan, Dorian captured her wandering hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her palm.

"Then have me, sweet girl. I am yours."

Patience pushed him back onto the bed. His back hit the mattress, and he watched how she walked to him leisurely, her small, curvy body making his cock stand harder. Those round hips with gorgeous dimples, her thin waist and soft belly, the amazing, heavy breasts, and those rosebud nipples…

She was going to take control.

Alarm filled him. Never in his life had he wanted to give up control. It was terrifying. And fear would spark his fury.

And yet…with her he felt safe.

"Show me what you need," he murmured. "Take the lead, darling."

Her eyes widened. His chest heaved in hungry gulps of air as she straddled his hips, the wet heat of her core pressing against his straining erection. Dorian's hands flew to her waist, but she caught them and took his gloved hand into both of hers.

"This is what I need," she said softly. "Let me see. Let me in, Dorian."

His heart slammed so hard against his rib cage it might break through his bones. Panic seized his limbs, stole his breath, made him as rigid as a statue.

"No one has seen it for twelve years but my physician," he murmured. "It is a terrible sight, sweet girl."

"You know me by now. Terrible sights will not discourage me."

He could feel his stomach heaving, his usual reaction to helplessness, to closeness rising within him like a tidal wave. The beast inside wished to throw her off him, yell at her, and escape.

Before she would see how truly ugly and unworthy he was.

Before she'd see the physical manifestation of her brother's death—a scar on his body to match the scar on his soul.

Before she'd make the connection by some miracle.

And leave him.

Because there was nothing he was more afraid now than Patience abandoning him.

And yet, part of him ached to show her, to have another human being in his life who knew his pain. To give up control and just be…him.

He said nothing, only nodded, his chest tightening as though a slab of granite was laid on top of him.

Slowly, she pulled the glove off, and his skin under the leather ached, irritated and yet craving air. He'd worn the glove for twelve years, removing it only when he was alone. He almost snatched his hand away, almost yelled at her for daring this. But he didn't. He watched her face, anticipating revulsion, knowing she'd jump to her feet and retreat from him and never look at him the same way.

But when she threw the glove to the floor, she looked at his hand with tenderness and with sympathy.

Gently, she took his hand into hers, the cool touch of her tender fingers like a healing balm. He didn't know how much he had longed for someone to touch him there, to love and accept the ugliest part of him.

She surprised him again when she leaned towards his hand and planted a tender kiss on his skin. He jerked as tingles spread through his hand. His skin was like the bark of an old, gnarled tree, twisted, raw in places, with thick scars covering it. The reddening of his skin was worse than ever before, as was the pain, which he ignored. He was used to it by now.

"What happened?" she asked. "Can you tell me?"

What could he tell her? He hated himself for still hiding, for covering things up, but he could say some of the truth. "A pistol burst right in my hand," he said.

She nodded. "Was it on the same day as John's death? Is that why the doctor's bill has the same date?"

"Yes."

She looked at him, gently stroking his hand, waiting for him to keep talking, but he didn't say another word. Finally, she nodded and smiled tenderly.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," she said. "I'm sorry that happened to you. Such a terrible accident."

Patience's gentle touch on his scarred hand sent a shiver through Dorian's body. Her acceptance and tenderness were unraveling him, layer by layer, exposing his very soul to her. With trembling fingers, she guided his hands to the headboard, her eyes seeking permission. He nodded, surrendering himself to her completely.

She took the belt of his dressing gown from the bedside table and bound his wrists to the headboard, her movements slow and deliberate. Dorian's heart raced, his body and soul laid bare before her. Patience trailed feather-light kisses along his jaw, his neck, his chest, each touch like a healing caress.

As she positioned herself above him, Dorian drank in the generous curves of her breasts, the swell of her hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal. She rubbed her sex against his hard length until he thought he might go mad with desire.

She smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye, and slowly sank down upon him. They both moaned as her tight heat surrounded him, clasping him like a glove. She began to move, rolling her hips in a sensual rhythm that had him seeing stars. Dorian strained against his bonds, desperate to touch her, to hold her, but she placed her hands on his chest, keeping him pinned beneath her.

That was what she must have felt like, bound and helpless, trusting him.

Like he trusted her.

"Let me love you," she whispered. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Love him…

If only she knew how much he didn't deserve a drop of her love, and yet would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve it. Serving her needs. She was all that mattered. Perhaps that was what God intended for him, a twisted way fate could work.

She rode him, her hips moving, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

"That's right," Dorian rasped. "Take what you need. Take all the pleasure."

She was all his. Her pleasure, her joy, her happiness.

He gave all of himself to her. With his wrists bound, and his mangled hand at her full disposal, he felt raw and vulnerable .

And, somehow, that was healing.

Each rise and fall of her hips drove him closer to the edge, his body wound tight with impending release.

But it was the love in her eyes, the pure devotion and acceptance, that truly undid him. As she cried out his name, her inner walls spasming around him, Dorian let go, surrendering to the bliss she brought him. He shattered beneath her, his release pulsing deep within her womb, his heart laid bare in the afterglow.

Patience collapsed onto his chest, her body warm and soft against his. Dorian ached to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and never let go. She seemed to sense his need, and with gentle hands, she untied his wrists, bringing them to her lips for a tender kiss.

"I love you, Dorian," she whispered against his skin. "You make me so happy."

Dorian pulled her close, burying his face in her hair as he fought back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. In her arms, he found acceptance, redemption, and a love he'd never thought possible.

He loved her, but the words were stuck in his throat. What was the point of telling her that while she loved an illusion of him, he loved the person she truly was?

Dared he hope for a happy future?

Somehow he knew he'd never be able to unless he could cast light onto the shadows of his past. Only by exposing them could chase them away.

But that might chase her away, too.