The rogue’s reclamation

The stolen glances

The ball continued around them, but for Catherine and Edmund, the room had shrunk to the space between their heartbeats. Julian, ever the jovial host, had been pulled away by a group of insistent politicians, leaving the Duke and the Lady standing in a precarious, silent wake.

For the next hour, they existed in two different orbits, yet they were constantly pulled toward one another. Catherine stood by the refreshment table, feigning interest in a conversation with a tedious Baron. Across the room, Edmund was surrounded by a phalanx of eager mothers, yet he never looked at them.

Every time Catherine turned her head, she found his dark gaze already there, waiting for her. It was a physical weight a heat that skipped across the distance and settled in the small of her back. When she laughed at a joke she did not find funny, she saw his jaw tighten. When he took the hand of a young debutante for an obligatory minuet, Catherine’s fingers curled so tightly around her fan that the ivory ribs creaked. It was a silent, dangerous dialogue.

Look at me, his eyes seemed to command.

I should not, her gaze replied, before she inevitably looked again.

Catherine

As she stood on the balcony for a moment of cool air, Catherine gripped the stone railing. Her skin felt too tight for her body. She had spent years preparing herself for a respectable marriage for a man who was steady and safe. But Edmund was a storm.

He is my brother’s best friend, she told herself, the words a mantra that failed to soothe her. He is a rake who views women as fleeting pleasures. He is everything Julian told me to avoid. But the memory of his hand on her waist during the waltz burned like a brand. She did not just want a husband anymore; she wanted him to be the one to look at her with that devastating hunger. She felt a hollow ache in her chest a yearning for a man who represented the very ruin of the life she thought she wanted.

Edmund

Inside the ballroom, Edmund drained a glass of scotch, the amber liquid doing nothing to dull the fire in his blood. He had traveled the world to avoid being tethered, yet here he was, anchored to a spot by the sight of a girl in a silk dress.

Julian’s sister. The thought was a bitter pill. He owed Julian his life, his loyalty, and his honor. To touch Catherine would be to spit in the face of the only man who truly knew him.

She is innocent, he reminded himself, watching her silhouette through the balcony doors. She wants a home, a name, a future. I am a man of nights, not years. But he could not stop imagining the gold of her hair spread across his pillows. He did not want to just dance with her; he wanted to tear down the walls of her propriety and find the fire he saw hidden in her eyes. It was a craving that felt like a betrayal, yet it was the only thing that had made him feel truly alive since his return.

The clock struck midnight. The crowd was beginning to thin, and the shadows in the corners of the mansion grew longer. Catherine slipped away from the noise, heading toward the one place she knew she could find peace: the grand library.

The heavy oak doors of the library swung shut with a muted thud, swallowing the distant strains of the orchestra. Here, the air was cool and smelled of old vellum and beeswax. Catherine leaned her back against the wood, closing her eyes as she let out a breath she felt she had been holding since the first waltz.

"It is a dangerous thing, Lady Catherine, to leave a ballroom alone," a voice rumbled from the shadows.

Catherine gasped, her eyes snapping open. Edmund was draped across a velvet armchair near the cold hearth, a glass of amber liquid resting on the armrest. He did not move, but his gaze traveled over her with the slow, deliberate heat of a man accustomed to taking what he wanted.

"And it is a predatory thing, Your Grace, to lurk in the dark," she countered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She knew she should leave; every instinct screamed at her to flee. Instead, she took a step toward him. "Why are you not with the others? I believe there were at least three widows competing for your next dance."

Edmund stood up, the movement fluid and menacingly graceful. "I found the conversation lacking. It turns out, after three years abroad, I have lost my taste for hollow flattery." He walked toward her, stopping just inches away, invading her personal space until she could smell the scotch and the faint scent of sandalwood on his skin. "I find myself craving something much more... substantial."

Catherine looked up at him, her chin tilted defiantly. "You are Julian’s friend. You should be back there celebrating his birth, not cornering his sister in a library."

"Julian is the best man I know," Edmund murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive, gravelly register. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. His touch was electric. "Which is why it is such a goddamn tragedy that his sister is the most captivating creature I have ever encountered."

"Do not," she whispered, though she did not pull away. "I am not one of your continental mistresses, Edmund. I want a life. A family. I want things you despise."

"I know what you want," he said, his hand sliding down to the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her curls. He leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from hers. "But tell me, Catherine... in this moment, under the weight of all this propriety, do you really want a 'respectable' man? Or do you want to know why they call me a rogue?"

He was luring her, his rakish charm stripping away her defenses. Catherine felt her eyes flutter shut, her hands reaching up to grip the lapels of his coat. She was yearning for the ruin he offered, her lips parting as she leaned into him. Edmund groaned, his self-control snapping. He tilted his head, his nose brushing against hers, the world narrowing down to the heat of her body.

"Cate?"

The sharp, urgent whisper of Louisa cut through the silence like a blade. The library door creaked open.

Edmund pulled back, his face a mask of frustrated fury, just as Louisa scrambled inside. She took one look at Catherine’s flushed face and the Duke’s disheveled cravat and turned pale.

"My Lady! The Earl is looking for you," Louisa hissed, rushing forward and grabbing Catherine’s arm. She did not even look at the Duke; her terror for her friend’s reputation overrode her fear of his rank. "We must go. Now. If Julian finds you here with him..."

Louisa did not finish the sentence. She practically dragged Catherine toward the concealed servant’s entrance behind a tapestry. Catherine looked back over her shoulder one last time. Edmund was standing by the hearth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes burning with a promise that this was far from over.Then, the door clicked shut, and she was hurried away into the safety of the shadows.