Hunger

From the moment I entered the Montrose estate as a maid to the moment I was dragged to the Montrose dungeons on the charge of having poisoned the Duke, I only ever regretted that he might die at the hands of someone else. Duke Montrose had been my target for years. I trained like no other woman in the entire empire. I learned the ways of blades and blood to claim my revenge, and if I decided he may yet live, no one else was to kill him.

That night, the Montrose family hosted a grand ball for the empire’s wealthiest. Fancy carriages delivered new lords and ladies one after another, all hurrying to greet the hosts and pander for life-changing introductions. Servants bustled around the room, bolt upright as they wandered from one lord or lady to the next, offering champagne, wine, or some rare delicacy imported from far away and available only at the dukedom or the palace. Mostly, beautiful women floated through the ballroom in pale, feminine gowns and sheer gloves more provocative than modest. It was as though roses from a well-grown garden had been enticed to life by the warm light of the majestic crystal chandelier hanging above and the lovely music that had me humming despite my better judgment.

Against the whimsical softness of the early evening—and I specify early evening because the whimsy only lasted so long before it turned dark and decadent—a stark woman in a vibrant fuchsia gown sauntered toward the duke. Her gown was so obscenely unfashionable for the season, in both color and its daringly low neckline, that the ladies smirked openly and regarded her as vulgar entertainment rather than a threat. Either unaware or undeterred, the woman dropped her fan before the duke and gave a faux gasp. She dipped, keeping her eyes on him as her breasts threatened to spill from her gown, and retrieved the fan from the floor. I pursed my lips in dismay. It was not a surprising sight on its own, if only for the fact that it was still too early for high society’s delicate norms to be addled—for the ugly beast hiding beneath to raise its head.

Through the entire debacle, Duke Montrose stood unbothered, not once shifting his gaze from me to take in the woman’s desperate seduction. He sipped his wine and watched me intently with his dark, promising gaze. My mouth watered at the torrent of images that gaze incited. I will note here that the duke maintained his unbothered manner with all things except two: his lust and the management of his youngest sister’s affairs. I lifted my chin in slight defiance and turned to continue my work.

I carried my gold tray of bite-sized delicacies and floated among the nobility, offering the sweet desserts without speaking or making myself truly present. Once the tray emptied, I left the ballroom and strolled down the narrow, ambiently lit corridor leading to the kitchens. That was when he caught me. He pushed me against the wall, sending the tray clattering to the ground in sharp, echoing clangs.

My heart hammered at the possibility of being seen. I whipped my head in both directions, eyes searching for approaching figures. “Your Grace!” I whispered. I attempted to pull my hands away, only to find his grip unusually firm. “You’ll have us seen.”

“Perhaps we should be,” he said, voice hoarse. He leaned closer, his hot breath fanning my face. “What was your business with that man this morning?”

“Mr. Reed? I was—”

He pressed the rough, calloused pad of his thumb to my lips. “Don’t,” he groaned, seemingly out of breath. “Don’t say his name when we’re like this.” He pressed himself into me in emphasis.

I whimpered, closing my eyes momentarily. It felt too good having him against me, a whisper of his hot breath tingling my neck. When I opened my eyes, the Duke was watching through a half-lidded gaze.

He ran a finger across my lips. “I want you.”

“Your Grace, please—”

His lips crashed into mine, hard and unyielding. He groaned, sucking my lower lip before pressing it lightly between his teeth and tugging. “Open your mouth.”

I parted my lips, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. His kiss was needy. His hands ran along my body, one tangling in my hair as he pulled my head back and kissed me harder. When he drew away, our lips were wet and swollen, our breaths coming in hard gasps.

“Come with me,” he commanded, voice husky. He threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me down several corridors and into his bedchamber. I don’t remember whether I checked for onlookers during that desperate, fevered walk. Perhaps that was my first mistake that night; I had thrown caution to the wind and lost myself in desire.

As soon as the door closed behind me, he pushed me against it and kissed me again—a long, wanting kiss that rendered me senseless to everything else. His hands fumbled with the lacing at the back of my plain dress as he sucked at my neck. I arched into him, moaning in pleasure.

A loud rustle at the back of the chamber made me open my eyes through the haze. The duke continued his ministrations. I nearly shut my eyes again when he gave my breast a rough squeeze, but the grating sound of a throat clearing broke the spell entirely. I pushed his head away more roughly than intended, and he furrowed his brows in confusion. Before he could voice the questions I saw forming, I pointed to the back of the chamber, where the sound was now clearly a pained, feminine sob. The duke’s face fell into a cool, furious expression. He gestured for me to remain behind him and began a careful, soundless walk to the far corner of the room, concealed by the considerable size of his bed. I followed closely.

When we rounded the corner, what came into view was entirely shocking to us both.