Catherine clenched her jaw.
For days, Dorian had been dropping subtle hints, and she had managed to deflect every one of them with a convenient excuse—a lingering headache, exhaustion, a fever that came and went. Each excuse had bought her another day. Tonight, however, the reason for his visit was painfully obvious.
He had come because he wanted her.
For one reckless moment, her gaze drifted toward the heavy glass water jug resting on the bedside table. The thought arrived before she could stop it. She could grab it, smash it against his head, and end everything before it even began.
The image vanished as quickly as it came.
No.
Not yet.
More than anything, she could not bear the thought of him touching her. She had already given herself to him once in another lifetime, believing it was the duty of a queen and a wife. She would never willingly offer him that part of herself again.
