Chapter Eight
B lake’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw Lady Rosilee beneath the very tree she had brought him to eighteen years ago. Memories of that night flashed through his mind. He could see now how that night had become the great obsession in his life. Dreaming of her, sketching her, longing for her. It all stretched out before him like an ocean, too vast to ever reach the shore and too deep to ever escape.
Fortunately, he didn’t want to escape.
“Your Grace?”
He flinched. She’d called him this before, but this time it hit differently, and in no good way. “Call me Blake.”
Her gaze swung between Mrs. Prune and him. “I can’t do that.”
“Well,” Mrs. Prune said, retreating several steps. “I shall leave you to speak.”
Blake nodded, his gaze never leaving Lady Rosilee’s as he etched every single nuance into his mind. The moment the older woman was out of earshot, he said, “Mrs. Prune told you about how this tree became my hiding spot.”
She hesitated. “A little.”
Blake didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him wanted to curse, and the other part wanted to rejoice. He had spent so much time convincing himself that distance was the only way, that she deserved more than the broken man that he was. He shrank from her knowing how deeply monstrous he or his father was, that the same blood that ran through that villain’s veins ran through his veins. But at the same time, wasn’t this what he claimed to want? For her to see the truth? Maybe then, she’d not step too close to him, maybe she’d trust him a little less, before he lost the will to keep himself from reaching for her.
He cursed under his breath.
He had to stay the course, no matter how much it gutted him. With time, the war inside him would subside a bit.
“He was a monster.” So am I. “He even took a life once,” he said, determined that she should fully understand. “He pushed a servant who angered him down the stairs. The man snapped his neck tumbling down.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need you to know about the shadows that cling to me.”
But instead of running from him, she cocked her head and asked, “Have you ever taken a life?”
Blake’s whole body froze. Had he ever taken a life? “No.” But that didn’t mean that only people who took other’s lives were the monsters. Beasts came in different forms. His came in the form of his title. Dark, heavy, and a blight on this world.
“I’ve never taken a life either.”
Blake started.
“Are you surprised that I haven’t taken a life? I can assure you, I have never.”
That’s not true . . . You’ve taken mine.
“Of course,” Blake said gruffly. “You are all that’s good.” An angel. Which was why he couldn’t let go of his obsession, his yearning . She had dragged him from the flaming pits of hell. Even if just for a moment. There was no forgetting that. There was no letting that go. Not for a man like him, who craved the light.
Her light.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were that boy?”
“I . . .” What could he possibly say?
“You recognized me from the start, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Blake admitted.
“Have you ever even met my brother?” she asked him.
Blake inhaled deeply, then confessed, “No.”
Her breath caught. “When you said you met my brother years ago, you meant me, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
She stared at him for a moment, eyes ablaze. “Then the reason you are helping me is because I helped you all those years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And how did you know I needed help now? Have you been spying on me all these years?”
“No spying, no.” That was a bit too...
“Then what would you call it?” she countered, arching a brow.
“Keeping abreast with your life.”
Her gaze continued to bore into him, searching, studying. “This is all rather...”
“Madcap?” Blake offered. “Which was why I didn’t tell you. I am well aware of how strange this must seem to you.” He glanced back at the tree. “It’s just that I never forgot you after that day. I’ve also never been so grateful to anyone before in my life. Or since.”
“I see.”
Blake waited, and when she said nothing more, he glanced back at her. “You can hit me if you want.”
“ Hit you? Why on earth would I do that?”
“Don’t women hit the men they are angry with?”
“I’m not angry,” she said softly.
She wasn’t? “You’re not?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“No . . .”
She shook her head. “To be honest, I do find it all rather strange, stranger still that I am not upset that you’ve been keeping an eye on me all these years. But in truth, I feel a bit guilty. After all, I didn’t recognize you at all when we met.”
“A lifetime has passed,” Blake said. “It is to be expected.” Look at you, you fool, pulling wool over your own eyes! He cleared his throat. “You have nothing to feel guilty over.”
“Was it hard, living with a father like that?” she suddenly asked.
The hardest. But he only shrugged. No need to drag her into his horror. “I survived.”
“You are not a monster, you know. At least, I don’t see one before me.”
“You will have to look a bit deeper for that. Or just look at my title.”
She suddenly burst out in laughter. “Your title? As in the Duke of Crane?”
“Exactly.”
Her expression turned amused. “Do you realize that it’s just a title?”
“All the things my father did . . .”
“Yes,” she interrupted. “What he did. Not you.”
“I still carry his name. I’m still burdened with the title.”
“Then unburden yourself.”
He shot her a look that spoke volumes about what he thought about those three words. Impossible . “You make it sound so easy.”
She leaned closer, too close. “Easy or not, it’s still something within your power to do.”
His gaze dropped to that sassy mouth. Of all the things she could have said... Even though he couldn’t agree, she had a way of capturing him with her words. God, could he admire her more?
He wanted to kiss her.
God help her soul.
God save his.
Because he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t capture her heart, but he could capture her lips. And he did just that.
Turned out, his will couldn’t hold out much longer at all.
Rosilee had never been so shocked in her life. Not even upon discovering the news of her brother being tricked and gambling their estate away, or Baston offering her marriage as a way of repayment. No, this kiss, the duke’s lips on hers, was much more shocking than any of that!
He swept his tongue into her mouth, and Rosilee let him. In fact, curiosity bloomed as she hesitantly explored in return. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and her head spun, a dizzying coupling of warmth and coldness all the same time. She grasped his coat, pulling him closer, her fingers curling into the thick fabric.
His hands— oh, his hands —traced the line of her waist, locking her against him. In all the tales she’d read thus far, she’d only ever experienced the heroine’s adventures second-hand. Now, she was experiencing her first kiss... undeniably firsthand. His lips left hers, trailing kisses along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine before he slowly pulled away.
Silence stretched between them as he stared down at her, and she up at him.
“Why did you do that?” Rosilee whispered.
He retreated a step, and she was surprised to feel the loss of his proximity so keenly. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t know? Should he not know something like that? Or did men just go and kiss women willy-nilly as they pleased?
“Why did you kiss me back?” he asked.
She blinked at him but said simply, “Curiosity.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “About what?”
“The experience of my first kiss,” she whispered, still feeling the heat of his kiss tingling on her lips.
“ I was your first kiss?”
“Yes...” Was that a look of horror on his face?
“Christ, I’m sorry.”
“Why? What are you sorry for?”
He retreated two more steps, staring at her in horror. “I defiled you.”
“You... what ?” What on earth did he mean by that ? She saw it then, it hadn’t been horror, but rather... self-loathing that had entered his expression. Her heart dropped to her shoes. Was this because he thought he was a monster covered in the shadows of his father and the title he inherited from him? “No, you didn’t defile me. How could you believe that?”
“I am dirty. Everything about me is dirty.”
Actually, he smelled rather nice to her. Earthy, not dirty. But she couldn’t tell him that. He wouldn’t listen to her, not while he wore that pained look on his face. Lord, as first kisses went, Rosilee had enjoyed it. But this...
She could only stare at him staring at her, understanding that he was waiting for her confirmation, or perhaps a slap. He could wait until he died! She held his gaze stubbornly without uttering a word.
He sighed. “I procured an invitation to a ball the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh.” So, this is why he had sought her out tonight. The silence turned awkward, so she blurted, “My dresses are rather out of date. I hope you won’t be too embarrassed to attend with me.”
“I won’t be.” After a moment. “I’ll have a modiste come by with some gowns.”
“No! You don’t have to go that far.”
“I insist,” he said softly. “You deserve beautiful things.”
And you don’t? But she couldn’t say it. She understood then, this was his way to apologize for “sullying” her person with a kiss, and if she didn’t accept it, he would carry shame and guilt with him for who knew how long.
Rosilee nodded. “Very, well. Thank you.”
He nodded.
Sudden nerves prickled along her skin. “You will attend with me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he said. “You are my responsibility.”
Responsibility . . .
Yet he would not take responsibility for their kiss? He would not admit to its magic. He would rather turn it into something bitter. She tasted something bitter in her mouth suddenly. She could also glimpse that frightened boy of years ago occupying the man in this moment.
She sighed.
She was going to her first London ball. With a man she had kissed. As his distant cousin, his ward. Well, you wanted adventure all your life, Rosilee . Someone could have told her that some adventures came with conflict and confusion.
And a bit of pain.
She had another sudden flash of memory as his expression as he gazed at the small library in his carriage surfaced in her mind. That man—that was the true man. This monster he had created in his mind was a mask that only he seemed to see. Her heart suddenly softened as she studied his beautifully rugged face. A few days of stubble coated his jaw. Come to think about it, she hadn’t seen him cleanly shaven yet, and his hair always seemed wind-swept. Even his clothes were the bare minimum required to keep up appearances. He clearly didn’t like cravats. He always pulled at them and often just didn’t wear them. She supposed they felt rather restricting.
She didn’t like restriction herself.
She preferred to live her life on her own terms. Which was why that loathsome man, Baston, vexed her so. He was the true monster.
She suddenly smiled at Blake. Blake, who wanted her to call him by his Christian name, bridging into intimate territory, but couldn’t handle a single kiss. This was but another layer to the man, and Rosilee suddenly wanted to peel them away until he could see what she saw: a man with a good heart.
Her grin widened. “Then I hope we shall have fun at the ball, since it shall be our first one.”
He cleared his throat. “It will be your first one?”
Oh Lord, shouldn’t she have said anything? “Do not dare say anything about defilement.”
“I—”
“Then I have been defiled by you over and over.”
“Christ, woman, don’t say such things!”
“Why not? You used the word first.”
“To my utter bloody regret.”
She laughed, and instantly, the tension gripping her heart lifted. It was almost too much. Learning he was the boy and about his father. The kiss. His self-loathing. But Rosilee wasn’t a woman who was scared away by the tough things.
He had helped her, was helping her.
So she would help him.