Chapter 18
“You truly do have the most beautiful garden in London!” Margaret sighed in admiration.
Camelia and her sisters sat in the sunlit glasshouse that was located in the middle of the grand Brentmere garden. When she discovered the abandoned building, she immediately had it restored, and it quickly became her favorite place to escape to.
The ladies sat around a wooden table adorned with delicate porcelain dishes and a centerpiece of vibrant roses.
Her sisters had arrived that morning, and their presence was a soothing balm to her restless heart. Their soft voices filled the air as they shared a lunch of roasted pheasant and fresh bread. But Camelia’s mind drifted as she recounted her time at Brentmere Manor.
“Camelia?” She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed the entire conversation.
“I beg your pardon, Iris. What were we discussing?”
Iris and Margaret exchanged looks.
“We were admiring your grand gardens,” Margaret said slowly, her tone deliberately patient, as though addressing a child. “And we asked how you’ve found life as a duchess so far.”
“It’s been… challenging,” Camelia admitted as she set down her fork. “Brentmere is grand, but it’s a maze of rules. Raph—His Grace is so particular, and Lady Pamela… she’s like a shadow, slowly slipping away from me. Although we did make some progress.”
Iris, ever the pragmatist, leaned forward, her eyes sharp with concern. “How is the Duke particular? Is he unkind to you, Camelia?”
“No, he’s not unkind,” Camelia said quickly, her cheeks warming at the memory of the last time they were alone.
His hands on her waist and the threat of a lesson whispered in her ears.
“Just… commanding. He’s set a rigid schedule of etiquette lessons for Lady Pamela and household duties for me.
We only gather at breakfast and dinner, and even then, it’s like pulling teeth to get either of them to speak. ”
“Commanding, you say? Oh, I bet he’s commanding in all sorts of ways. Does he sweep you into his arms at night, whispering orders in that deep, ducal voice of his?” Margaret teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Camelia’s face flushed crimson, her heart stuttering.
God, if only she knew how his voice alone makes my body react.
“Actually, we haven’t… consummated the marriage yet.”
A collective gasp escaped her sisters, their forks clattering against their plates.
Iris’s brow furrowed. “Not at all? Camelia, it’s been weeks!”
Margaret leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “What’s he waiting for? Is he too busy brooding to bed his wife? Or are you the one holding out, saving yourself for some grand romantic moment?”
Camelia laughed despite her embarrassment.
“It’s not like that! He’s busy with estate matters, and I’ve been trying to follow his rules and adapt to this…
new life. But my relationship with Lady Pamela is truly what’s troubling me.
At first, she told me I’ll never be her mother, and I couldn’t help but feel that I’m failing her.
That was until I suggested celebrating her birthday.
But I am still struggling, and I don’t know how to reach her. ”
Iris reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re not failing, Camelia. You’ve always had a nurturing nature. Lady Pamela is just guarded. Give her some time.”
Camelia sighed. “If only the schedule His Grace has set left room. It’s all ‘etiquette at nine, correspondence at noon.’ I tried to coax Pamela into sneaking into the glasshouse once, but she looked absolutely appalled!
I believe she only truly spoke to me yesterday when she said she likes poetry, but it’s like I’m climbing mountains for a single word. ”
“Poetry’s a start! Maybe you should read her some verses to loosen her up. As for the Duke, maybe he needs a little scandal to loosen him up, too. Sneak into his chamber in nothing but a shift and see how long he stays ‘busy.’” Margaret winked at her.
“Margaret, you’re young and have no inkling about marital matters,” Camelia chided, but not without a smile.
The thought of sneaking into Raph’s chamber was maddeningly tempting.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin with him. He’s so… intense,” she added.
Iris’s gaze softened. “Intense or not, the Duke chose you, Camelia. You’re his Duchess. You’ll find a way to reach both him and Pamela. You’re stronger than you know, and as you said, you did make a little progress.”
“Yes, Camelia, and we’ll be here to help you along the way!” Margaret vowed.
Camelia’s throat tightened; her sisters’ faith warmed her. “I hope you’re right. I miss you both so much already. Brentmere feels so… cold without you.”
“We’ll visit often.” Iris squeezed her hand again. “And we’ll continue writing.”
“Every day,” Camelia said, managing a smile. “Even if it’s just to complain.”
“Don’t keep us waiting too long for details. Especially about Pamela’s birthday.” Margaret pouted.
“I won’t, Margaret. I am sure that you’ll take full charge of that.”
“Of course! And we absolutely have to get Pamela a new dress for the occasion.”
“When last have we made a trip to Madame Lefèvre’s shop?” Iris asked.
The sisters remained silent as they all thought about that.
“It’s been ages!” Camelia finally blurted.
“We’ll take sweet Pamela and make a trip out of it, too,” Iris said with a small smile.
Camelia felt a heavy weight lift off her shoulders as her sisters’ voices and laughter echoed, and their shared meal came to an end.
Camelia gasped when she awoke from her dream. Her skin burned with the Duke’s touch. In her dream, he did not stop when she begged him to. He trailed kisses down her body until he reached her throbbing, wet core.
“Damn him!” she muttered.
Unable to sleep because even then he haunted her thoughts, Camelia slipped into the dimly lit corridor and entered Brentmere’s vast library, where the moonlight bathed the shelves of leather-bound books in dull silver.
She was wearing a simple nightgown and robe, and she felt the chill of the night air through the flimsy material. Her hair was loosely plaited, and tendrils fell onto her face as she sought solace in the quiet.
Perhaps a book will calm my mind.
But as she stepped into the library, her heart skipped a beat.
The Duke sat by the fireplace, a book in hand, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a glimpse of his broad chest. On his left shoulder, she saw the edge of a faint scar.
Heavens, that scar… How did it happen?
She tried to back away, her feet silent on the rug, but the Duke’s voice stopped her. “Come in, Camelia. No need to skulk.”
She froze. “I am not skulking!”
He sighed. “I do not wish to argue with you tonight.”
Camelia raised an eyebrow and entered the library cautiously. “I thought the library would be empty.”
He set the book down, finally facing her, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “It’s your library too, Duchess. Though you choose odd hours to explore it.”
His gaze roamed over her, lingering on the thin fabric of her robe. She was aware that the material clung to every part of her body, and she suddenly felt self-conscious and clutched her robe tighter around her.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. “Too many… thoughts plague my mind.”
The Duke searched her eyes with curiosity as he leaned back in his chair. “What were you thinking of, little flower?” His voice was hoarse with lack of sleep, yet it still sent a shiver through her.
Of you. Of us. Of how your touch lingers in my dreams.
Camelia swallowed the truth, but her body had already reacted, and she covered her breasts when she felt her nipples harden.
“I have just been thinking about how much my life has changed.”
“Are you unhappy about it?”
She waited a beat. “No, I’m not unhappy. I’m just… lost.”
“You will find your way, Camelia.” His tone shifted.
“And what about you? Do dukes often read in their shirtsleeves at midnight?”
He smirked. “Dukes do as they please, Camelia. But you… you look like you’re plotting something. I hope it’s not another rebellion against my schedules?”
She laughed, settling into the chair opposite him. “Perhaps. Or maybe I’m just roaming the manor, trying to find the answers you refuse to give me.”
“Not this again,” the Duke groaned.
“All right then. If you don’t trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets, then why don’t we start small?”
“Go on.”
“Hmm…” Camelia tapped the tip of her chin with her finger as if in deep thought. “What do you do when you don’t want to think anymore? When the weight of your duties feels too heavy?”
He arched an eyebrow, surprised by her question.
“I read,” he said plainly. “It… quiets my mind.”
Camelia pouted.
“You seem disappointed, little flower.”
“I’m not. I just should have guessed that answer, since you’re in the library at this hour.”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid that the questions you truly want to ask me cannot be answered.” He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers before it traveled to her breasts and lingered. “The more you dig, the more afraid you would be of me.”
“How do you know what answers I truly want from you?” She ignored the flutter in her stomach.
His eyes slid over as they did in the alley when she kissed him. Camelia wanted to cover herself, but she enjoyed being admired by him.
“I know that you want the truth, Camelia. About my past and my present. But I cannot share it with you.”
“I will give it time.”
“Not now. Not ever.”
They sat in a tense silence for a few moments.
“And what do you do when your… thoughts keep you awake?” he asked.
She tilted her head. Her robe fell off her shoulder, and she felt the cool night air brush against her exposed skin, hardening her nipples even further. The Duke’s breath caught, and she tried not to revel in his reaction.
“I walk,” she answered calmly. “I enjoy long strolls to clear my head.”
“That is a dangerous sport.”
Camelia looked at him, stunned. “Walking?”
“Yes.”
“How on earth is that dangerous?”
“Well, it depends on where or who you’re walking with.”
The last time Camelia walked to ‘clear her head,’ she ended up in an alley.
“That is true. I suppose I prefer gardens. The air and the blooms soothe me.”
He nodded. “That’s safe enough. You did well with the glasshouse in the garden. It’s thriving under your care.”
“I love that glasshouse. It’s like a little Eden, but I don’t understand why it was left to nature’s mercy for so long. It’s too beautiful to neglect.”
The Duke’s expression tightened briefly. “It was my mother’s. She tended it… before.” He paused, then met her gaze. “You’ve brought it back to life.”
Camelia sensed the weight behind his words. “I’m glad I could.”
“You’re full of surprises, little flower. Keep tending that garden, and I might let you wander without a schedule… occasionally.”
She leaned forward. “Occasionally? How generous of you, Your Grace. Shall I beg for more freedom, or will you grant it if I simply do a good job?”
“Grant it? No, I much rather call it a reward.”
Camelia’s cheeks flushed. “If you call freedom a reward, then what do you mean by ‘lessons’?”
His eyes darkened with challenge. “What do you believe it means, Camelia?”
She wished she knew the answers, but she hadn’t a clue.
“I do not understand it. You say it’s a lesson, and yet it feels…”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
She shifted in her armchair, her robe slipping further, fully revealing the curve of her shoulders. The Duke cleared his throat as he studied her.
Just a look from him makes me burn with desire.
“Have you truly come to argue about my schedules again?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe I was just seeking a book to escape them. Your rules are relentless.”
“Relentless?” He arched an eyebrow. “They bring order, Camelia. Something you could use.”
She tilted her head. “You sound like a general, not a husband. Tell me, do you ever bend, or is it all straight lines for you?”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiringly. “Do you care to test how far you would bend?”
Camelia’s breath hitched. Her eyes traveled from his inviting lips to his sea-blue eyes. “What is that scar on your shoulder?”
“It’s nothing.” He sat back in his seat and covered the scar.
“What happened?”
“It was a duel that went wrong.”
“When?”
“A long time ago.”
“Is this what Lord Montague was talking about when he confronted you? Did he do it?”
The Duke’s expression shuttered, his eyes turning cold. “That’s not your concern, Camelia. Focus your energy on Pamela, not my past.”
Her heart sank, but she pressed on. “I know that Pamela is the reason why I’m here, but she’s so distant. She barely speaks at breakfast, despite my efforts, and your secrets might be the cause—at least in part. Tell me something, anything, so I can understand you both.”
“Enough,” the Duke growled. “Pamela needs your attention, not me. Your curiosity about old wounds will not fix anything. Do your duty or else, Duchess.”
“Or else what? You’ll bind me again?”
“Do not tempt me!”
Camelia rose, her frustration flaring. “I’m trying, Raph, but you are not giving much time or freedom. Pamela does not need another taskmaster. And you—you hide behind scars of your past and orders. Why won’t you let me in?”
“My past is not your concern. Focus on Pamela, as I’ve ordered.”
She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at him. Raph leaned back against the cushion, peering up at her with a deep frown, and she fought the urge to climb onto his lap and feel his manhood press against her.
“I’m not one of your footmen. I’m your wife. Why do you insist on keeping everyone at arm’s length?”
“You think you can unravel me with questions?” he said, his voice a dangerous purr. “Many women tried and failed.”
Camelia’s face reddened with jealousy, but she didn’t back down. “Is that another of your ‘lessons’? Because I’m not afraid of you, Raph, no matter how much you threaten me.”
He stood, his shirt falling open, revealing more of the jagged scar like a silent testament to his guarded past. Camelia held in a gasp. He stepped towards her, closing the distance between them until she felt the heat of his body.
“You should be scared,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
“Keep pushing me, little flower, and I’ll bind more than your hands next time.
I’ll have you writhing and begging for mercy.
You’ll feel both pain and pleasure in ways you haven’t imagined, and it will be the sweetest torture you’ve ever experienced. ”
Camelia’s mind reeled as desire mingled with fear. The Duke grazed her breasts with his fingers, causing her to shiver. He walked away from her, leaving her breathless and wanting more.
“This is not—”
“Go to bed, Camelia,” he cut her off coldly. “This conversation is over.”