Chapter 7 #2
It is the somber tone in His Grace’s voice rather than the portrait that demands my attention. I take in his profile as he gazes at the portrait, his handsome face conveying him to be in deep thought. For the first time I can recall, I wish to know what he is thinking.
“Does the painting mean something to you, Your Grace? Did you know him well?”
The duke does not look at me, but my question causes a slight furrowing of his brow. “Alas, I cannot claim to have known him, but from everything I have since learned of him, he was an honorable man.”
Again, the way he speaks beckons me to look closer. His brows are drawn, his frown has deepened, and his lips press together tightly.
I lift my hand, my fingers aching to offer him comfort. I catch myself while my hand hovers, unsure of what to do next.
He turns to see my hand in mid-air and lifts an eyebrow.
I make a show of brushing my hand over my hair and then dropping it to my side, my fingers still tingling in want of feeling him.
“Do you…” I clear my throat. “Do you wish the same? To be an honorable man?”
That wolfish grin flashes across his face, chasing away the melancholy until I fear I was imagining it. He clutches his heart. “You wound me, Madam! Do you mean to say you do not find me honorable?” He wags his eyebrows at me, his eyes dancing with mirth.
I drop my eyes. I am unused to being the source of someone’s amusement, and I find I do not like it.
Before I can find any way to challenge him, or gain the upper hand, he leads me away.
We go only a short way down the diamond-tiled hallway before he pauses once more in front of a set of large doors.
Each door boasts a shiny brass handle with intricate floral scrollwork.
“Are they new doors, Your Grace?” I inquire, my tone bored.
“Indeed, they are,” he returns with his usual unflappable spirit. He offers me a smile of sheer boyish enthusiasm then reaches for a handle and turns it. But he opens the door only a crack before turning back to me. “I shall cover your eyes.”
“No!” I protest, giggling despite myself. “You cannot be in earnest!”
“I do not say anything unless I am in earnest.”
I gaze back at him, my lips twisting, but I do not give voice to my skepticism. “I do believe I feel myself growing weary. I am in need of rest, I fear.”
His Grace’s lips quirk, and his gaze grows warmer. “I must insist your slumber wait. After I have shown you my surprise, if it is your wish to take respite, I shall yield.”
My entire being is alive and pulsing to the point it seems to lend warmth to the air around us. I am enjoying this game immensely. “Very well. As you wish.”
“What?” he frowns, pretending vexation. “You mean to drop the honorifics altogether?”
“Pray excuse me, Your Grace.” I intend for the title to come out stuffed with fury as it has every other time I have uttered it thus. Instead, the words nearly drip with honey and I feel the prickling shame that is becoming a constant companion upon my cheeks.
I obey and close my eyes, though when his gloved hand descends to cover them, I find myself no less embarrassed.
The heat that warms my skin becomes a searing need that flows through me with speed that is so startling, it threatens to upend me.
Thankfully—or, perhaps not, as it is surely the cause of the thrumming ball of want seated firmly in the pit of my stomach—His Grace has a hand on my arm and guides me so that I do not fall and make a complete fool of myself.
We take no more than ten steps before I feel the warmth of his hand being lifted. “You may open whenever it pleases you.”
Uncertain if I will be able to maintain my composure, to conceal my desire, I keep my eyes closed for several long moments and inhale deeply, attempting to master my emotions. But when I finally open my eyes, I immediately discover it was all for naught.
It is impossible for me to pretend indifference in this moment. I fear it would be too difficult even if I were an accomplished actor, which I am certainly not. A gasp escapes my parted lips as I turn from side-to-side, drinking in the glorious sight.
He has brought me to a library, filled with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases, each gleaming in the sunlight that comes in through the large bay windows.
The floor boasts the same rich mahogany and is laid with a fine Persian rug that looks so soft and inviting.
I feel a strong urge to remove my slippers and run my bare toes over it.
I resist the unladylike temptation, but only just.
Each bookcase is brimming with leather-clad volumes, and the scent of ink and leather clings to the air. I hug myself, shivering at the deliciousness of it, before I can stop myself.
“Would you permit me to show you around, my lady?”
I’ve forgotten the duke’s presence entirely, but now that he speaks, I turn to him, a smile of joy claiming my features. When he offers me his arm, I do not think of my mysterious want, or even my wounded pride. This surprise has surpassed all else, and I gratefully take his arm.
We walk together and he points out things I have not yet noticed—the rosettes carved with a delicate hand into the ceiling, the cushioned seat in the bay window, ideal for a long afternoon of reading.
“I have never seen a fireplace built nearby the window,” I remark as I gaze upon the marble hearth. The mantle is adorned by several tall candlesticks.
“I did not wish you to catch a chill, if ever your reading should carry late into the evening.”
When his intention strikes me, I turn to face him, my surprise surely evident on my face. “You did this for me?”
“Indeed, my lady.”
“I do not understand.” I feel a bit faint from excitement and astonishment.
“It is my wedding gift to you, my lady.”
“I…” My voice falters as I try to recall what my mother had commissioned for him. “How did you…We never spoke of my enjoyment of books.”
“Ah, there was no need. I… I have seen you sneak away to read when a party or ball allows for it.”
Heat steals over my features, but it is not the familiar prick of shame I am accustomed to in his presence. “I did not know anyone noticed.”
His lips quirk at the corners. “I suspected that might be the case.”
I turn my head, drinking in the sight of the beautiful, luxurious library. I have never dreamt of setting foot in such a palace of luxury, much less calling it my own. “I do not know how you managed it.”
“I must confess, I did ask your lady mother for help.”
This demands my attention, and I face him once more. “Truly?”
My husband stands tall and regal in his bearing, gazing down at me with pure delight in his gaze. “I speak the truth, I assure you. I merely inquired what gift would suit you best.”
“But this…” I am feeling overcome by his display of generosity. “You do not mean to say it did not exist?”
“The late duke had a modest library. I employed builders for more bookshelves and ordered books to have the shelves stocked. It is a small thing, yet I wished you to have it.”
My head is fairly spinning, and it is all too much to take in. “It is no mere trifle,” I manage to say, still in awe as I look around.
“I confess, I have spent nearly all of this year’s allowance, but if it has brought you any measure of happiness, I judge it well worth it.”
Finally abandoning the decorum that has been a strict governess all my life, I throw my arms wide, raise my face to the ceiling, and spin in a circle of pure, delighted happiness that I have not felt since being a small child.
When I open my eyes and face my lord husband, the joy in his countenance is nearly my undoing.
“It pleases you? Truly? For… I wish there to be no secrets or falsehoods between us, my lady.”
A chink of vulnerability is apparent in his gaze, and it catches in the rich timbre of his voice. A feeling for this man I scarcely know surges through me, and I step forward to take his hand in mine. “I adore it. Truly. And… I feel as you do, Your Grace. I do not wish us to have an unhappy union.”
“You must promise me then. No falsehoods, no secrets? We are in agreement?”
Staring into his dark eyes, I nod my assent.
“I must hear you say it, my lady.”
“Yes.” My voice is a breathy murmur of agreement.
“Very good. Now then—” He leans near, and the scent of his sandalwood musk beckons cloyingly. “Do you wish to confess your feelings for me?”
It takes me a few moments to win the battle against his scent, his eyes that make promises only body seems to hear. My sex clenches so strongly, I nearly swoon; only the determination of my upbringing keeps me on my feet.
“Certainly, my lord,” I purr, delighting at the way his eyes widen, ever so slightly. “I shall have my turn after you.”
His lips quirk, but only a moment later he presses them in a firm line. “I fear you have misunderstood how this will go, my lady.” He takes a step toward me, closing the scant distance between us.
This time, I hold my ground and meet his gaze without flinching.
My body yearns for his; I can no longer deny this to myself.
This attraction, the invisible pull between us, is hard to resist. My body aches for nothing more than to fall into his strong, masculine arms. But I must resist, for to say what he wants means that he will have the upper hand, for now and evermore.
I want you to kiss me. The words rise to my lips, unbidden, burbling up my throat before the thought is even complete.
I press my lips together tightly, sealing them inside where they shall only harm me.
I swallow them with great difficulty, for my heart is thudding painfully, and my declaration of desire does not wish to be forced back down.
“My lady.” His words are a growl of desire that calls to my own, stoking the fire between my legs, though it scarcely needs encouragement. He brings his hand up and caresses the side of my face with a gloved finger.
I lean toward him before I can stop myself, entranced by how his eyes burn into me, and the way my skin thrills at his touch.
“Is there anything you might wish to say to me, my lady?”
He seems to divine even the thoughts I dare not utter.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Pray, do speak your mind.”
His eyes are dancing merrily, and the cloying scent of his skin is nearly my undoing. My core is quivering with need. “You have my gratitude for your gift, Your Grace. Now, please do excuse me. I fear I am in need of a reprieve after all the excitement.”
Not trusting myself to say more, nor continue to stand in his presence, I take my leave.