He spooned broth into her mouth while Anastasia ran downstairs. Was it his imagination, or did his mother swallow with more vigor than usual? By the time she returned with a towering stack of letters and the vase, filled with flowers, the lady’s maid had changed the sheets and was building up the fire again with the wood stacked by the hearth.
Harry set the vase by his mother’s head. He wasn’t sure but he thought there might be faint blush about her cheeks. He took a seat at his desk and began sorting through the letters. All the business correspondence he set aside; all the letters from his colleagues, friends, and members of the ton he piled up for later. What remained was a handful of missives addressed to his mother.
As the morning wore on, and the fortitude to attend to his own correspondence hopelessly out of Harry’s reach, his mother rolled over in her sleep for the first time in weeks. Harry moved to sit on the bed beside her as he read. His mother’s forehead was cool.
Harry found himself humming as noon approached. He took out a volume of poetry he kept in his desk and began to read it aloud.
If my mother lives I’ll do anything—anything. Only let her keep getting better.
He passed three days in this state of desperate hope.
He knew that the clock had run out in the final hours. The ticking machine that had threatened and loomed over them for months, was running down. As the evening faded, that threat came ever closer to desperate reality. He clung to his mother, kissing her everywhere he could reach. He covered her in blankets and helped her into her best nightgown, the lace and silk one that was a present from the late Duke the Christmas before he died. His mother used her last breaths to kiss him back.
Chapter 16
Aftermath
Adelia went to the Dowager Duchess’s funeral, as did a good bit of the ton. She stood in the back, a cloak covering her face and hair, with Lady Harriet. Adelia’s hand found its way to Lady Harriet’s arm when she saw The Duke’s grief-stricken expression through the crowds of people. Lady Harriet patted her hand reassuringly, and when Adelia locked eyes with her, Lady Harriet told her with a shake of her head that the Duke had to handle this himself.
His expression didn’t shift the entire time—green eyes filled with so much guilt and grief Adelia could feel his pain just by looking at him.
The ceremony lasted more than an hour and then they all trooped to Rosemond manor for the wake. She spotted the Cornhills, talking quietly to the Duke, but did not approach. She was getting worried by her mother’s silence. She could see how increasingly anxious Lady Cornhill was becoming and she knew it was not a good thing that her mother had not yet replied. By the time Lady Harriet came to fetch Adelia so they could leave, her feet were killing her and a chill had set into her bones from the damp air.
She hadn’t had a chance to even approach the Duke, much less talk to him and it left her uneasy—a weight hanging over her heart.
It was almost ten o’clock in the night, Lady Harriet was already asleep, when Adelia heard the knocking. Furrowing her brow, she climbed from under her blankets and put on her robe, taking the stairs quietly, already anticipating who she would see at the door. She peeked around the corner of the corridor, expecting to see the butler answering the door but there was no one there.
The knocking sounded again and she whirled, realizing it hadn’t been coming from the entryway.
Making her way back into her bedchamber, she quickly crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains.
That was when she saw him—crouched down on the slates, head hunched forward and as miserable-looking as a rat in a trap. He was leaning against the outside railing. She frowned in concern when she noticed he was still wearing his clothes from the funeral, now soaking wet from the rain that had been falling for the past hour.
Throwing open the window, she breathed his name.
The blank look in his eyes when they snapped up to hers scared her more than anything. Her hand was halfway to his face before she registered what she was doing and pulled it back to her side.
The Duke stared at her, his gaze almost expressionless. When he didn’t make a move to come in, she repeated his name.
The small burst of recognition that flashed through his green eyes gave her some relief, and when she held out her hand, he managed to take it and let her pull him inside.
He landed uneasily on her floor and she felt him shiver as he leaned close in his attempt to balance himself.
She didn’t think, she just reacted—tugging the sleeves of his morning coat as she pushed it down over his broad shoulders.
His lack of resistance, or indeed his very presence, sent panic flaring through her. His dress shirt was sodden and clinging to his well-defined icy-cold torso. She took a sharp breath, debating what to do next.
“Your Grace…” Something in her voice caught his attention since his expressionless eyes focused on hers, his brow furrowed.
“You’re soaking wet...you...you need to get out of those clothes,” she managed, tramping down the images that rose to her mind, and instead focusing on the Duke.
He only frowned at her in confusion before glancing down to see the puddle he was leaving on the hardwood floor.
Before she knew what he was doing, he’d started to unbutton his shirt and she watched, trying to figure out if she had somehow fallen asleep and was in the middle of a fever dream.
Every time she caught a glimpse of his eyes, she knew this was not part of one of her dreams. The gentleman in her dreams was not as broken as he looked at this moment.
When the shirt fell to the floor, he dropped his hands to the buttons of his breeches and Adelia let out a soft squeak as she turned around, almost running for the bed to snatch up the blanket and throw it at him.
Turning, she was not prepared for the sight of the Duke covered only in a blanket and his unmentionables, standing in the middle of her bedchamber. Her eyes widened, and her breath tripped out of her mouth. His gaze was trained on the floor, shoulders slumped. In an instant, the liquid heat that was pooling in her stomach turned to concern for the broken gentleman before her.
Slowly, she approached him, wondering what she could do for him. She felt quite strongly that he should have something warm to drink before he caught the ague. But she could not exactly send for some…or maybe she could. She went out to the corridor and rang for a footman, taking care to stand firmly in the slight gap of the doorway so he could not see into her room.
“I require some hot chocolate, please. And hurry.” She gave him a strained smile as he bowed and hurried off.
“We’ll soon get you warmed up,” she murmured to the Duke upon closing the door. He turned his head and the look in his eyes told her that he’d forgotten she was even there.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she shook her head, letting her hand fall to his arm, but knowing that was all she could allow herself to do just then.
His eyes slammed shut and she saw him swallow—his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he fought to gain control of his normally imperturbable emotions.
Every muscle in his body seemed to tense and she let her hand fall away from his arm. “I’m just going to...I’ll go and get that chocolate…” she mumbled, giving him one last long glance before turning away and heading out of her chamber.
She paced the corridor, waiting for the footman to return, trying not to fret about the fact that she had a mostly-naked Duke in her bedchamber. Those runaway thoughts were quickly squashed down when she remembered the expressionless look in his normally fierce green eyes.
He looked so lost, so broken. And while she knew how much he cared for his mother—indeed she had seen his care herself—he’d always managed to keep that vulnerable part of him under lock and key, only allowing that mask to fall when he was around those he trusted most.
Adelia honestly wasn’t sure how to help him right now. As much as she’d wanted to go to him during the funeral and wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be fine, she’d kno
wn that wasn’t possible. So to have him here now, intentionally seeking her out and letting her see him fall apart, was something for which she was not prepared.
Her mind whirled with everything that had happened over the past few days. She'd never seen the Duke like this. Even right after losing the Dowager Duchess, he had not looked as defeated as he did now. She guessed that seeing his mother lowered into the ground made everything that much more real.
It was the self-loathing apparent in his eyes that worried her the most. As if he believed he didn't even deserve to live, and her heart dropped with the idea that he wished it would have been him instead.
The footman brought the hot chocolate on a tray with an array of cakes as well and she snatched it up before hesitantly approaching her own door.
The footman must think I have taken leave of my senses.
A part of her wondered if he'd left—gone out the way he came—deciding that coming to her was a mistake. A knot formed in her stomach at the thought.
The realization that he had come to her when he was at his lowest shifted something deep within her and caused a flame to grow up out the burning embers. Her feelings for this gentleman were complicated, but growing with each passing day. The idea that he would trust her with the deepest and most heartbroken part of him was overwhelming.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob to her door and peeked inside.
The image that met her broke her already fragile heart into pieces. The Duke sat on her bed, wrapped in the blanket. From the moonlight streaming in through the curtains, she could see his head was bowed and he was staring at his hands. Every few seconds he would scrub them together as if trying to rid them of some unseen substance.
A terrible thought gripped her as she watched him. It was the Dowager Duchess's blood that he was desperately trying to clean from his hands. But he couldn't.
Without hesitation, she crossed to him, her feet carrying her to him as fast as they could. She placed the tray on the table and then went to him. He didn't look up when she reached him, his eyes staring unseeingly at his hands. The moonlight cast half of his face in shadow, but the side she could see broke her heart.
She felt as if she was watching a scared animal—traumatized by events that had left it skittish of any human contact.
Lifting one hand, she placed it gently on his bowed head, her fingers filtering through the short locks, down to the nape of his neck, where the muscles were corded and taut.
When her fingers shifted against his skin, she felt him release a breath and wondered just how long he'd been holding it.
Adelia let her eyes slip shut and a tear rolled down her cheek at seeing this normally strong and confident gentleman utterly broken.
She didn’t speak. This was not a time for talking. Words were of no use to them right now. This was about comfort given and received. Whatever she might say, he wouldn’t hear. He needed touch, feeling, reassurance that he wasn’t alone. She picked up the hot chocolate and made him drink. He resisted initially but then sat there obediently and let her help him drink.
Time passed slowly until finally, she saw his shoulders begin to relax.
With the slightest pressure, she kneaded her fingers against his tense muscles, and that’s when she felt him let go. His head fell against her stomach and she almost jumped when both of his large hands gripped the backs of her thighs tightly as if she was his only lifeline.
Her fingers passed through his hair, letting him fall apart against her.
The magnitude of the moment was not lost on Adelia. She knew this was a milestone in their relationship. She had been there for him while he cared for his mother as much as she could. It was a difference, however, being on hand when he was going through something, and his coming to her when all his defenses were down.
Her heart drummed rapidly and she was sure he could hear it just as she could feel his pulse when she ran her fingers down his neck and over his shoulders as if he were a spooked horse.
Ultimately, his uneven breaths smoothed out, his grip on her slackening. Her fingers continually traced soothing patterns on his skin as if they were words whispering to him that he was not alone.
Eventually, his head lifted, and she latched onto the sight of tears on his cheeks. The breath caught in her throat because she had never seen him cry—never seen any man cry. It was disconcerting yet at the same time, the most breathtaking thing she’d ever seen.
The Duke was a gentleman who kept his emotions tightly under lock and key. So letting her see him cry; letting her comfort him and try to ease his pain was a huge step. One she was gladly willing to accept because she’d quickly learned that she’d do anything for him.
Without giving it more than a passing thought, she leaned down and let her lips pass over his hairline. His hands flexed on her legs before falling away, the loss of heat acute.
Pulling back, she met his gaze and a trace of recognition and thanks fluttered through his distant eyes. She gave him a hesitant smile and it seemed to relax him even further.
They stared at each other in silence, the hum of the city outside her window the only noise filling the room, along with their soft breathing.
Adelia felt the emotions of the day catching up with her as her lids began to fall heavily. She noticed his gaze becoming unfocused and caught the dark circles underneath his eyes, and wondered how long it had been since he’d actually slept.
Without another thought, she leaned past him and pulled down the covers on her bed. When she’d finished, she turned back to him and tugged on his hands, somewhat alarmed when he let her move him.
Shaky hands fell to his broad shoulders, the skin underneath her palms hot and still slightly damp from the rain. She pushed him down onto her bed and her cheeks flamed when she felt his gaze on her, but when he moved with her gentle touch, she knew he was in no place to argue with her.
What she hadn’t expected was his hands to find her hips as he laid backward, bringing her with him. A sharp gasp left her lips as she fell against his chest. Her hands automatically reached for his arms, as he settled himself against her pillow. His scent surrounded her now and for a moment, she lay still in his arms. Then, without thinking she snuggled into him, her breaths coming out in short pants as she tried to wrap her mind around the idea that she was now lying in her bed with the Duke.
She shifted herself so her head rested just above his heart and it wasn’t until one of his hands fell against her hair that she let herself relax. Looking up, she caught his gaze, and the brokenness laid bare before her was almost more than she could handle.
Adelia wanted nothing more than to be able to heal him, but she knew that would take time. So for now, she slipped her arm around his waist as their legs tangled together. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt her skin slip on the wetness under her cheek and moved her head so she would not wet him further.
The Duke’s hand tightened around her waist and she felt him bury his head against her hair as his lungs pulled in ragged breath after ragged breath. The tension slowly slipped from his body and with it, hers did as well, until she couldn’t imagine any other way to fall asleep than with his arms wrapped securely around her.
Her realistic brain reminded her that this wasn’t a normal occasion and more than likely this opportunity wouldn’t present itself again. Getting to feel so safe as she drifted to sleep, surrounded by the Duke, was something precious and made her treasure it even more.
Her fingers continued to trace patterns against his back until she felt his breathing even out, little puffs of breath spanning over her shoulder where his head was still pressed.
Her thoughts began to stray as she fought sleep, this gentleman who owned more of her heart than she was willing to admit pressed up against her. Only now, what was left of that gentleman? He seemed so desolate, so broken, and she had the intense need to help fix him; to fit the pieces of his heart and soul back together and remind him of the gentleman she had always seen deep insi
de.
As she mulled over these thoughts, another popped unbidden into her mind.
Why have you come here? To me?
He’d shown up on her windowsill; sought out her for comfort and safety. But why?
Not that she wasn’t happy he’d reached out to her. She’d rather him be here and safe than alone with his guilt-ridden conscious and grieving heart.
Those unanswered questions were ones she couldn’t let herself dwell upon and so she took a deep breath and eased them out of her mind.
Focusing on his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, she let herself drift off to sleep.
She wasn’t sure what woke her—maybe it was the missing body heat or the sudden realization that he was no longer next to her—but her eyes fluttered open and focused on movement in the corner of the room.
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 14
