Her eyes took on a hurt look for just the briefest moment. “I will observe the same mourning period, Your Grace. Although I am not family. I still feel as if I owe it to your brother.”
That was what the perturbed look was for, he realized with shame. Once again, he had hurt her unintentionally. But damn it, she wasn’t family. Thank God. He couldn’t think of her this way if she had been.
When they reached the house, he held the garden door for her as he shook out the umbrella. When he stepped in, he was greeted by over fifty people, all looking at him like he was a fatted calf being led to slaughter. A mix of pity and anticipation.
Agents, the local mayor, and his wife, the more profitable tenants. Three Barons and two Earls. Again, with their wives and several eligible daughters.
God, already, he thought as he pushed down the rising anger inside of him.
Suddenly, John’s silly complaints about his burdens didn’t seem so trivial. He could see it in their eyes. What kind of Duke would he be? But more importantly, what could they get from him. Could he be persuaded to invest in their pet project? Would he look too closely at the mill's output? What if he raised the rents?
Of course, they were concerned, he had too much power over their lives. In many ways, it was no different than being an officer in the military. But at least there it meant something. There had been a mission to accomplish.
As he made his way into the crowd, it took only a few minutes before they learned not to offer to shake his hand. A few embarrassing exchanges and the word spread faster than a summer storm.
After the dozenth conversation, he saw from the corner of his eye Miss Winslow talking to Percival, King’s Dale’s butler. She looked rather upset about something as she frowned and pointed to the kitchen. He wondered briefly what it was all about and since when did Miss Winslow take on the responsibilities for guiding the servants.
But then, there was no one else. She had seen a need and obviously stepped in.
Sighing internally, he turned back to his guests. Taking a deep breath, he tried to gather his second wind before the fatigue set in.
He was talking to Baran Rolesville when Corporal Jones stepped up next to him and said,
“Excuse me, Your Grace. A rider from Windsor.”
The Duke frowned, why would the Prince Regent be sending him a rider? The official condolence could have been sent by the post. Frowning at Jones, he raised an eyebrow.
Jones said, “I put him in the study, Sir.”
The Duke stood tall and addressed the crowd. “My apologies, I have been called away. Please accept my gratitude for attending the services for my brother. I am sure we will have an opportunity to talk soon.”
Fifty faces looked back at him, each calculating and analyzing. Once again, trying to decipher the impact on their desires.
To hell with them, he thought as he nodded for Corporal Jones to follow him. The Duke was pushing the anger behind him when he stepped into the study only to find it empty.
He spun to stare at the Corporal.
The man shrugged. “There was no rider, Your Grace. It was the only way I could think to get you away from them leaches.”
The Duke ground his teeth as he prepared to dress the man down for taking such liberties. Then he realized the man was right. He would have been stuck there for hours. “Unfortunately,” he laughed. “We will have to remain here until they leave. And with the way my whiskey was flowing, it could be quite a while.”
Jones waved at a wing back chair by the fire. “Put your feet up, Your Grace. Read a book. Ain’t that what Duke’s do to while away their afternoons?”
The Duke frowned but then sighed as he accepted his man’s advice. “Do you have a lot of experience with what Duke’s do?”
Jones laughed then frowned deeply. “I’ll expect you’ll be wanting to get a real valet now. You being a Duke and all.”
The Duke halted on his way to the chair and turned to examine Jones. The man was serious. He really was worried that he would be replaced.
“Corporal Jones, I have neither the time nor the patience to train someone new. I am afraid you will have to stay at your post.”
The corporal’s shoulders slumped just the slightest before he brought himself to attention, “Sir, I understand. But seeing as how we ain’t in the army anymore. I keep the right to leave if’n I find a better offer. Agreed?”
The Duke bit back a laugh. “Of course. If you find a higher paying position. Or a grander home with prettier maids. Then of course you may leave my service.”
Jones nodded, “In the meantime, you sit down before you fall down. It has been a long day and you’re still recovering.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Duke said sarcastically. Once he was comfortable, he asked Jones, “So the servants, how are they handling this shock?”
“As well as can be expected, Sir,” he said as he draped a blanket over the Duke’s legs. “Mr. Percival keeps a tight hold of the reins.”
“And Lady Denton’s new maid, Lizzy, is she fitting in well?”
Corporal Jones paused for a moment. The Duke focused as he tried to understand why the hesitation.
“She’s a strange one, that girl.”
“Why is that?”
Again, the valet paused for a moment. “For some reason, the girl don’t like me.”
The Duke laughed. “Really, Jones, you haven’t been pestering the new maid already?”
Frowning, the Corporal shook his head, “No Sir, Miss Winslow would skin me alive if I made the girl feel uncomfortable. Or worse, turn Lady Denton onto me. In fact, I have gone out of my way to not pester her. A difficult task with such a pretty girl. But no, it can’t be anything I done.”
The Duke bit back a smile, “Perhaps she is upset with you because you have not pestered her. Women, they are a mystery.”
The Corporal frowned at him, “You have a lot of experience with Lady’s maids do you, Your Grace?”
The Duke barked out a sharp laugh. “No, I can’s say that I do. But as a wise man once told me, women a women the world over.”
The Corporal shook his head, “Not this Lizzy, Sir. Not if you ask me. She ain’t like the others.”
Leaning back in his chair the Duke let out a long breath. Why did his mind jump to Miss Winslow anytime the discussion turned to remarkable women?
Chapter Twelve
Emily sighed heavily as she placed the candle on the table next to her bed. It had been a long day. The house was finally quiet. Removing her robe, she draped it over the foot of the bed then climbed in between the cold sheets.
Laying back, she folded her hands beneath her head and stared up at the canopy above her as a dozen different worries raced through her head.
Cook was upset at her for changing the week’s menu. Mr. Percival was upset because he thought it wasn’t her place to interfere with family business. And that she had been wrong to approach cook without coming to him first.
He had threatened to take up the matter with the Duke himself. Emily had shuddered at the idea of the Duke discovering she had the menu changed because he couldn’t use a knife and a fork at the same time. He would hate her forever.
Thankfully, she had been able to calm Mr. Percival enough for him to realize that the Duke shouldn’t be bothered by such trivial matters.
Then there was the fact that Lady Denton had to use laudanum to fall asleep. Emily wondered what impact the juice of the poppy seed would have on the woman’s health. Her hand shaking and shortness of breath had become more pronounced over the last few months. And the death of her nephew had obviously only made things worse.
Of course, her worst worry was about the Major. No. His Grace, she reminded herself. She would have to train herself to think of him as The Duke.
The permanent crease in his forehead was getting deeper. It was as if he never stopped worrying at a dozen different issues. Always searching for an answer, never willing to rest. Her heart ached thinking of all the burdens he carried. Th
e war, his men, his injury, now the duties of his title. The poor, poor man.
As she leaned over to blow out the candle, a long shallow groan echoed down the hall, followed almost immediately by a scream of terror. Her heart jumped, the Major, it had to be. Without another thought, she jumped from the bed, grabbed the candle, and scurried from her room. Her bare feet scarcely felt the cold floor as she scurried down the hall. All she could think of was the man in pain.
The house was quiet except for the mumbling moans from his room. The servants in bed two flights down, Lady Denton out cold from the laudanum.
Stopping before his door, she held her breath, terrified of the next step. Her hand hesitated before she knocked. Leaning forward she rested her ear against the door to hear better. What if she disturbed him? What if he was embarrassed by her knowing about his condition.
“Noooo,” a soft cry called out from inside the room.
She could delay no longer. What if the malaria had returned? No, she must act. Rapping a quick knock, she called out, “Your Grace?”
Holding her breath, she waited for an answer. Nothing.
“Your Grace,” she repeated. “Major?”
Please, she begged. Should she get Jones? Or, perhaps Percival. Did they need to send for a doctor? A thousand worries washed through her as she once again knocked, harder this time. “Please Major. Are you all right?”
“Go away,” a gruff voice grumbled from inside the room.
Emily sighed. He was awake at least. “Are you well, Sir,” she said through the door, ignoring his orders to leave. Not until she knew he was well. “Has the fever returned.”
The click of the lock surprised her. But it was the door flying open that made her jump. The Duke stood before her in pants only, his broad chest capturing her attention for longer than it should have. His furrowed brow and sharp glare startled her.
“Miss Winslow,” he growled. “I am perfectly well, I assure you.”
Emily swallowed hard. She had overstepped once again, but she refused to leave until she was assured. Placing the candle on the side table by the door she stepped closer to slowly examine him. His strong jaw was relaxed and his skin did not have the pale pallor of the malaria attack.
“I heard you call out, Sir,” she said. “I thought perhaps the malaria had returned.”
He stared down at her, his brow creased in frustration and enough anger to make her insides turn over with worry. Then, his eyes changed as he slowly examined her. Emily felt something shift inside of her. Their encounter had changed, his anger had disappeared to be replaced by the hungry look of a predator.
Their eyes locked for a moment. The man was so big, so strong. Those wide shoulders and the bare chest called to her, demanding to be touched. Her soul begged her to step into his arms. To take what her body needed.
“Really, Miss Winslow,” the Duke said with a smirk. “You should take care in coming to a man’s room in the middle of the night dressed in nothing but your night rail. He might make the wrong assumptions.”
Emily gasped as she looked down at herself and realized she was standing before him in nothing but a fine cotton shift. No wonder the man was looking at her as if he was a wolf wanting to devour his next victim.
Shaking off the embarrassment she looked back up at him, “Sir, if you didn’t push yourself so hard, perhaps you wouldn’t have the malaria attacks and we could all rest peacefully for a night.”
His eyes flashed with surprise as he once again stared into her soul. Emily felt as if he were seeing her for the first time, the true her. He sighed and shook his head. “It is not malaria.”
Emily frowned as she stepped forward and placed a hand on his forehead. No fever, she discovered. What? Why?
Seeing her confusion, the Duke took her hand in his, “Just bad dreams, I assure you, nothing to worry about. They have become quite common of late.”
Her heart ached as she thought of the scream of pain and terror, she had heard but minutes ago. The thought of him experiencing such things made the world seem unsafe, unfair.
“I apologize, Your Grace,” she said as her cheeks grew warm from embarrassment. “I just wished to ensure you were well. I didn’t think.”
He continued to study her for a long moment. Emily felt her body tingle all over as she basked in his perusal. He likes what he sees, she realized and felt a sense of pride and happiness wash through her. The idea of a man like the Major finding her attractive was almost overwhelming and could make a woman adjust her thinking about herself.
He still held her hand, they were but inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. She would never know who moved first, but as if they could not be separated any longer, they came together in a kiss. A kiss that shifted her world into a new alignment.
Sweet, passionate, intoxicating. Emily felt herself slipping into oblivion when his good hand snaked around her waist pulling her even closer. Body next to body. It was as if a fire had exploded inside of her. A hot demanding fire that would never be extinguished.
A soft moan escaped from the back of her throat as she melted into him. This was heaven. This was where she belonged, she realized. It was where she had always wanted to be.
His hand began to slide down, caressing, making her moan again, demanding more.
There was no telling where things might have led, but a voice called out from the darkness below. “Your Grace? Is everything all right?”
Percival, Emily realized as her heart slammed to a halt with embarrassment and regret.
The Duke stared down into her eyes while calling out to the butler below. “Yes, everything is all right. In fact, I doubt it could be better.”
Emily felt her cheeks grow warm as she stared up into his eyes. The man had enjoyed the kiss as much as she had. A feeling of pure happiness washed through her only to be dashed on the rocks when the Duke pulled away. Filling her with a sense of loss. An empty absence that cried to be filled.
The Duke took a deep breath and frowned deeply as he looked down the dark hall to her room. “Go to bed Emily,” he whispered as he sighed. “I will try not to disturb you again tonight.”
Her heart swelled with pain at his rejection. He was pulling away. Why? What was it about her that he could dismiss so easily? But it had been in his eyes. A fact that she would never forget. The longing, the need burning deep. Yet the man had pushed it aside. Why? Why couldn’t he have kept her into his arms? Taken her like she wanted him too.
Damn you, Mr. Percival, she thought as a resigned sadness filled her. But she must face the truth, the Major, His Grace, would always think of her as his ward and never as the woman she was.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said as she dipped a quick curtsey and turned to leave. As she walked away she glanced over her shoulder to find him staring at her hips. A look of hungry regret in his eyes.
He might have rejected her, she thought to herself. But he hadn’t done so easily. That would have to be her solace. The one saving grace to help her put away the pain of disappointment inside of her.
.o0o.
The Duke watched her walk away. The weak candlelight fading into the darkness. Swallowing hard he tried to put aside the memory of Young Miss Winslow standing before him in nothing but a cotton shift. The faint hint of lavender washing over him. Her hair down, her eyes enticing him with a thousand thoughts he shouldn’t be having.
The feel of her body next to his. The taste of her lips. As if he had found the perfect medicine to cure his soul’s aches.
He cursed under his breath at the memory of being unable to put both arms around her. That feeling of inadequacy had been what pulled him away from her magical spell. Reminded him of the truth.
“No,” he mumbled to himself under his breath as he forced himself to close his door and walk away from what might have been.
Really, the woman was an angel. Coming to his aid at a moment's notice. God, if she knew the truth. The monster he could be. The death and destruction he had dished out
. The pain and suffering he had caused. Perhaps if she knew the true man, she might not look at him with that soft, innocent, almost adoring look that could make a man question everything he thought he knew about the world.
Sighing, he forced his heart to slow down as he lay on his bed and stared into the darkness. Miss Emily Winslow was becoming an issue. She was taking up too much of his thoughts, he realized.
And that kiss had changed things between them. Perhaps forever. He would never be able to look at her again without remembering the feel of her body.
As he lay there, he forced his mind away from erotic images of the woman and tried to focus on his immediate future. The duties of the title would monopolize a great deal of his time, he could not allow them to interfere with his search for answers about the Army’s supply issues. And then there was his blasted arm.
The Duke gritted his teeth as he slowly lifted his injured arm almost six inches above the bed before he had to let it fall back to rest. Sighing, he tried to clench his fist. His hand worked a bit better.
Jones worked with him every evening. Stretching and making him push it to the limit before letting him rest. Slowly, his capabilities with the arm were increasing but not fast enough in his view. At this rate, he’d have a crippled wing for another six months.
Of course, those thoughts led to him once again thinking of Miss Winslow. Emily. He smiled to himself as he remembered the look in her eyes when he used her proper name. The woman was so different than the usual addle-headed girls he had known. Mature beyond her years with a caring kindness that put others first.
Some man would find himself extremely lucky when he married Miss Winslow. Really, a husband couldn’t ask for a better wife.
The thought sent a shaft of pure pain of regret to his heart. Something he would never know. He would never marry. He had sworn to himself that he would never burden someone with his history. No, he would write to his new solicitors in the morning for them to locate the appropriate distant cousin. He would not be producing his own heir. No, the title would not return to the crown if anything happened to him.
A Duke's Decision (The Duke''s Club Book 4) Page 8
