Forgotten & Remembered: The Duke's Late Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 1)

by Bree Wolf

  Undeterred, Georgiana kept beaming at him, blue eyes shining like diamonds. “I have new paintings to show you. I practiced a lot like you said. I believe I am getting better. Will you come and look at them?” Her pleading face could have melted ice, and her father’s face was no match. The corners of his mouth twitched, and a small twinkle came to his eyes as he looked at his daughter. “I will.”

  Squealing, Georgiana jumped up and down.

  He lifted a hand. “But not right now. I still have business to attend to. Go, return to your lessons, and I shall see you shortly.”

  Nodding her head, Georgiana bounced from the room, humming under her breath as she skipped down the hall.

  The second she had passed the door and her father’s eyes could not follow her any longer, he only then seemed to realize that his wife was still in the room. His eyes flitted to her for the barest of seconds before returning to the stack of papers before him. “As I said, I have business to attend to.”

  His shoulders rigid and jaw clenched, her husband looked as though he was about to face the gallows. Sheer determination seemed to keep him from breaking free and fleeing the scene. The fact that he would not meet her eyes hurt Rosabel more than anything else.

  Needing time to tend to her own heart, Rosabel mumbled a quick goodbye and quit the room as well. Donning a coat and scarf, she rushed from the house, desperate for some fresh air.

  As she walked about the garden, her mind began to clear with each chilled breath that touched her lunges. The cold stung the tips of her ears as well as her nose, and she rubbed her gloved hands together in order to keep her fingers from growing stiff. How were they to go on? Rosabel wondered.

  For the first time since coming to Camden Hall against her husband’s wishes, Rosabel questioned the wisdom of her decision. Was there a way they could all live under the same roof as a family, not as strangers merely sharing a residence?

  In that moment, standing among the slowly awakening shrubs, Rosabel could not fathom a positive outcome. Every scenario led to a doomed future. Strangely, she felt reminded of Leonora’s troubles, feeling a renewed connection to the woman. Was there a chance for her, Rosabel, to be happy when Leonora’s hopes had so tragically been dashed?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - A Kiss Claimed

  Although her husband remained civil, particularly to his daughter, his resolve to avoid them as much as possible seemed undeterred. Most days he left the house before breakfast, only to return when night had fallen. What he did away from Camden Hall, Rosabel could only guess. She suspected he spent most of his time on horseback, as Storm seemed exhausted lately, and had probably taken up hunting again. Occasionally, he was accompanied by a group of men carrying rifles, and they spent the better part of the night drinking in the parlour.

  Rosabel didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t help but despise his behaviour, and yet, something told her he was merely putting on a show.

  Weeks passed, and nothing changed. Temperatures climbed, allowing a warming breeze to brush through the pines and oaks grouped in the gardens. Buds opened and soon blossomed, dotting nature’s green canvas with sparkling colour. The sun shone more brightly these days, promising a brilliant summer. And yet, her husband’s scowl remained.

  Finding sleep still a fickle friend, Rosabel once more found herself tossing and turning unable to find a path to sweet oblivion. After a small eternity, she finally threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. Pacing her room for a good ten minutes, she donned her robe and quietly sneaked out into the hall. Tiptoeing past Georgiana’s room, Rosabel found her way into the kitchen. By now familiar with the twists and turns of the house, she moved sure-footed like a mountain goat, not even lighting a candle until she reached the kitchen.

  There, she stoked the fire in the stove for warmth, for nights still had a biting chill in the air. She put on a kettle of water and settled onto a chair, leaning her elbows on the table before her and resting her head in her hands. Suddenly, her eyelids felt heavy, and Rosabel cursed the world and everyone in it.

  Still, she remained seated, sipping her tea, thoughts wandering in all directions, never lingering anywhere for long.

  Hours after the house had fallen asleep, Rosabel heard hoof beats coming up the drive, and she wondered if a messenger had come or if it was her husband returning from one of his late-night exploits. The hoof beats stopped, and murmuring voices rose from the dark. Straining her ears, Rosabel could not make out what they were saying, only that they were quickly approaching, circling the house and coming around back. Before she knew what was happening, footsteps echoed just outside the door to the kitchen, and Rosabel barely had time to seek cover inside the pantry when the door flew open.

  “Are you certain you do not want us to send over the physician? That shoulder of yours does sport all kinds of unnatural colours,” a gruff and quite inebriated voice slurred.

  “There is no need,” her husband’s voice answered. Although he appeared to be in need of a good night’s sleep, his was not the speech of one too deep in the cups. “Now get yourselves off.”

  Then the door closed, and the voices outside slowly vanished into the dark.

  Peering out the pantry, Rosabel watched her husband move about the kitchen. From his pocket, he drew his handkerchief and, dipping it in a bowl he’d filled with fresh water, dabbed it to his left cheek.

  Frowning, Rosabel inched closer, curious as to what he was doing. Her foot, however, caught on the potato basket, and, trying to catch herself, she banged into the pantry door so loudly that her ears rang.

  Instantly, her husband spun around, face alert.

  Upon recognizing her, the tension left his shoulders, and he exhaled. However, seconds later his entire frame seemed to stiffen as he avoided looking at her, hand still clutched to his face.

  Stepping out of the pantry, Rosabel approached her husband. “Are you injured, my lord?” she asked, pointing at the handkerchief.

  Taking a step backward, he waved her away. “It is nothing.” For a second his eyes swept over her nightgown partly visible under her robe as it hung open, the strap dangling loosely at her sides. “You ought to return to bed,” he said and turned away.

  Retying her robe, Rosabel moved for the door, but stopped before she had taken more than a few steps. As she glanced over her shoulder at her husband, something changed her mind. Without another thought, she approached him. Walking around, she placed a hand on his arm and urged him to face her.

  As he glanced at her, his shoulders slumped as though in defeat. “Why will you not leave me alone?”

  “Because you are injured,” she whispered, moving her hand to cover his own, still holding the handkerchief to his face. Slowly, she drew it away, and gasped as she saw the bruised cut covering his left cheekbone. “Oh my goodness, what happened?”

  She could feel the muscles in his arm tense, and his voice sounded strained as he spoke, “A misunderstanding, nothing more.”

  Rosabel’s eyes opened wide. “You fought someone over a disagreement?”

  Frown descending upon his face, he shook his head. “Not I. I merely sought to end the dispute.”

  “I see,” Rosabel mumbled. “And were you successful, my lord?”

  “I was, and I was awarded a souvenir as well.” He gestured to his face and cringed, clasping his right hand over his left arm.

  Seeing pain distort his face, Rosabel moved to withdraw his arm and pull off his overcoat. “You suffered another injury?” she asked, remembering the slurred voice speaking of a shoulder sporting all kinds of unnatural colours.

  As her fingers moved to remove his shirt, his hands stopped hers. “I do not need your assistance. It is but a bruise and will be all healed by the morrow.”

  Watching him closely, Rosabel saw the slight tremble in his hand and the twitching of his muscles as he strained to maintain his appearance. Unable to leave him, she shook her head. “You will not get rid of me this easily.”

  Upon hearing her words,
his eye brows rose, and he stared at her. “Why are you so insistent? I assure you it is nothing.” Again his eyes swept over her form, then jerked back up to her face before trailing off to the iron-cast stove behind her. “You should return to your room.”

  Seeing a hint of red come to his cheeks, Rosabel’s breath caught in her throat. Her pulse quickened, and her hands began to tremble ever so slightly. But again, she noticed that it wasn’t fear that had her shiver. On the contrary, the shiver filled her whole body with a new warmth, and without thought, she reached out and placed her hands on his chest, his thin shirt the only barrier left between them.

  He drew in a sharp breath and would have backed away had he not stood pressed against the workbench as it was. As his eyes shifted down to hers, Rosabel’s hands moved of their own accord and slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

  She could feel his chest rise and fall beneath her fingers, and her eyes spotted the traitorous goose bumps that rose every time her finger tips brushed his skin. Occasionally, he would avert his eyes and grit his teeth as though the process was pure torture.

  When the shirt finally fell away, Rosabel gasped.

  While his finely-chiselled chest and upper arms sported the occasional smaller bruise here and there, she could see a hand-sized bruise right below his left collar bone, shining deep blue with a tinge of purple in the flickering candlelight.

  Lifting her eyes to his, Rosabel said, “You were right indeed. It is nothing but a scratch.”

  A faint smile played on her lips, and after a moment of hesitation, the corners of his own mouth drew up as well. “Do you not feel foolish now that you see it for yourself?” he asked, a humorous tone to his voice.

  “I do indeed,” Rosabel whispered, forcing her eyes from his. Turning to the stove, she poured the remaining water from the kettle into a large bowl. After soaking a linen towel in it, she carefully wrung out the towel so as not to burn her fingers, let it cool briefly and then turned to her husband. Again finding his eyes with her own, she stepped back into the spot she had vacated before, gently placing the hot towel on his shoulder. “There, this should help your muscles relax.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now will you go to bed?”

  As a smile curled up her lips, Rosabel again shook her head. “Will you never give up?”

  Now it was his turn to shake his head. All the while his deep blue eyes gazed into hers, touching a part within her that made her want to scream with joy. Instead, she reached for another towel, this one dry and placed it over the wet one already covering his shoulder. Then she tucked his shirt back up, turning her attention to the buttons once more. While her fingers worked, she could feel his breath brushing over her skin from her forehead down her cheeks to the side of her neck. Goose bumps of her own rose as another shiver ran over her, making her fingers tremble.

  “Are you cold?” he whispered, his right hand coming to wrap around hers.

  Instantly, she jerked her head up as though lightning had struck her. Looking up, she found him staring at her with the same stunned expression on his face that she knew to be on her own.

  Rosabel swallowed, again forcing her eyes away. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his, finding it as heated as her own.

  As she reached for the handkerchief he still held clutched in his left hand, he relinquished it without a fight. Following his example, she dipped it in the bowl containing fresh water, then turned back to him, slowly inching her eyes up to meet his.

  Feeling his gaze roam her face, Rosabel dabbed at the cut on his cheek, cleaning away any remnants of dirt that might cause infection. All the while his breath brushed over her skin, and the trembling in her hand would not cease.

  Finished, Rosabel turned to the pantry to retrieve the cooking port. Putting a little distance between them, she drew a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Being so close to him had her rattled, leaving her unable to think straight.

  When she re-emerged from the pantry, she felt his gaze on her, following her every step until she stood before him once again, their bodies almost touching.

  Avoiding his eyes, Rosabel poured a bit of the port on her own handkerchief and again dabbed at his cut. The second the cloth touched the wound, he drew in a sharp breath, his body tensing. “I’m sorry,” Rosabel whispered.

  He didn’t say a word, but again kept his gaze focused on the iron-cast stove behind her.

  “There, done.” Removing the handkerchief, Rosabel felt her eyes rise to meet his before she could stop herself. Once again a shiver went over her, all the way down to her toes. Her heart beat in her chest, straining against her ribs.

  His blue eyes sparkled in the dancing candlelight, and Rosabel wondered how she could ever have thought them cold. Right then, there was nothing cold about them. On the contrary, Rosabel felt her cheeks flush hot, and her ears turn pink as they remained locked in each other’s gaze.

  More than anything, Rosabel wanted to reach out and touch him, feel his skin under her fingers and his breath caress her neck. But before she could, he blinked, and the spell was broken.

  Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes, glancing at the door. “Well, I guess I should be going. Thank you for your help.”

  Then he turned away and strode toward the door.

  Watching him leave, Rosabel felt the desperate need to stop him. No matter what, in that moment all she wanted was for him to stay.

  Before her mind could interfere, her heart spoke. “You still owe me a kiss.”

  Instantly, he stopped.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Desire

  Not sure if his ears had deceived him, Graham slowly turned. As his eyes met hers, she instantly dropped them, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks. Seeing her fidget with the hem of her sleeve, Graham took a step forward.

  While part of his conscious mind screamed at him to leave and not entangle himself in a situation that couldn’t possibly lead to anything good, his feet wouldn’t move in the direction of the door. Forward, approaching her, however, was not a problem. He needed to know.

  Stopping merely an arm’s length in front of her, Graham tried to peer into her downcast eyes. “I owe you a kiss?” he asked, feeling his own voice shake.

  The crimson colour in her cheeks deepened as she raised her chin. Meeting his eyes, she began to gnaw on her lower lip. Her voice was barely a whisper, and he could see the hesitation in her eyes, yet, she did not try to back out of it. “Yes, from the night of the Christmas Ball.”

  His own eyes widened as he remembered the moment Edmond had pointed out the mistletoe dangling above their heads. Although he had wanted to kiss her, he had refused, afraid to force himself where he was not wanted. But now here she was, demanding that kiss. Did she really mean it?

  Eyes sweeping her face, Graham tried to determine why she would make such a request. Did she care for him? Could that be possible?

  Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she held his gaze, unflinching, and yet, her cheeks burned red, and he saw a slight tremble in her fingers. Although all but certain what would be the most sensible course of action, Graham felt his feet move forward until his shirt brushed her robe. Gently, his right hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips. A small gasp escaped her lips, and he noticed his own breathing increasing in intensity. If he kissed her now, would he ever be able to stop? He wondered.

  Inching forward, he carefully placed his left hand on her waist. Still feeling a stab of pain surge through his shoulder, he gritted his teeth.

  Her small frame trembled, and again Graham worried that she did not really want this. Desperately trying to contain his own desire, he spoke, his lips a mere inch from hers, “Are you certain?”

  In answer her lips curled up and she placed her hands on his chest, careful not to hurt him. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and he sucked in a breath.

  Staring into her eyes, all doubt fell from him, and he slowly lowered his head toward hers. As she closed her eyes, so did he and allowed
himself to live in the moment.

  Her lips felt soft, welcoming him, and before he knew it, his hand moved from her face downward. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her closer to him.

  When her fingers dug into his shirt, pulling her into him, he deepened the kiss, pushing her against the workbench behind her. As he tried to use his other arm to hold her even closer, a fresh jolt of pain went through his shoulder, and he cursed.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes full of worry as she glanced at his injured shoulder. Letting go, she tried to step back. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

  Feeling the moment slip away, Graham reached out with his good arm and drew her back. “Don’t. It does not matter.” Before she could answer, his lips crashed down on hers again, and a soft moan escaped her throat.

  In the next instant, footsteps echoed on the back stairs leading down to the kitchen.

  Rosabel stiffened, and he released her, head turned to ascertain the situation. Although still dark outside, Graham suspected that morning was closer than he had thought. Soon the kitchen would be swarmed with staff preparing breakfast.

  “Come,” he whispered, drawing her to the other door, leading in a number of corridors to the front hall. Descending the curved staircase, her hand still in his, Graham realized he was taking her toward their bed chambers. Feeling his heart hammer in his chest, he pushed all thoughts away and decided to live step by step.

  ***

  Still breathless from their kiss, Rosabel followed him up the stairs. Eyes darting left and right, he approached the door to her bedchamber. Grateful that no one was up and about at such an early hour, Rosabel shivered as he stopped in front of the door and turned to her. What now? She wondered. Yes, she had demanded a kiss, but was she ready to take this further.

  Hesitant himself, he looked at her, still breathing heavily. His hand was still wrapped around hers, and she could feel the pulse hammering in his wrist. Unable to move, suddenly feeling shy, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Although she saw desire in his blue depths, he did not move forward or draw her to him.