Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind. As long as I have a pillow and some sort of blanket, I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable.”

  She cast about, desperate for some way to dissolve the awkwardness. She suddenly seized upon the footstool next to the canopy bed. “Here!” She hurried over and got it, then set it down before his chair near the fireplace. “You could put your feet up.”

  He rested his hands on his hips and inspected his sleeping place, nodding. “Yes, this should suit quite well.”

  She gazed at him wistfully for a moment. You are altogether gallant, she thought, and a pang clenched her heart.

  How she wished he had not refused her today. Otherwise, the prospect of tonight would’ve been very different.

  “Well!” Azrael said, putting the fire poker back on its holder and dusting off his hands. “We might as well get comfortable.”

  A hapless laugh escaped her. “Yes, there’s not much point standing on ceremony by now, is there?”

  He sent her a winning little smile.

  Then he retreated to his side of the room, keeping a safe distance over by the window alcove with a view that overlooked the road. Chivalrously, he left her with the half of the room containing both the fireplace and the bed.

  Serena slowly took off her black velvet spencer, drawing her arms out of the long, tight sleeves. While she sat down to unlace her half-boots, Azrael unbuttoned his waistcoat and rolled up his loose white shirtsleeves. Then he, too, sat down wearily and pulled off his boots.

  A minute later, she happened to glance over and see him sliding his untied cravat from around his neck. There was something so sensuous about the motion that her heart skipped a beat.

  She had to look away and force herself to think of something else.

  Cousin Tamsin, for example.

  The letter she’d dispatched from the Owlswick inn to her family home in Moonlight Square should’ve arrived by now. Cousin Tamsin had probably received it and headed out to join her book club.

  A sudden knock at the door broke into her thoughts. It was Constance bringing the warm water Serena had requested. The girl told them that their meal would be right along. Azrael opened the door wider for her as Constance carried in a pail of warm water draped with a hand towel.

  Azrael took the heavy pail from her, then Constance went on her way. He divided the hot water into the two washbasins the room contained.

  Serena thanked him and carried her bowl of water over to her half of the room, along with one each of the towels, washcloths, and bars of soap that had been provided for them.

  It felt absolutely wonderful to press the warm, wet washcloth to her face, splashing away the wearisome grime of road dust and travel, and all the traces of spider webs and barrows and tombs that she’d dealt with today.

  She washed behind her neck and ears, and when she happened to glance across the room at Azrael, she saw him doing the same, the water trickling through his elegant fingers as he cupped them to his chiseled face.

  She got distracted watching him drag the washcloth down his throat to the top of his chest, visible now that he had removed his cravat and unfastened the top button of his shirt.

  She looked away with a slight shiver.

  Relaxed and rejuvenated after the chance to refresh herself, she felt emboldened enough to loosen her elegant carriage gown, but not in front of him, to be sure.

  He glanced over and arched a brow as she went around the canopy bed, closing its curtains, boxing it in. He looked on curiously as she then climbed onto the bed, grinned at him, and pulled the curtains shut.

  “What is going on in there?” he inquired.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said in a saucy tone. “You said we should get comfortable, Your Grace, so I am.”

  “Hmm. And will you be coming out again?”

  “Well, I certainly don’t intend to miss out on the food.”

  She smiled behind the curtains when she heard him chortle at her reply.

  Within the rectangle of the bed hangings, Serena unfastened her cream-colored carriage gown, loosened the long sleeves, peeled the bodice down to her waist with a shiver, and then, joyfully, removed her corset.

  She placed her hand on her stomach, slumping with relief for a moment to be free of the restrictive garment. How she wished she could have taken a full bath tonight and changed into her night rail and fresh wool stockings.

  No polite person of any breeding wore the same linens for twenty-four hours, but her white chemise would have to do until tomorrow midmorning, when they arrived at Dunhaven Manor, Lord willing.

  She hoped the snow did not cause this night’s sojourn to grow into an extended delay.

  When she emerged from between the long, plum-colored bed curtains, the mattress creaked under her. She crawled back to the edge of the bed on her knees, then sprang back down onto the floor in her stockinged feet.

  Azrael sent her a curious glance. “Everything all right?”

  “Better now, thanks. Be glad you’re not a woman. Sometimes a lady’s wardrobe is altogether complicated.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure.”

  She wondered if he could tell she was no longer wearing her corset as she sauntered over to the fireplace and stood on the toasty bricks to warm her frozen feet. “Oh, that feels wonderful. It was so cold in the taproom.” She drew up her hem to keep it out of the fire.

  Azrael watched her as she wriggled her toes happily atop the heated bricks.

  “That was incredibly kind of you to trade places with Paulson.”

  He lifted his eyebrows and glanced up from her feet to her face. “I didn’t mind. I like handling a coach-and-four. Besides, they’re my horses, and I didn’t want a frozen driver.”

  “I fell asleep.”

  “I know,” he murmured. Then he stood up and drifted over to read the labels on the boxes that the hotel staff had pushed off to the side of the room.

  He seemed restless, and it was no mystery why. This was quite an awkward situation, and would only become more so once they bedded down for the night.

  She wasn’t even sure about what modesty dictated that she ought to wear for sleeping tonight. Her tight-sleeved, formfitting carriage gown, she decided, would be too restrictive to sleep in.

  She supposed that once they said goodnight, she’d take it off behind the bed curtains, strip down to her chemise, and then wrap herself in her mantle like a banyan robe for added modesty and warmth.

  That way, her gown could air out a bit overnight. It only had to get her through half of one more day. By tomorrow noon, she’d be back at Dunhaven Manor, where she had plenty of clothes to wear and could languish to her heart’s content in a long, hot, rose-scented bath.

  Provided, of course, that her parents did not disown her the moment they saw her in the company of the forbidden Duke of Rivenwood.

  Somehow she’d have to make them understand that Azrael had been a perfect gentleman toward her for the duration of their trip. Indeed, His Grace had acted with the utmost chivalry.

  Which is rather a shame, really, she thought, casting him a wicked glance.

  “What did you find?” Serena asked, since he was still moving about like a caged leopard, halfheartedly inspecting the boxes.

  “Extra dishes, like she said.” He shrugged. “Old pots and pans. Linens, extra candleholders.”

  “Fascinating,” Serena said with a yawn. The fire’s warmth was making her sleepy. “Mind if I try your chair?”

  “Help yourself.” He rejoined her by the fire, hefting the poker again and giving the logs another restive jab. “Do you think it’ll be much longer? I’m starved.”

  Even as he spoke, there was another knock at the door, and Serena smiled at him, rising from the comfortable armchair.

  “There’s your answer, Mr. Dane,” she said as she went to open it.

  Sure enough, it was Constance bringing their food, with the assistance of two of the young potboys from downstairs.

  She hurri
ed in to set the table for them while the lads stood by with two covered trays they’d carried up from the kitchens and set on a wheeled cart upon reaching the upper story.

  Azrael enlisted the larger boy to help him carry the small, square table in the room over to the fireside rather than leaving it pushed against the drafty wall.

  As Constance whipped out a tablecloth and set their places, Azrael carried over a second chair for Serena. Then the cart was wheeled in, and dinner was served.

  They looked over the table, making sure they had everything they needed—salt, pepper, silverware, napkins, a pitcher of drinking water—and Constance offered to leave one of the potboys behind to serve as their waiter, but they declined.

  It wasn’t necessary, and given their masquerade as a married couple, they did not need the audience on hand reporting any gossip back to the kitchens.

  So they sent the potboys and the efficient, hardworking maid on their way.

  “Something smells delicious,” Azrael said as he closed the door behind the trio and locked it.

  He returned to the table while Serena lifted the lids.

  “This looks wonderful.” The food was incredibly hearty, not perhaps the most elegant meal she’d ever taken, but perfect for a cold, blustery night.

  They began with bowls of piping-hot cod and oyster chowder, alongside a warm loaf of fresh brown bread. The two small roasted woodcocks with gravy, one for each of them, would have been filling enough, but there was also a lovely shepherd’s pie to share, as well as two bowls of vegetables—one containing boiled broccoli drizzled with butter, the other a mix of green peas and carrots.

  The wines provided were burgundy for the red and hock for the white. Azrael poured glasses of the latter for both of them to start with, while Serena peeked at the sweets course waiting for them afterward.

  Half a dozen festive biscuits of varied types and flavors were arrayed on a painted dish. But there was also chestnut pudding and two slices of a crumbly, soft golden apple cake, fragrant with cinnamon.

  As a finisher, a hunk of white cheddar, pears and a knife to slice them with, and a pewter cup of spiced, roasted almonds. Even an after-dinner glass of port had been provided for Mr. Dane, in a small decanter.

  “All they forgot was your cigar,” she teased.

  “I don’t smoke,” he answered with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Dane. Dreadful habit.” She lifted her glass. “To safe travels?”

  “Safe travels, Mrs. Dane,” he said, and clinked his glass to hers as they sat before the crackling fire.

  Their situation seemed so intimate that Serena found herself feeling awkward and starting to grow nervous again, though Azrael could not have been more of a gentleman about all this. She took a sip of the rather too sweet white wine, trying to still the butterflies that had begun fluttering in her belly again, while the snow tapped against the windowpanes.

  She set her glass down and looked at him. He was eating his soup and clearly enjoying it, but he paused in the middle of lifting a bite of bread to his mouth when he noted her stare.

  “What?” he asked.

  The nervousness eased at his disarming manner. “I just wanted to say that I really am sorry for inconveniencing you like this. And poor Paulson, and your horses, too. I’ve put you through too much today, and I feel awful about it.”

  “Eh, don’t bother.” He smiled and shrugged it off. “It’s not as though I had anything important to go home to.” He slowly scooped another spoonful of soup. “I’m just glad I was with you when the storm hit.”

  “Oh?” she asked with a glow of pleasure at his concern for her.

  “I’d have been beside myself if I had let you go off on your own and then it started snowing.”

  “You’re very kind,” she said.

  “No, I’m not. It’s just you. I daresay you are my Achilles heel, Mrs. Dane.”

  Serena furrowed her brow, her spoon poised over her bowl. She couldn’t tell if that was an insult or a compliment, but he said no more.

  The silence dragged on until she felt she simply must make some attempt at conversation, however stilted it might seem. There was still so much about him that she wanted to know. But not for the world would she ask him any more difficult questions today, after he had already shared so much with her.

  Casting about for a topic, she seized upon the safe and easy subject of food, inspired by the fact that they were in the middle of a meal.

  “So, Your Grace,” she attempted, “do you usually eat at home or dine at your club? You are a member of the Grand Albion, I presume? I’ve heard the food is very good. I’ve only been there myself during the Season for the weekly subscription balls upstairs.”

  “Yes, I am a member. It just depends. I don’t have fixed habits. One of the luxuries of bachelordom. You?”

  “Oh, I usually eat at home with Cousin Tamsin.”

  “What is her connection to your family, exactly?”

  “She’s my mother’s spinster cousin. She’s always been devoted to Mama.” Serena refrained from saying that she’d always suspected the mousy, timid woman lived vicariously through her bold, beautiful countess cousin, Mariah.

  In Tamsin’s eyes, Mama could do no wrong.

  “Well, she should’ve received your letter by now,” Azrael remarked.

  Serena nodded, still wondering about the one he’d sent to Canterbury. But she swore to herself she would ask no more nosy questions. She’d already put the man through enough.

  Instead, she glanced at her locket watch. “Lady Delphine’s book club would’ve started by now, too. I say, do you know Lady Delphine?”

  “Yes, she’s quite an interesting woman.”

  “Yes.”

  Another lag stretched.

  Serena tapped her foot under the table, worried she was boring him. Not that it really mattered. It wasn’t as though she needed to charm him. What good would it do her? He’d already declined her interest in furthering their newfound friendship, which had been humiliating enough. She understood his reasons, but his rejection still stung.

  She continued eating, furtively watching him finish his soup. Setting his bowl aside, he put some vegetables on his plate beside the gravy-covered poultry.

  It was only then she realized that maybe Azrael had been feeling as awkward about all this as she did, for he suddenly seemed to tire of both the silence and her attempts at small talk. “So,” he said, resting his forearms on the edge of the table, “should I expect ol’ Dunny to try and shoot me when we arrive at your country house tomorrow?”

  Startled by the question, Serena considered and took a measured sip of wine. “Oh, I don’t think so. He’s not the best shot, anyway.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “Not the most encouraging answer, my lady.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry, Your Grace, I won’t let anybody shoot you. The neighborhood would be so much duller without you. The eccentric of Moonlight Square.”

  He snorted. “I thought Lady Delphine held that honor.”

  “Er, no. It’s you. And I, for one, wouldn’t have it any other way,” she teased, lifting her glass to toast him with a warm smile.

  Azrael smiled back at her almost shyly and drank with her, looking a little self-conscious.

  Whether it was from food and wine, the nearness of the fire, or her fond tone as she tried to be pleasant company, a flush of color had stolen into his light complexion.

  Well, my, my.

  The intimidating Duke of Rivenwood was blushing—just a bit—and it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

  From then on, all she could think about was kissing him again.

  CHAPTER 13

  Destined

  Fortunately, she warded off temptation like a good girl. But by the time they finished eating, fatigue from the long day’s travels had overtaken Serena.

  She figured Azrael must’ve been even more tired than she was, after driving through the snowstorm, so she helped him
get his sleeping place set up with pillows and a blanket.

  She rested one of the hot-water bottles warming on the hearth on the footstool, which was also draped under the blanket, to help keep him warm.

  When he was all settled, she bade him an awkward goodnight, climbed up onto the bed still fully dressed, and shut the bed curtains so they could both have some privacy.

  Even through the draperies, though, her awareness of him was intense as she undressed. Finally stripped down to her chemise, she slid down under the coverlet.

  Staring up at the ceiling, she kept recalling his kiss this afternoon, and throbbed with a futile pang of yearning.

  Ah well. The decision was his.

  After the nightmare of his past as he’d described it to her today, it was not her place to pressure him about a future for the two of them. He had been through so much—what could she do but respect his wishes?

  And yet she knew in her heart they could’ve been happy together.

  Wondering how he was doing out there, whether he’d managed to get comfortable on his armchair, if he was warm enough, if he needed anything, she peeked out from the bed hangings to check on him, but he was not sitting by the fire.

  She scanned the room and spotted him sitting, shirtless, in the window nook, watching the snow whirl over the bay window, and drinking his port.

  She stared at him, riveted.

  Never had he looked so purely magical before. Her fey woodland prince, with his silvery eyes, moonlight-colored hair, and fine patrician face.

  How beautiful he was…and she longed for Azrael as she’d never wished for any man before.

  The realization gripped her. She couldn’t say when exactly the strange, secretive, and quietly wonderful man had stolen her heart.

  Perhaps it had been signed over to him when she was just a child. But she knew in that moment that she was in love with him.

  She wondered if she should speak or even go to him. But he’d made his wishes plain earlier today.

  Even if he felt the same about her, and she dared to believe he did, he refused to act on it.

  Now that she knew some of what he’d been through, she had to accept that, for his sake.