Page 54 of The Duke's Only Desire

He yanked open the desk drawer and dropped it back into place with her other gifts. “It’s for the best, damn it!”

He slammed closed the drawer and leaned against the desk, his palms flat on the desktop, as he forced his breath to steady and slow. He should have gotten rid of those little gifts years ago, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to part with them. They were a reminder of the affection Sophie once held for him, of the man he once was.

He blew out a harsh breath. There was no point in disturbing Sophie tonight with news of the change in her travel plans. He would tell her in the morning that she would have to stay until the weather broke and that he would move into the dower house, only to stay out of her way. Only for a few days.

Only until she was gone from his life, this time forever.

“Your Grace.” The footman appeared in the doorway.

Shay straightened. “Yes?”

“Is there anything you need, sir?”

The young man looked exceedingly tired and more than ready to put an end to the long day. But he couldn’t, Shay knew, as long as the master of the house was not yet abed. Neither could Henley; even if the butler had retired to his room, he wouldn’t yet be in bed himself until he received word that Shay had gone to his rooms.

“No, thank you. I’m ready to retire.” He wasn’t. Being in the room next to Sophie’s and listening to the rustle of movementinside while she spent the night packing would be nothing short of torture. But it was a torture he had earned, and he couldn’t haunt the study all night without turning the household even further upside-down than Sophie’s eminent departure already had. “Good night.”

Shay pulled in a deep breath and headed upstairs through the dark house to his rooms.

He paused in the hallway outside Sophie’s room. No candlelight showed beneath the door, and no sounds came from within.Good.Hopefully, she was in bed asleep and wouldn’t hear him as he undressed. There was no point in both of them having a sleepless night.

His bedchamber was dark and cool, the only light coming from the faint glow of coals in the fireplace and the moonlight that slanted in through the windows. Pearson hadn’t prepared his room for the night, not bothering to bank the fire or close the drapes, most likely believing Shay wouldn’t be home at all. Or for spite.

He shrugged out of his waistcoat and let it drop to the floor, then sat on the chair before the fire only long enough to yank off his boots and stockings. Christ, he couldn’t even sit still! How on earth was he ever supposed to sleep? Maybe he never would again.

He crossed to the window as he yanked down his braces and let them dangle around his hips. The thick clouds on the horizon were ominously moving toward the home park, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d hidden away the moon, bringing with them more snow and cold. Stifling a curse at Mother Nature, he peeled his shirt off over his head and turned away from the window.

He froze, the white shirt halfway down his arms.Sophie.

She stood in the connecting doorway between their rooms, her hand still resting on the door handle. She was enveloped in the soft light of the small fire, as surprised to find him thereas he was. She wasn’t wearing the ribbon and lace negligee she’d donned for their private dinner in his room on the night she’d attempted to seduce him. No, what she wore tonight was a plain flannel night rail that covered her like a tent, from its scooped neckline to its long sleeves and down to mid-calf. Her golden hair was down and lingering in silken waves around her shoulders and down her back. She looked casual and soft, all ready for a warm bed, and he would have sworn he could smell lavender gently wafting around her like a cloud.

But it was her eyes that struck him, that twisted his gut into an agonizing knot—

She was staring directly at his torso and the hideous scars covering most of his upper body.

Wearing only his trousers, in bare feet and naked from the waist up, he couldn’t hide from her now. He was exposed.

“Don’t,” he rasped out, barely louder than a breath, unable to move beneath her gaze.Don’t look at me.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said quietly and stepped slowly into the room. “I didn’t think you would come home at all tonight.” She walked toward him slowly. “I used up the pitcher of water in my room and came to steal yours. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Don’t,” he repeated, blinking rapidly as humiliation roiled inside him in scalding waves, growing in intensity with each step that brought her closer.

She stopped in front of him, her eyes fixed on his scars. His breath came ragged now, shallow and awkward, afraid even that small movement would cause her to somehow see him more fully. He could feel her gaze raking over him, searing over the leathery skin, the rough ridges that would never be smooth again, that appeared discolored and mottled even now in the dim moonlight. There was no hiding damage like that, not even in the shadows.

She lifted her hand to touch his chest—

“Don’t.”

She froze, her hand in mid-reach, except for her eyes that darted up to his and ripped his breath away. He had steeled himself for the revulsion he expected to see on her face, the horror of finally realizing exactly what kind of monster she’d married—perhaps relief that his body would now never be pressed against hers in the marriage bed. Even pity, which would have broken him.

But what he saw instead…curiosity.

Slowly, she moved her hand toward him until her fingertips just barely brushed against the scars on his shoulder. Each feather-light caress was agonizing, the wounds still raw, but he compelled himself to remain perfectly still, somehow managing to force down a shuddering cringe.

“This is what you were hiding from me,” she whispered, watching her fingertips move over his shoulder and down his right arm to where the scars ended just above his elbow. “What you didn’t want me to know about or ever see…”

She carefully slid the shirt the rest of the way off his forearms and let it fall to the floor. He felt utterly naked now, even while covered hips to ankles. The worst of him was bare to her eyes and to her hands as she traced her fingers back up his arm to his chest, and this time, he couldn’t stop the shiver of muscles that followed in her wake.