Page 26 of In Service to the Duke

The questions are not as invasive as I feared, but the dowager duchess watches on, latching onto every word coming from my mouth. Does she know? Can she tell that I’ve been having illicit meetings with her son?

Leaning heavily on her cane, she spears me with a knowing look. “I have it on good authority that you and my son had a bit of a row before you took to your bed. Did he frighten you?”

“N- no, Your Grace,” I cry out, attempting to sit up before the doctor pushes me back down.

“What exactly are your thoughts about my son, Miss Gillet?”

It’s worse than I feared. Now, instead of worrying over our clandestine meeting, I’m concerned she’s ferreted out my secret. Has someone tipped her off to my mother’s wishes?

Her face softens as she gives me another motherly smile. “You needn’t fear retribution. I know he was forcible with you, and I intend to make sure you were not harmed by his pig-headed ways.”

“His Grace acted only in reaction to my actions. I have since apologized for my wayward tongue. To my knowledge, the matter is settled.”

“Yes. That is all well and good,” she replies in earnest. “But what do you think of him?”

The words I wish to say are not ones I can reveal to her. Instead, I lower my lashes, appearing as respectful as I can. “You have raised a fine duke, Your Grace. He is a formidable asset to the Dowding name.”

An odd expression flits over her face but is gone before I can understand its meaning. The loud harrumph startles me, drawing a chuckle from her lips. “Very diplomatic answer, my dear Miss Gillet. You do know your way around words.” Turning to the doctor, she prods him with the end of her cane. “Well, will our patient live?”

“I do believe she will see at least another sunrise.” Chuckling, he pulls out a bottle from his bag. “It is my suggestion she lay abed for the rest of the day and given a touch of laudanum along with some warmed chocolate. If she does not improve by the morrow, I will find something else to ease her ailments.”

With a congenial smile, he pats my arm and bows to the dowager duchess. “As for you, Your Grace, I do believe a bed will not go amiss. You have ambled about far too much for one in your condition.” Giving me a curt nod, he hands the small jar over to the maid and assists the dowager duchess out of the room.

Soon, I’m back alone with my thoughts, but this time, they’re far more consumed with concern for Blackport’s mother than for my supposed illness. It doesn’t take a physician to know what’s really wrong with me. I’m heartsick, and unfortunately, there is no cure.

Though I have not had much experience with laudanum, I know of its lethargic properties. Perhaps this will give me the reprieve I so desperately need. Taking the laced chocolate in my hands, I sip it, doing my best not to grimace at the bitter taste filling my mouth like a rotten film coating the palate.

The maid takes my cup and draws the curtains, dousing the room in darkness. Only the lamplight flickers, chasing away the shadows threatening to overwhelm me. My eyelids grow heavy as the drug takes effect, distorting the images cast upon the walls.

They feel both sinister and familiar all at the same time. I want nothing more than to dip into the darkness and allow it to wash over me, drowning me in nothing. Finally, my eyes close as blessed sleep overtakes me.

* * *

Pain lashes through my body, bowing me up. Unadulterated heat suffocates me, robbing me of my breath. I try to push against the bulk pinning me down, but I find I cannot move.

Terror infuses my limbs, causing me to quake. I cannot see. I cannot breathe. I cannot think. All I can do is feel. Warmth sizzles across my synapses as pleasure blossoms through my body.

Sounds drip from my lips in undulating cadences I’ve never heard before. It’s somewhere between a cry and a moan. All it does is fuel the heat racing through my system until I fear I’ll turn to ash.

Groaning, I turn my head to the side, desperate to see the cause of this delicious torment. Once I pry my eyes open, everything stops. I freeze, unable to fully comprehend what I’m seeing.

Somehow, I’m back in the punishment room, only now the fire engulfs the entire space. Flames lick up toward the ceiling, creating a canopy of embers. It would be beautiful if not so terrifying.

I long to scream out, to beg for help, but no sounds come out that aren’t laced with longing and need. Unseen hands rake across my skin, leaving fiery trails in their wake. If only it were Blackport touching me, igniting me with his ardor.

Even in the throes of imminent death, I seek him out, desperate for the illicit touch only he can provide. Again, I look about, desperate to see his face. There, in the midst of the fire, a shadow walks forward.

His breadth and width appear to be Blackport, but no face is visible. I drag air into my lungs, desperate to smell that intoxicating mix of pine and honeysuckle. Instead, an odd char burns the back of my throat.

Tears stream down my cheeks as I twist about, desperate to find relief. But the shadow man gives me none. Instead, he looms over me, his eyes two glowing orbs, the only light in his sea of darkness. He slides his hand down my abdomen, pausing as he reaches the juncture of my thighs.

I want to cry out, to beg him to put an end to this torment. As if he can hear my thoughts, he touches that part of me which has ached since the moment Blackport nearly ran me over with his horse. This time, the tears streaming down are of relief as pleasure washes over me, building with each stroke.

Whispers flood my ears, all of them nonsensical as I writhe beneath the touch of this demon. I should be horrified, ashamed even, but in this liminal space between life and death, I find I cannot bring myself to care. My head plops back against the pillow as I let this thing touch me, wringing out every bit of pleasure he can.

It builds, twisting and coiling within me until I near some precipice, some distant plane I’ve never known before. The whispers become louder, beckoning me, urging me to let go. The voice sounds strangely familiar—a deep, guttural, masculine voice demanding me to stop fighting and just give in.

On a loud cry, everything explodes, splintering into a thousand shards. The pleasure races through, twisting me about until all I can do is sob as it ripples through me. Sagging back against the bed, I struggle to open my eyes back up.