Page 34 of In Service to the Duke

Would it really be so abhorrent for me to make her my duchess? She has everything I want in a woman except the breeding I desire. But then, Mother was a governess, too. She, of all women, would welcome this match with open arms. But can I trust her? This is the question which plagues me at all hours.

Shaking my head, I continue with my correspondence. If only my friends were here. They’d be able to help at least a little. Although, knowing them, they’d find some way to jab at me first.

I had fully hoped to be the last to wed of our group, thus taking all their money. But it’s not about their coin. Honestly, we each have enough that a thousand pounds won’t go amiss. It’s more the principle of the thing.

Between all of us, I’ve been the one who detests losing above all else. The others, my brother in particular, are all too willing to give up without much of a fight. As much as she plagues me, a woman should be the very last thing to make me want to lose.

And yet… I fear the more I’m with her, the harder things will become. My cock is already rock solid every time I’m in the same room with her. But it’s my very soul that feels as if it’s being eroded away with every breathy utterance dripping from her perfect lips.

* * *

Dinner fast approaches and I find I have not made up my mind what to do. Even as my valet dresses me, I cannot bring myself to care what I look like. I trust him to do the job he’s hired for. Turning so he can fasten my cravat, I cannot help the twitches of lust as my mind goes back to Miss Gillet.

Her lips looked so pretty stretched out around the cloth, and I cannot wait to see her like that again. Hopefully, she’ll take my suggestion and take her nightcap with a little extra in it. Until I decide she’s the mate for me, I want her completely unaware of our nighttime activities.

Since I’ll keep her virginal sensibilities intact until I decide, no harm will be done. That’s a lie, however, and I know it deep in my gut. Harm is already done, but mostly to me. I’m far more invested and besotted than I ever should be over a woman I’m not ready to make a duchess.

Making my way to the dining room, I watch as Miss Gillet descends the stairs. Her tawny hair sweeps up off of her neck in a perfect coif. Light brown ringlets descend from her scalp, framing her face in a way which has me yearning to capture her likeness forever.

None of my talents ever included the arts, be it drawing, sculpting, or fashioning words into prose to convey the enormity of my feelings. As I stand there, however, I find myself wishing to take quill to paper, paint to parchment, and chisel to stone. My paltry attempts at capturing her beauty certainly would not do her justice, but in my heart, I would know I at least tried.

Shaking off such romantic notions, I offer her my arm, noting how Margaret and Elizabeth look on. I need to show them how a proper gentleman behaves and not the ravaging animal I am underneath. Once I bring her to her place setting, I bow and go to the head of the table.

The room feels empty with just the immediate family here. Glancing over to the opposite side of the table, I note the empty seat where my mother used to sit. Now, she takes all meals in her rooms and doesn’t dare step foot outside to join us. Perhaps I really should give more thought to marrying someone and filling her seat.

As we eat, I run through all the names of eligible matches currently in London. Unfortunately, none of them are Miss Gillet. I glance over at her and watch as she gently corrects Elizabeth about how she’s sitting and eating. For the first time, I can finally picture someone raising my children. She would certainly be far gentler than me.

Gripping the silverware in my grasp, I struggle with my decisions. How can I know she will be faithful? I suppose once I claim her, I’ll know everything that goes on in that pretty little head of hers. She’ll not be able to pull the wool over my eyes on any subject.

Plus, it would be nice to not have to grieve alone. Again, I watch Margaret ramble on, excitement flushing her cheeks. It would do well to have a woman to care for her once the inevitable happens.

Pushing such morose thoughts to the side, I do my best to engage with lively conversation, but I fear my humors are too out of sorts to fully enjoy it. What I need is some good council, and I won’t find it sitting around this table.

Once we’re done and Miss Gillet rises from her chair, she presses against her forehead with the heel of her palm. Pain lances through her expression for a moment before she maintains decorum. My sisters look on with concern, but I know what’s really happening.

She’s taking my advice of imbibing a bit of laudanum before bed. However, what I’m not expecting is the excellent show she puts on in front of my family and staff. If she’s able to feign a headache with this much accuracy, it means she’s been dishonest before.

Unease clenches my gut as she turns to talk quietly with the maid, their voices so low I cannot hear what’s being said. With a bright smile, she turns to the girls. “Not to worry. I fear I must have caught a slight chill on our promenade this afternoon. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be ready to greet the morning.”

Elizabeth, ever the serious child, walks up to her and takes her hand. “Please, Miss Gillet. You promise to be awake in the morning?”

“Yes, my dear.” And again, she gives my sister that enchanting smile of hers. “Nothing is amiss. I just need to rest.”

“And you two should take to your beds soon as well,” I chime in, stepping up behind them.

I fully anticipate a chorus of whines, seeing as neither of them have been too fond of bedtimes. Even as young children, they’d do whatever they could to stay awake. This time, however, they remain silent.

It doesn’t take a soothsayer to understand the concern. The scent of their unease drifts into the room, flooding it with the char of fear. My guess would be fear for our mother bleeding into everything else.

Neither of them has spoken to me about their concerns, and I haven’t had the heart to bring it up to them. Perhaps soon, we should all have that discussion. But certainly not tonight.

Hanging back, I watch as the housekeeper bustles about, disappearing into the kitchen for a bit. She brings a steaming cup out to the maid before seeing to other matters of the household. One whiff confirms it is indeed a laced bit of warmed chocolate.

Anticipation edges out the sorrow until I’m consumed with nothing but tasting Miss Gillet again. Making my way to my dungeon, I keep track of the time as best as I can. It will take at least thirty minutes before she’s out enough for me to whisk her away.

In the meantime, I prepare the room for her arrival. Ropes slide effortlessly through the rings as I feed them through. Next, I place the small flogger on the pillow close to where her head will reside.

Last time, all I did was indulge. This time, I want to make her beg. Even though she’ll be asleep, her body will plead for release. It’s this insidious need which latches onto my brain and refuses to let go.