Page 51 of In Service to the Duke

The trip is a necessity, however, but I will not be hunting. I need to clear my head, to breathe in air that’s not tainted with her arousing smell. In that, I can understand her need to flee the house, even if only for a little bit.

“Come. The girls are most anxious to dine with you.”

* * *

Breakfast is nearly over when Miss Gillet appears. The maid worked wonders on her in the small amount of time she was in her bedchamber. Gone are the bits of nature and debris, and instead, it’s soft, brushed to a shine.

I want nothing more than to run my fingers through her tresses, pulling her hair down from the tight coiffeur, and letting it spill onto my chest as she rides me hard. Gritting my teeth, I grab my cup of strong coffee, needing to dispel the image before I make a mess of everything again.

My sisters bounce around in their seats, excitement thrumming through them. To their credit, they remain in their spots and do not rise to slam into her with hugs and cheers. Perhaps her lessons are paying off after all.

Margaret looks between us, a coy smile tilting her lips. It’s as if she harbors some secret she wishes to share. When she remains silent, it only makes the dread even more apparent. There’s no way she could know about Miss Gillet and me.

If she had, I’d be hearing it from my mother first. No. It must be some other mischief she plays at. Goodness knows the imp in her knows no bounds. Reaching over, Margaret smothers her biscuit with some butter and jam, giving Miss Gillet another smile before taking a bite.

To her credit, she at least has the manners to swallow before laying into her line of inquiry. “Miss Gillet,” she cries out. “I hope you are well. When you were not at breakfast, we were worried.”

“I thank you for your concern,” she replies, a soft, indulgent smile on her lips. “I merely became lost in your tree line. I should hope it will not happen again.”

Once more, my sister slides her gaze over to me. “Robert was simply beset. He was so concerned about your well-being. Why, I’ve never seen him so riled up before. That is, because of someone other than me.”

Next to her, Elizabeth frowns. “He merely inquired as to her whereabouts. Hardly a major show of emotion. He seemed far more interested in the meats and jams.”

Margaret glares at her younger sister before plastering a smile on her face. “Doesn’t Miss Gillet look pretty in her dress? Tell her, Robert.”

Embarrassment lights up the governess’s face as she sits down with her plate. What is my sister playing at? Her face is one of mischief, and yet Elizabeth seems to be puzzled by the interaction. Whatever this is, it resides on Margaret’s shoulders and hers alone.

“Lady Margaret,” Miss Gillet murmurs. “One mustn't cajole others into saying things they don’t feel. If His Grace wishes to comment on my attire, he will do so without any assistance from you.”

However, as she finishes her sentence, I notice the slight smile curving her lips before she sips on her drink. Irritation flares once more as the two share some secret lark right in front of me. Could they both be trying to get back at me for how things disintegrated between Miss Gillet and me?

“Miss Gillet,” Margaret simpers. “What thoughts have you of marriage? Surely one of your age is in want of a husband, no? It’s not as if you wish to spend your life following us as an instructor.”

This time, her face blanches, turning white as she chokes on her tea. “Margaret, that’s enough,” I cut in, not wishing to cause Miss Gillet any further humiliation. “You will keep your musings to yourself.”

“But brother,” she blinks up at me, her face a mask of innocence. “Would she not make a beautiful bride?” Her syrupy sweet tone hides nothing.

I’m not sure what her game is, but I can see through her. This isn’t some mere question.

“Margaret,” I grind out, “I am warning you.”

“Please, Your Grace,” Miss Gillet interrupts. “Perhaps if I spoke to her?”

Rising, I toss my napkin down onto the table and storm out. Whatever is going on, it’s clear they are in it together. The question is, why? I already proposed to the chit. She doesn’t need my sister to intervene.

I pace the floor, waiting until they exit after their meal. As Miss Gillet leaves the room, I grab her elbow and draw her closer to me. “You will get the girls settled in their lessons and meet me in the study. Is that clear?”

Yanking her arm out of my grasp, she curtsies. “Clear, Your Grace.”

Thankfully, my sisters trot out soon after, curbing my desire to thrash her then and there. With a stiff nod, I make my way to my study, doing my best to gather my thoughts as I wait for her. Unfortunately, the moment I enter, my mind is overwhelmed by thoughts and memories of our illicit times together.

Again, I replay the moment she refused me. It refuses to leave despite everything I try. I need time away from her, time to lick my wounds. It’s not healthy to rehash everything each time I see her.

When the door opens and she slips in, I refrain from pulling her toward me. That way only lies madness. Instead, I walk over to the door and lock it before motioning toward the desk. There’s a slight smile curving her lips and a wiggle in her walk as she makes her way over.

The woman thinks I’m going to punish her. Well, she will be sorely disappointed. I watch the show she puts on, my balls drawing up as she grips the opposite side of the desk and leans over. How can I resist such temptation?

I clench my hands at my side. “Turn and face me.”