Page 52 of In Service to the Duke

When she does, there’s a puzzled look on her face. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I assumed I was brought here to be punished.”

“You assumed wrong.” I stride forward and grip her chin, pulling her face up so I can look into her eyes. “That is, unless you’ve changed your mind, and you wish to wed me?”

An odd expression flashes across her face, almost like a wince. But I can’t be sure. “No, Your Grace. I have not changed my mind.”

“Then I have not changed mine either. I told you I would no longer punish you.”

“Then why bring me here? Why toy with my emotions in such a way?”

“Me?” My voice rises despite the fact I’m doing my utmost to remain calm. “You dare accuse me of toying with your emotions?”

“Yes! You come to find and rescue me, nearly plowing me down with your horse, and yet you do not punish me as you did at that first meeting.”

I lean down so we’re nearly close enough to kiss. Her breath fans my face, nearly buckling my knees. Underneath the current of peach and black currants is that drizzle of honeyed arousal. God, how I wish to drown in that maddening scent.

“As I told you, that right is only reserved for wives.”

“And yet nothing stopped you the several times you took advantage of me.”

Anger sizzles between us as we stand there, both at a stalemate. “Go on, then. Tell everyone how I took advantage of you,” I growl out. “Trap us together in this marriage. But do tell them exactly what I’ve done to you. Make them understand how much you crave my discipline.”

Pink engulfs her cheeks as she turns away from me. “I will not trap you,” she cries. “Stop asking me to do so.”

I grab her shoulders and ease her around. “Then make an honest man of me.”

“I cannot do that either.” Tears shine in her eyes, but I cannot understand why.

“Is there someone else?” A flare of jealousy slices through me, nearly stealing my breath.

“N- no, Your Grace. As of right now, there is no one else.”

Again, there’s that niggle at the base of my skull, a warning almost. She’s hiding something, and I wish to know what. Unfortunately, I cannot be in her presence much longer before doing something rash.

“You will never confide our personal matters to my sister again. Are we clear? She is no sibling to you. Only an occupation.”

Miss Gillet blinks up at me, her expression as if I’ve slapped her. Surely my request is not an unreasonable one.

“I can assure you, Your Grace, my interactions with your family have only ever been professional. I may look upon the girls as the sisters I’ve never had, but I would never presume to rise above my station and treat myself as their equal.”

She pulls away and hurries over to the door. As she unlocks it, she turns back to me, her cheeks already stained with tears. “Any thoughts Lady Margaret has are her own. Not once have I confided in anyone in this household about anything. Trust me, Your Grace, I operate as if I’m a stranger here. Alone.”

When she leaves, she slams the door with such force the walls rattle. How could I have gotten things so wrong? Shaking my head, I start to put my affairs in order. The sooner I can leave, the sooner it will be better for all of us.

CHAPTER 23

ROBERT

FOUR DAYS LATER

Bollocks. I take in the bit of flesh writhing before me, her undulations created to entice. And yet, I see none of it. When leaving Whitmore Manor, I aimed to go elsewhere, perhaps the hunting lodge. Or, better yet, take up residence with my brother.

Just because he was away with his wife didn’t mean I couldn’t avail myself of the solitude of his estate. But even as I instructed Hunter to go in that direction, I found myself pulling him off to the other road. London. I thought I needed to be around my friends to ease the torment of my mind.

Now that we find ourselves holed up in The Rose and Thorne, I wonder if my choice was wise. I have no issue with them finding peace between the thighs of another woman, but I find I cannot take such pleasures. Everywhere I look, I see Miss Gillet.

The guilt at proposing to a woman and then indulging with another grates against my feelings of honor and propriety. It matters not that she said no. I still find myself wishing to be with her. She’s a wound I cannot stitch, a disease I cannot be rid of.

Would it be so wrong for me to force her down the aisle? Foxford certainly had a rough go of getting his wayward woman in front of the parson. But then, their situation was far different from mine. As of yet, my clandestine activities have not been found out.