Page 55 of In Service to the Duke

As a duke, any woman of The Ton would fall to their knees and beg me to be their husband. But not her. As much as I wish to accommodate my mother’s wishes, I find I need to nurse these wounds first. It wouldn’t be fair to the next Duchess of Blackport for me to compare her to the one woman I wanted and couldn’t have.

Dismayed, I climb out of bed and stretch, determined to put aside all the negativity and focus on what I can control. Though I will not be giving my mother the grandbabies she so desperately desires, I can at least give her joy and happiness. After breakfast, I’ll inquire from the physician what my limitations are with her.

If anything, I feel strongly she needs to be out and about far more often. Being in bed alone cannot be good for her. Besides, I saw how bright and rosy her cheeks were after the outing with my sisters. She looked far better than she had in months.

Striding over to my armoire, I pull out my banyan and wrap it around my nightshirt. My valet will be here soon to attend me, and I can no longer lie abed thinking fantastical thoughts which will never come true. With a heavy sigh, I throw open my curtains and stare out into the courtyard.

As much as I try to put it out of my mind, the part of the dream which caused me the most pleasure was seeing Miss Gillet walking down the aisle toward me. Her face was alight with happiness and pleasure as she beamed up at me. There was a peace about her, a sense of rightness.

* * *

As I head down to breakfast, I pause at the bottom of the stairs. The hairs on the nape of my neck prickle as I take in Miss Gillet’s scent. There’s something a touch different about it. At least, I believe so. My cock instantly surges up, engorging as I drag in another lungful.

More than likely, being gone for about a week made me crave the woman even more. Irritation flows up my spine, edging out the growing arousal. Leaving was supposed to help and not make things worse.

Storming into the breakfast room, my gaze darts about the table. No governess to be found. Where on earth is she this morning? Hopefully she didn’t go for another stroll and become lost.

I gather a few bits of things to eat but find my appetite waning. I don’t wish to devour meats, cheeses, jams, and cream. I want nothing more than to spread Miss Gillet open and taste the nectar her body so freely gives. Shaking my head, I dispel such notions and do my best to concentrate on my sisters.

But nothing they say makes sense. It’s as if I cannot control the nature of my thoughts. What the devil? Slamming my hand down onto the table, I startle Margaret and Elizabeth, and for a moment a niggle of regret worms its way into my heart.

“Where is your governess?” I all but roar, unable to keep my anger in check.

Next to me, Margaret flinches, and Elizabeth tears up. For just a moment, I feel like the worst cad to ever walk the face of this Earth, but some other part of me doesn’t care. The need to find Miss Gillet overrides all rational thought.

I wish I could make things clearer, but as it is, my thoughts are caught up in a maelstrom of emotions. Is it out of fear for her well-being? But when I close my eyes, it’s not images of her injured and without help which plague me. It’s her, naked, sprawled out on my dungeon bed, begging me to do my worst.

It’s insanity. Even without her presence, she vexes me. I should have done what I conjured in my soul before going on that blasted trip. Instead of running away from her and her tempting ways, I should have entrapped her.

How stupid was I to let this continue? It would have been easy. All I had to do was pin her up against some wall where everyone could see and kiss her until she was breathless. No one would dare intervene on my plans to wed her. Not even the governess herself.

And yet, like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, I scampered off, refusing to do the manly thing and chain her to me. Hell, I could have claimed her, and no one would have batted an eye. If anything, it would give Mother what she wanted before her death.

Again, I look at my sisters, but neither of them says a word. Elizabeth merely looks at me as if I’ve physically slapped her, and Margaret fiddles with some invisible object in her hands. My hackles rise a bit as I stare them down, determined to unearth their secrets.

“Well? Any answer?”

“Please, Brother,” Elizabeth whines. “I wish you to not be so mean. We haven’t seen Miss Gillet since yesterday. She never made it to breakfast.”

Margaret continues to fidget. “Why do you wish to know?” she inquires. “Is something going on between the two of you we should be aware of?”

I do not have time for such naïve interrogations. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I temper my tone, refusing to frighten them again. “She is a member of this household. As such, it’s my responsibility to know her whereabouts.”

“Oh,” she pouts, sliding further down in the chair. “In that case, I haven’t seen her either. I do hope she’s well.”

As do I. But I refuse to say that part out loud. My sister is already far too inquisitive for her own good. If I didn’t know any better, she has some romantic foolishness brewing in her heart. Much like this kidnapping nonsense.

Either way, they are no help to me right now. Wrenching myself away from the table, I tip my nose in the air. Miss Gillet’s scent, though all encompassing, tells me nothing. I stride toward her door and knock, but there’s no reply. Could she be ill?

From the reports I’ve gathered, she’s spent quite some time with my mother. If she were to have succumbed to the same thing… But no. That’s quite a ridiculous line of thought. My sisters have been in her presence far longer and are the picture of health.

I flag down a passing maid, but she’s no help to me either. Seems as if Miss Gillet has slipped into the abyss, disappeared from all sight. However, the fact that she took her redingote tells me she’s out and about again, traipsing the property.

A growl of anger rumbles into the air as I quickly make my way outside. Her scent is faint, but I’m certain she’s out there. As I cross over toward the trees, her slim body slams into mine in a flurry of movement. As if on instinct, I wrap my arms around her, holding her close.

She feels so right here, so absolutely perfect. Deep down, I know I cannot stay like this. The servants will see. And what? I yell inside my head. And she’s forced to marry you?

In truth, this is the perfect trap. If only I had the bollocks to go through with it. A soft groan flits from my lips as I pull her away. If only my parents were not the sort to have loved each other and shown me what a good match could truly make. As much as I am grateful for their tutelage, I damn them for setting my expectations so high.