Page 56 of In Service to the Duke

Thrusting her further away, I look her up and down. Her cheeks are flushed, as pink as when I thrash her. Could she have been meeting with someone else? Is that why she said no?

Again, that frisson of rage slithers through me, threatening to undermine my calm. “Who is he?”

“Who is who?” There’s an odd expression on her face, one I cannot discern.

Scenting the air, I don’t detect dishonesty, exactly, but there’s something not right. I feel it deep in my bones as strongly as if I know it to be a fact.

Honestly, it would be good for both of us if she’s sneaking off to be with another. If she’s chosen someone else, I should feel happy for her. I shouldn’t be so cross and put out.

It would free up my heart and mind to go pursue someone else. And yet, part of me desperately needs to hear her tell me there is no one else. But then, I also wish to hear her tell me I’m the only Alpha for her. Neither of which will probably happen.

“Do not play coy with me,” I growl. “Who are you meeting out here in these woods? Some farm boy? Some beta who will have no idea how to give you what it is you really need?”

Her soft whimpers go straight to my balls. She stands there before me, wringing her hands. “And what is it I really need?”

“I-” I stop myself before ruining her completely.

If it is in fact a beta she’s consorting with, she’ll be far better off not knowing the exquisite pleasures only an Alpha can bring. That education is to be reserved for my wife and her alone.

“Why are you out here again? And do not give me some lie about being lost. It’s not as if this tree line is so dense that you should be turned around for a second time.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I merely needed some air before starting lessons with your sisters. I am quite well and not lost, as you can clearly see.”

I look her up and down, seeking out something which I can use to prove she’s lying. But this time, she looks even more pristine than the last. With a grumble under my breath, I move my body out of the way so she can go inside.

My sisters need not suffer because of my raging libido. As I watch her leave, part of me feels like it’s dying inside. The only other time I felt like this was when I disciplined my first girl at The Rose and Thorne.

That same heady mixture of power and lust swirls through me, demanding I chase her down and pin her beneath me. In this moment, she’s no longer just a governess. She’s a bit of prey running from me.

Turning, I slam my fist against a nearby tree, desperately needing a bite of pain to drive my mind away from her. All it does is stir my ire. I want Miss Gillet to feel the same ravaging need as I do, and yet she saunters off to the house as if nothing is amiss.

Once she’s safely ensconced, I storm into the house and make my way toward my dungeon. Knowing her, she’ll be occupied for hours with my sisters. Since she does not seem ill in the slightest, she’ll not need to come back to her room.

This need to smell her, to be close to her, is sick. It’s a disease which churns my mind and directs my steps. I don’t dare stay too long in my pleasure room for fear I’ll succumb and drag her down here with me.

Instead, I traverse the hidden pathway leading me to her room. How many times have I walked this path? How many times have I watched her sleep, stroking myself like some common man desperate to spill his seed?

Still, the need to move forward drives me. I only stop once I reach the part where it looks out onto the dance floor. Her scent is a bit stronger, drawing me forward.

The dance master preens about, his steps complicated and delicate as he instructs his pupils. But it’s not my sisters dancing with Alfonso. It is Miss Gillet herself. Her face is flushed, far more than from normal excursions.

Could it be this is the man she fancies? He’s a dandy and in no way able to give her what she needs and craves. What right does he have to touch her so, to hold her so close when they come together?

I seethe as I watch them whirl about. Off to the side, Mother watches on, her sharp eyes missing nothing. And yet, she does nothing to stop it. How can she allow him to touch her like this? Is it not inappropriate?

But that’s the main issue, isn’t it? Everything they do is well within the bounds of propriety. Nothing between them is amiss. I’m the only one who is in need of a guiding hand. It’s my lusts which run unchecked.

Pushing off of the wall, I continue my journey, unable to watch any longer. Even if there is no love between them, I cannot abide seeing his hand touching what should be mine. It should be my arms encircling her as we dance and not some fop.

I make it to her hidden door in record time, only pausing long enough to ensure a maid is not present within. The very last thing I need is for them to scurry off and tell tales. Once I’m sure the room is empty, I push through the door and drag her scent into my lungs.

It’s as if I’m a man possessed. I cannot resist the urge to stride over to her bed and inhale her fragrant scent. It calls to me, demanding I roll about and soak it deep into my skin. There is nothing rational about my actions, nothing which I can say or do to stop them.

Her sheets are a mess as I rip them off and bury my face in them. But that’s not enough. They’re far newer and cleaner. They’re not as potent or as fragrant as my body demands. And so I seek it out, scenting the air as skillfully as any bloodhound.

My nose leads me to her small desk where a shawl lies draped upon her chair. Bringing it up, I inhale her, taking in her unique scent of peach, black currant, and some unknown spice. I sit down as my head swims. It’s as if I’m drunk on her.

When I finally bring the fabric down from my face, I take in the neat and pristine surface of her desk. It’s as if she’s never touched it. Running my fingers along the smooth surface, I’m overcome with the urge to know everything about her.