Page 77 of In Service to the Duke

Bringing my hands up, I look at my nails, inspecting them for any damage, but finding none. It’s as if he alone suffered. Catching my gaze, he smirks, but the smile holds no humor.

Wrapping a towel about his waist, he comes over to the other side of the tub and presses his hands against my shoulders. As I sink further into the tub, I hold my breath, terrified he’s going to drown me, punish me for my crimes against him.

But he doesn’t. Instead, with far more care than I thought he was capable of, he takes a pitcher and dips it into the water before running it over my head. Next, he takes the cake of soap and lathers it in his hands before rubbing it into my scalp.

The decadent moan slipping past my lips is soft, barely audible, but it sounds wanton and illicit to my ears. Behind me, Blackport chuckles, but says nothing. We reside there in the silence, the crackling fire the only sounds intruding in the space.

My heart pounds in my head as his fingers trail down my neck to squeeze my shoulders. His touch is firm yet so gentle at the same time. It’s as if he dotes upon me, lavishes me with his attention, but still holds himself back.

If we are to be married, I don’t understand the gulf between us. That is, unless it’s my supposed deceit. There has to be some way to get to him. Perhaps I can write him a letter?

“I’m sorry,” I manage to croak out as he runs the water over my head.

“It is done now. Nothing left to apologize for.”

Again, the silence looms between us, more stifling than the heat from the fire. Not a word passes between us as he helps me from the tub and towels me down. Turning me this way and that, he inspects me, no doubt checking for any further proof of our copulation. When he nods and hands me one of his banyans, I can’t help but feel as if I’m slipping even further away from him.

Holding my hand to my stomach, I touch his arm. He jerks it away as if he’s been burned. When he looks back at me, his eyes are dark, nearly pitch black.

“I cannot let you touch me. Not when you look like that or smell like that.”

“But we are to be married-”

He pulls away, taking several steps back. “Until that time, we must maintain the utmost propriety. We cannot allow any dishonor to befall the Dowding name.”

Dropping my chin to my chest, I rub my stomach once more. “I understand.”

With a soft growl, he tears my hand away. “Are you hungry? Once you finish your part of this farce, you will dine with me in the breakfast room.”

“I-”

“We haven’t all day, Miss Gillet. What is it you wish to say?” The irritation in his tone sends fissions of apprehension up my spine.

“If I am with child, will a few more weeks be too long before everyone knows?”

He blinks at me for several moments, his lips parting as his jaw goes slack. “What child? Certainly not mine.”

“But you said… I thought… But Mother…” Helpless, I look up at him, not knowing the correct words or things to say. “My heat?”

As if he understands, he gives me an indulgent smile. “You are correct in that a heat is the only time you can become with child. However, I kept enough of my wits about me to keep myself from impregnating you. If any of my seed happened to have taken hold, it would be a miracle.”

“Oh.” That simple exclamation is far too little to fully convey the emotions flooding my system.

Swaying forward, I nearly collapse with relief. “Thank you. That is certainly good news.”

He crosses his arms and pins me with a curious stare. “And yet, for someone so keen to trap me, I would think you would be disheartened. Fear not, little governess. This wedding will happen even though you are not at risk for pregnancy.”

Grabbing my hand, he leads me toward his secret entrance. It takes nearly no time at all to come back to the dungeon where everything happened. The scent of our copulation invades my nose, making my knees quake as longing rushes through me.

Though the sheets on the bed are encrusted with our fluids, I want nothing more than to bury my face in them, to relive the moments where we were happy. Now that I’m no longer in heat, all of that has changed. None of it makes any sense.

Thankfully, Blackport doesn’t allow me to stay very long. He tugs me forward, taking me down the familiar passage to my room. Stopping by the door, he holds a finger up to his lips and creaks the door open.

“It is only me in here, my son,” the dowager duchess calls out. “You may bring in your bride.”

Again, my heart thumps hard in my chest. Bride. How long did I want that title to rest upon my shoulders? If only things were different. If only he actually loved me and wasn’t duty-bound to marry me.

Glancing back, I watch as he slips back into the tunnel and closes the door. The click of the latch sounds so final, so permanent, so… grim. Forcing a smile on my face, I come out from behind the tapestry and face the woman who would train me to take her place.