Page 30 of Duke of the Sun

“Michael Rayson,” she whispered, glancing around as if someone might’ve been listening. The name hung in the air like a prayer, something she was not meant to whisper aloud, something meant for no ears. Cordelia breathed in. “Michael Rayson,” she said again, firmer that time.

“My husband,” she added, raising her shoulders.

Cordelia shook her head, letting her hand fall to her side. “What a ridiculous thought.”

Even so, she snatched up the wood-cased pencil sitting beside the easel, unable to stop herself from dragging lines and sharp edges across the canvas. Soon, from nothing but memory alone, Cordelia had the image of a familiar face sketched.

She took a step back, taking in the likeliness. Somehow, she managed to achieve the Duke’s harsh edges, his jutting chin, the way his brow cast a darkened shadow over his eyes. With a few lines and strikes of her pencil, Cordelia felt as though she stood face-to-face with her husband, enamoured by his presence and unable to turn away. To know him by memory in such a way was impressive, but the feeling attached to it almost frightened her.

“He is a beast,” she murmured to herself. “And yet…”

Cordelia snapped the pencil back onto the easel, backing away from her canvas. She hardly recognized herself.

“It is Irene’s fault,” she snapped as she gathered her things to go to the bathroom. “Shehas disrupted my thinking.”

Pushing open the door, Cordelia held her chin up, determined to wipe the image of the Duke clean from her face as soon as possible. A delightful bath, one that overlooked the setting sun, sounded like the perfect way to clear her turmoiled mind. She went down a hallway and a winding corner before coming across the newly renovated bathroom. Perhaps the maid collected her a glass of wine, as well, since she mentioned it to Mrs. Bellflower before. Growing more and more excited to spend some much needed time alone, Cordelia gently pushed open the bathroom door.

Steam from a previous bath filled the room. The tiles on the floor and walls were dripping with condensation, the tables beside the bathtub littered with formal papers and opened letters. Wax seals were on the floor around the tub, a fallen quill spilling leftover ink onto the tiles. A figure, recognizable the moment Cordelia opened the door, stood in front of the tub, facing the wide and tall windows that overlooked the back of the estate.

The Duke was in the midst of pulling a robe on. His back faced the entrance, water still dripping from his hair, trickling onto the floor beside his bare feet. Though Cordelia already knew his hair to be longer than most men in the Ton, it stretched further down his neck than she realized, now that it was weighed down with water.

But it was not the Duke’s hair or the mess he left around the tub that caught Cordelia’s eye. She had never seen a man so bare before, besides her brother, when they were nothing more than children. This occurrence was different than anything she might’ve once known. Not only was the Duke’s skin oddly alluring, fostering that familiar flurry of butterflies in her stomach, but there was something else, something more personal than she ever realized.

White lines, long and sharp scars, lined the Duke’s back. They stretched from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, down his spine and across his waist. Some curved to encroach upon his neck, others stretched further than what Cordelia could see. Despite the sun illuminating him, casting the rest of his figure into a silhouette like shadow, the white scars stood out like strokes of fresh paint. The breath was stolen from Cordelia’s lips. Too shocked and scandalized to move, she remained as still as a statue for a whole moment, till she realized the Duke was beginning to turn around, obviously aware that someone had entered the private space.

Cordelia flung around, almost slipping on the moist tiles below. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she blurted, facing the threshold.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied.

Without seeing his expression, Cordelia had no way of reading the tone of his voice. He sounded incredibly monotone, as if there wasn’t an odd thing to say about the situation they found themselves in. She fidgeted. “I shall ask you again,” she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing here? I thought you considered my renovations to be nothing more than an unneeded expense!”

“While I do not plan on retracting my statement anytime soon,” the Duke said, his low voice growing closer as his feet padded against the tile, “I cannot deny the impressive work done on this room. I can hardly remember what it was before.”

“I-I-” Cordelia stammered, unable to control her thoughts into an ordered statement. The hint of a compliment in his words took her for a spin, one that she had no intention of indulging in.

“As for why I find myself here,” the Duke continued, “I was under the impression I could go anywhere I pleased. This is my home, after all.”

Cordelia found herself frozen in place.

“You don’t have to be turned around, you know.”

“But you -”

“I am fully dressed,” he interjected, the hint of a tease shadowing his voice, “Have been for a moment.”

Cordelia swallowed. There wasn’t a word she could focus on, a thing she could say when the image of the white scars along his back haunted her every thought. Anytime she considered she might gain the confidence to speak, the scars came rushing back to her, and Cordelia was forced to clamp her mouth shut. What if she was foolish enough to ask about them? And what if he was willing enough to explain them?

She fidgeted again, her hands intertwined tightly in front of her.

“I must say, I was quite skeptical when Hunters advised me on using the tub here,” the Duke suddenly said. “But I never fancied myself to be a liar. I enjoyed the bath much more than I thought I would.”

Cordelia was caught in another blush. Heat swarmed up her neck and her cheeks. She fought the urge to fan herself, to stagger and beg for some air. Every word he dared to speak sent the butterflies rushing through her stomach once more. He couldn’t be complimenting her so much, could he? There must’ve been something she missed, something she was too foolish or blind to see. The Duke that arrived those few days ago, determined to fix everything he swore she did wrong, could not be the same man who valued the work she had done.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Cordelia’s distraction shrouded her from knowing how close the Duke came to her.

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