Page 35 of Plucked By the Orc

Duncan withdrew. The groan had been naught but pleasure, but at once, he backed away from her. Confused, she watched as he practically froze in place. When he spoke, his words were like ice when before they had been fire.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “Forgive me, Miss Gabbert.” He closed his eyes. “That was most inappropriate. Forgive me.”

Without another word, he fled from the drawing room.

Chapter Twelve

Whathadhe been thinking? After retreating from the drawing room and back into the relative safety of his library, Duncan shut the oak door with a mighty thud. And then he did something he hadn’t bothered with in a long time. He reached for the iron key set adjacent to the door and thrust it into the space, locking the door behind him with a satisfying click.

And whathadthis woman done to him? His claws were still retracted, and he detected a sheen of sweat on his brow. He grasped the monogrammed handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his waistcoat. Dash it all. How many of these items had he gone through? Mother had told him he should engage a valet to attend to his personal upkeep. Tasks such as hand washing delicate garments and unmentionables.

Duncan had resisted the idea because, deep down, he didn’t want a human to get too close to him. Mrs. Thompson was amiable and even warm at times, as was the unflappableClemons. He knew it hadn’t been easy, growing accustomed to serving someone who looked so strange to them at first blush. But he never intended for any other humans to take up residence here.

Until he saw Iris Gabbert and her flowers, and something in her demeanor and form tugged at his heart in a way he hadn’t known since the time before Lady Margaret Hathaway destroyed him.

Duncan eyed the sideboard and the cabinet beneath it. By the clock on the mantelpiece, it was not yet one. He kept to a strict rule never to indulge in alcohol before dinner. Though he hated nothing more than breaking his own rules, Duncan felt so out of sorts that he strode to the cabinet and withdrew a crystal tumbler and a bottle of brandy. Since it was so early in the day, he would stick to the weaker human stuff rather than grabbing the more potent Orcan varieties.

He poured two fingers’ worth of brandy into the tumbler and downed it within the space of several seconds.

As he let the drink work its magic, calming his mind somewhat, he looked around the library. Once, this had been a sacred sanctuary for one, which only admitted Albion on occasion when they needed to discuss something without the prying ears of the other gentlemen at their club listening in. Here, Duncan read, wrote, and pondered matters relating to his book. Mrs. Thompson came in to give the room a thorough cleaning weekly. Otherwise, the library was his alone.

He had been content alone. Hadn’t he?

Since the arrival of Iris Gabbert, the thick cards he posted on the easel for Iris’s daily lessons had dominated this space. Today, he meant to demonstrate the curious inflections of those who came from regions in and around Yorkshire. After he’d broken Iris’s trust in him with the liberty in the drawing room,that lesson couldn’t happen today, and probably not any other day for that matter.

He spotted a violin tucked away in the library’s corner, carefully stored in its rough leather case, with metal studs edging the perimeter. On occasion, he dusted off the violin, a souvenir from his travels in the lands of Bavaria, undertaken not long after his father emerged from the Hidden Realm with Duncan in tow. The finely tuned instrument made sounds similar to the lutes he’d known as a younger boy. Duncan had practiced daily with the assistance of a tutor his father hired.

He unlatched the case, carefully extracting the instrument from the paper lining protecting it. The violin smelled of wood polish, for Mrs. Thompson was always thorough in cleaning. Duncan had neglected his practice for days, distracted by Iris. Now, he propped the violin on his shoulder and ran the bow across its delicate strings.

Soon, Duncan was playing tunes from home for his ears alone, the ones from his earliest memories. When his father and mother were young, and Albion toddled around in short pants and had yet to say a word—songs of quiet times with family and soldiers who yearned for such when engaged in ancient battles. Music was meant to soothe one’s mind.

However, as Duncan strummed the violin, he heard only Iris Gabbert’s voice changing day to day from the rough sounds of the flower seller he’d first met, with all the charms of the East London accent so prevalent in places such as Lambeth, to the hesitant but breathtaking cadence she had practiced in Mother’s parlor. He saw only the brightness in her eyes when she looked up at him and the tantalizing scent that clung to her hair and skin like fresh fruit and flowers. And a more mysterious, musky essence that entranced him.

Confound the woman. With an abrupt screech, Duncan stopped playing. He hadn’t the heart for it. So he returned theinstrument to its case and reached once more for his tumbler, filling it with another shot of brandy.

Must Iris Gabbert haunt him every waking moment? And more so when he slept and dreamed.

Without realizing it, Duncan’s hand clenched, and the tumbler shattered, tiny shards of glass falling to the hardwood floor. He flexed his fingers irritably. At times, he didn’t know his own strength, which was yet another reason never to get involved with a human woman.

Only if their kiss was any measure of it, Iris Gabbert had proven she could handle his physicality. More than handle it.

A gentle scratching at the door interrupted his thoughts. The sound was familiar. Boudica wanted to come inside. He moved over to the door and grabbed the key to unlock it once more.

“Take care upon entrance, sweet one,” he said, ready to bend down to prevent Boudica from racing into the room and injuring her paws. “There is broken glass on the floor.”

Boudica didn’t bolt through the narrow wedge he had created. Rather, the kitten was in Miss Gabbert’s arms, mewling agreeably.

“Why, you needn’t worry over her, sir,” Iris declared, more boldly than he would have anticipated, given the indiscretion between them not a quarter-hour earlier. More like what he would expect from an Orcan woman. “Don’t you credit her with a lick of sense? She and I are only disappointed that you stopped playing your strings there.”

Duncan drew a swift breath, embarrassed at having been caught speaking to his pet. He rubbed the kitten’s chin, staring at Boudica’s green eyes to avoid looking directly at Iris. “I credit her with a sense of adventure that could lead to trouble.”

“Well, I’ll abide by your wishes then, but she certainly seemed eager to visit. Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would you?”

“I can’t bear the thought of injury to her paw. Boudica is the first creature I encountered in London who did not recoil at the sight of me. And so she will always have a place in my heart.”

“Is that why you keep so few staff on hand in this here manse?”

Duncan hadn’t meant to reveal something so painful to Miss Gabbert. It made him feel vulnerable. And that would never do. He gave a stiff nod.

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