Page 32 of Good Duke Gone Cold

Mary nodded. Had Gregory not told her for lack of time or lack of will? Unawares, she furrowed her brow.

“I can see this may not be the best time.”

Invigorated by her enmity toward Gregory and his controlling inclinations, she shook her head and motioned toward the pathway. “Please. I was about to go for a walk through the gardens.”

Lyle’s smile widened and Mary was pleased. He offered her his arm and they began a steady stroll down the path.

As Mary's fingers rested on Lyle’s forearm, she couldn’t help noticing his strength. He was clad in dark breeches fastened just below the knee where white stockings covered his calves and met black buckled shoes.

Previously when she had danced with him while reading lines, she hadn’t had much presence of mind to reflect on him individually as she was usually very attentive to the play.

Now, she sneaked a glance at his profile and studied his angular face and strong jawline. His greek-shaped nose and full lips made him entirely too handsome. He had a firm set to his jaw but an openness in his face. His bistre brown coiffure and scruff for a beard altogether conveyed a mysterious wildness.

She knew he was a gentleman of business, but she couldn’t sense much more from him.

Holding his arm was akin to utilizing a walking stick, which today was much needed since she didn’t have her pattens on for a ground scattered with puddles.

But a walking stick was nothing compared to the sense of safety and home she felt whenever she touched Gregory. She sighed and pushed Gregory from her mind. He would just be another controlling husband anyways.

Gregory happened to be passing the back windows on his way to the stables for a much needed ride when he caught sight of Mary and Lyle arm in arm. His body was now begging him for a much needed ride.

He tugged his cravat away from his neck and then tugged his waistcoat down wishing to high hell he could be more comfortable when he rode, but his valet wouldn’t have it.

Despite his mind knowing he had bedded enough women to not quickly lose himself in mawkish sentimentality, his body was eager to be hurtling through the air to forget all thoughts.

After the stablehands had saddled his horse, Apollo, he took off in a gallop. The wind pounded his face demanding he let down the drawbridge to his fortress.

But Gregory was determined to steel himself against emotions and with each blast of wind, he built another layer around his heart.

And then Apollo slowed to a trot and then stopped. Gregory wiped the sweat from his brow and took inventory of his surroundings. He was at the old folly.

Cursing he pulled on the reins to move Apollo, but his otherwise dutiful horse decided at this moment to betray him for a break and a small snack.

Gregory launched himself off the horse and dropped the reins, indicating to Apollo to stand and wait.

Gregory turned his back to the folly and looked beyond to the trees down the hill. He knew the view awaiting him at the top. He knew the memory awaiting him if he turned around.

It was an innocent memory, but one of such sweetness and awe, that it wrenched at his heart. The disparity between how he had treated Mary in their youth and how he was treating her now was deplorable. Why the devil had he not controlled himself when they were dancing? What had come over him? She was like a siren calling to him that he couldn’t ignore. He had remembered the feel of her breasts in his hands and the urge to relive them was too great.

Then, to make matters much worse, what in all of the devil’s destruction had caused him to produce such nefarious utterances as to shatter her heart? He saw it in her eyes before she was able to regain her composure. He saw her pain. More than that, he felt her pain. If he hadn’t been holding her, he would have doubled over from the punch to the gut his words caused her. He knew her. He felt her. Without her having to use words, he could feel her within him. It had always been that way.

She was kindness, gentleness, passion, and desire wrapped up in a cinnamon stick. She awed him. Not because she was front and center. Not because she was loud, demanding, or manipulative. Not because she subtly used her feminine wiles to coyly entice him. She awed him because she was unlike any other woman he knew. Her desires, drive, and determination challenged him. Was he man enough for her?

He stumbled realizing only now that he was walking the perimeter of the folly to its entrance. He leaned his hands against the stone wall of the tower.

He remembered when his father had designed and built the folly for his wife. He had been so precise in his requirements for the structure. It had to be a tower, not an abbey or any of the other common structures. It had to be placed exactly in the middle of the meadow to catch unobstructed sunrises and sunsets. It sounded nice enough, but truly no one could fully understand why he had spent such an inordinate amount of money and such an excessive amount of time unless they had the opportunity to climb the folly and see the view for themselves.

He remembered standing next to his father as he reviewed the drawings ensuring the structure was how he wanted it. His father had always allowed his son to be close to him, observing, learning. And then he was gone. The year after the folly was built, he passed away from a fever. With a good quarantine, it was fortuitous that no one else in the family caught it. Gregory remembered his mother’s and sister’s tears, especially his mother’s. He remembered hearing her beg to be taken too. Those words had always induced a new deluge of tears from himself, but those were tears he kept hidden. He would not show his pain. Being twenty, it seemed weak to cry such boyish tears. He knew he was the duke now. He had new responsibilities. His family relied on him. All of his estates relied on him. He had to place himself last and put the family first because his father was gone.

And then so was Jonathan merely four years later. Jonathan had always been there to slap him on the back, whether in chastisement or encouragement. He was the one with which Gregory shared adventures and troubles.

And now there was no one. No one to mentor him anymore. No one for him to observe and from whom to learn. No one to adventure with and share his burdens.

That’s when he took off. At five-and-twenty, feeling abandoned, he chose to live on the continent drinking and bedding his troubles away. It worked, or so he thought, for a while. But if he really examined his methods, he would have to acknowledge that his life on the continent only delayed the time for when he would have to face his new reality.

The new reality was that his father was gone. Jonathan was gone. He wouldn’t allow anyone to be close to him again because they all left anyway.

Only the folly remained. It wasn’t enough. He slammed his fists against the stone wall, relishing in the jolt of pain that ran up his arms.

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