Page 35 of Good Duke Gone Cold

Oh, was it true that she had spent an evening intent on misery instead sharing heartfelt words with Gregory?

It was nigh impossible to push him from her mind and heart when she recalled how tender he could be. Last night was a glimpse into who she had always believed Gregory was. The man she had always trusted. Always admired. He always knew who he was, he was unshakable, until he wasn’t. But now maybe he had found himself again. Maybe all hope was not lost on him.

She did not want to even begin thinking of hope for him with so many uncertainties. Instead, she tried to recall the conversation from the previous night. Some of it was a blur, but she did remember him asking her who she was.

She didn’t know how to answer his question. Who was she? Daughter? Friend? Docile wife-to-be? Passionate playwright? Desire-ridden dream-follower? Following her desires was still so new to her, she wasn’t ready to admit that it was who she really wanted to be, or who she might actually already be.

And how was she supposed to know which desires to follow? That was the most challenging aspect of this endeavor. Follow her desires to write the play? Follow her desire for Gregory? Follow every desire? Follow no desires?

At least she could eliminate the last two questions. She lived following no desires for too long and she had seen the damage that impulsive living had cost many people in society, especially those who had gambled away house and home. She knew she wanted to write the play, so if she pared down her questions, there was truly only one unanswered question, and that was whether or not to follow her desires for Gregory.

She needed help in making her decision, but she had no idea where to turn. Little did she know how life had a way of guiding those truly seeking.

Chapter 14

Gregoryfelthisheartthump against his ribcage as he observed and followed Mary egress from the house into the gardens for what must be a quick stroll before being leg shackled to the carriage for hours. She had donned a morning dress that bore little to no thought of concealing herself. As she walked, he could feel the airy fabric against her thighs, and the bodice was hardly a half centimeter above her nipples. He felt, and thanked, the constraint of his breeches.

“Where is your pelisse?” Gregory’s voice choked out. He had not intended to sound so strained, but where his breeches could hold him in, his mouth could not do in kind to his thoughts.

“The weather is lovely. I have no need of a pelisse at the moment.”

“Are you not going to be traveling shortly? You must cover yourself in protection of all the dust.”

“Must I?”

She made a small twirl and threw her head over her shoulder to watch him. This time Gregory knew that she knew what she was doing. She chuckled.

“Do you like it?”

“What’s come over you?”

Her smile vaporized into a frown. “Nothing. Can’t a woman enjoy a new dress? Your mother and sister insisted I wear this one today. It’s not my usual style, but I can see its allure. Can’t you?”

Did she just wink at him? That was impossible.

He watched her meander toward the first patch of flowers. While she bent over to inhale their fragrance, he watched her delectable derriere form and envied how the fabric draped down over her ample bottom.

With more contempt than curiosity, he demanded, “What are you doing?”

She whirled around, “I’m enjoying the morning. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I–I–” he didn’t have an answer.

“Well, I will not let your hot and cold mood deter me from my goal of finding pleasure this morning.”

Gregory felt the color drain from his face and then rush back in floods of fire.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t stop you from finding–ahem–pleasure.” He studied his hessians while forcing out the last word.

“Gregory, I do not understand your disposition this morning. Last night–”

“Last night was a mistake.” To him, last night, opening himself up, making himself vulnerable, and finding lightness in her presence was more of a mistake than any of the physical pleasure he had derived from her. What kind of maniac was he? Seeing her here now, almost in pursuit, or at least acceptance, of him, engendered the need to repel her forcefully. He could not allow himself to be vulnerable with her again.

He cringed as he watched her face crumple. Within an instant, she had steeled herself by rolling her shoulders back and jutting out her chin.

She smoothed an invisible wrinkle in her sleeve and bent over the flowers again. When she had turned back around to him, she had a single red carnation in her hand.

“Here.” She reached out to him, extending her arm and proffering the flower to him.

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