Page 118 of The Captive
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The day unfolded as His Grace had predicted, which ought not to have surprised or disappointed Gilly, though it did both. They rose and parted as they always did, despite her sense that he would have made love to her again if she’d shown the least receptivity.
The duke had devastated her the previous night with his soft, repeated declarations—and with his silence. He’d known exactly what he was about, too, embracing her when they were both spent and whispering vague apologies as if he regretted his infernal business.
Christian had once told her that his captor, the thrice-damned Girard, had also offered apologies.
“Good morning, my dear.” He kissed her cheek as he made his way to the sideboard in the breakfast parlor. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Enjoying my first cup of tea in peace and quiet.”
“You may enjoy it more now for having delightful company.” He paused, plate in hand. “Shall I dish you up some eggs?”
“Toast will do, thank you.”
He passed her a plate bearing four toast points, then helped himself to at least six eggs’ worth of omelet, two pieces of toast, and a half-dozen strips of bacon.
A far cry from half a buttered scone and nursery tea.
“When will you leave?” Gilly tried to put the question evenly, but her voice caught.
“I expect Marcus here by midmorning,” he said, flourishing his white linen serviette. “I should not be gone outside of a few days, a week at most. The drama you and Lucy have subjected me to would be flattering were it not so inconvenient.”
She buttered her toast, wondering if he’d consider a bullet hole in his boot inconvenient. Her own reactions made no sense to her. She wanted him to stay, and she wanted to quit Severn herself, to be free of the kindness and patience in his eyes, thepity. He’d turned a deaf ear on her pleas regarding Marcus, and he’d all but lied about his reasons for going up to Town.
“I will keep a close eye on Lucy,” she said. “I swear the girl was almost upset enough to speak yesterday, but then it occurred to me Marcus was here on leave when Evan was so ill and Helene died.”
The realization made her toast stick in her throat, because what might thesightof Marcus do to Lucy, who’d ceased speaking from the time of the man’s last visit?
Christian’s expression went from pained to resolute. “Perhaps the sight of me returning from Town will move her to speak. Would you like more tea?”
She let him top up her cup, let him blather away about the weather and the coming harvest and about the team he’d have hitched up for the trip to Town. He was doing the ducal equivalent of chattering, as she used to chatter at him, except his effort was the more effective distraction when she could not ignore even the sound of his voice.
Marcus arrived on schedule, declaring himself glad to be useful to his nearest family, and Gilly’s sense of disquiet rose higher.
Marcus might have beenusefulto Gilly on any number of occasions—by inviting Greendale up to Town, by finding a moment alone to ask her if she was moving so stiffly for a reason, by insisting the dower house at least have a decent roof.
None of which explained her current unease. Had she grown so dependent on Christian that she was afraid to part from him? This boded ill, because she could not marry a man who kept secrets from the woman he professed to love.
“Marcus,” Christian said, perhaps knowing Gilly didn’t want to hear even the Greendale title, “I will leave you to the comforts of the library while the countess sees me to the stables. I have instructions for her regarding Lucy’s studies in my absence.”
Marcus sketched Gilly a bow. “I will spare myself the tedium. Studies were never of much appeal to me.”
He departed, boot heels ringing on the polished floors in a way that set Gilly’s teeth on edge because the cadence reminded her too strongly of Greendale.
Leaving Gilly to accept Christian’s proffered arm. Before Marcus, Christian had been punctiliously polite with her, a bit of argument by demonstration.
Christian would treat her that well, were she his duchess. He’d never remonstrate with her before others, never fail to show her the utmost courtesy, never allow her to suffer insult from another.
But she’d have to marry him to be his duchess.
“You are quiet, my dear,” he said as they made their way through the gardens. “This does not bode well for the King’s peace.”
“For yours, you mean? What is there to say, Christian? You are off on this mysterious errand, which you refer to as simply business, but I believe nothing about it is simple. Have you been summoned back to Carlton House? Or is it a command performance at the Horse Guards?”
“Neither. This business is of a personal nature, affecting only me. You must not concern yourself.”
“Must I not?”
