Page 115 of The Captive Duke
Her mouth worked, and Gilly prayed this tantrum might be a backhanded means of compelling the child to speak, but Lucy merely formed the word “no” silently, repeatedly. Then, “Stay. Please, stay.”
“Lucy…” Christian knelt at eye level with the girl. “Enough of this. I am not off to war. I am merelytrotting up to Town, and I have provided for company in my absence. The countess will visit you daily, at least. You have promised to look in on Chessie for me, and I will not indulge the antics of a toddler in my grown-up girl.”
He ran his hand down the side of her face, just as Lucy’s tears began to fall in awful, wrenching silence.
Something was wrong; something was more wrong with the child than usual. Christian picked Lucy up and settled her in his lap while he took a rocking chair near the window.
“Don’t cry, child. I’ll be back, and all will be well, you’ll see.”
Tell him, Gilly thought as her throat constricted.Tell him what’s wrong, and he will bend his whole being to repairing it, but you have to tell him. You must tell him what you want, in words he can hear and understand.
She left them their privacy but did not know if she admonished the child or herself.
“You think to leave me.” Christian waited until he had Gilly in bed to make his accusation. “Why, Gilly?”
Though he knew why. In some intuitive, female corner of her soul, Gillian apparently suspected her favorite duke was plotting a murder, the first of several, and calling it pressing business.
Why else would he leave his distraught and tearydaughter in the nursery with a sanctimonious lecture about growing up and making Papa proud?
“Why areyouleavingus, Christian?”
A woman whose very life had depended on vigilant study of her husband would not be put off by platitudes. She’d trust her instincts, as Christian had learned to trust his.
“Us?” He shifted over her and ran his nose along her temple, taking in a whiff of roses and Gillian.
“Me and Lucy. I have never seen anything more heart-wrenching than a child who will only cry silently on her papa’s shoulder.”
Neither had Christian, and yet, if Girard had plotted to end Gilly’s life, he was not above taking the child, even harming the child, for ends Christian could not fathom.
“She’s concerned I’ll go off to war again and be captured by another mad Frenchman, which is understandable.” He kissed the smooth warmth of Gilly’s brow, as if he might kiss away her doubts.
“She’s not concerned, she’s wildly upset.”
As was Gilly.
As was, truth be known, Christian. In his headlong glee to put a period to Girard’s existence, he had failed utterly to account for Gillian’s dim view of men and their violent behaviors.
Ofallmen who indulged in violent behaviors, and her reaction was entirely reasonable, while for Christian, backing down from the opportunity to dispatch Girard was unthinkable.
Lying to Gillian was beyond unthinkable. And yet, what did Christian say to her, the woman who’d saved his soul if not his body?
Nothing of any consequence, that’s what.
“You and Lucy can miss me together.”
Silence, the most trenchant, impenetrable silence Christian had encountered. He remained poised over the woman he loved, and quite honestly babbled, because he admitted the possibility—slim, but more than theoretical—that Gilly and Lucy could have a lifetime to miss him.
“The sad truth is, Lucy will never learn to trust that I’m always coming back to her if I don’t occasionally depart for a few days.” His lips, all of their own volition, wandered to Gilly’s mouth.
And she accepted his kisses, which was a mercy, because it occurred to him only now—now when he was once again doing business with death—that these might be the last kisses he’d ever give her.
“Shall I love you like this, my lady?”
She brought her knees up on either side of his flanks, as close to an invitation as he could hope for from her.
“I think I shall.” He dug deep and found reserves of patience sufficient to pleasure her more slowly than he had before. She became pliant in his arms and gradually began to move under him. When her kisses turned voracious, he pressed himself into her, slowly, slowly.
“Say you’ll miss me, Gilly.” He went still inside her, though restraint tormented him sorely.
