Page 116 of The Captive Duke
“Don’t go. It isn’t right that you go, not this time. You won’t talk to me, Christian, and I need you to talk to me.”
He’d lose her if he admitted the violence of his errand, if he admitted to any characteristic in common with her late, vicious husband. He’d lose her if she learned he’d been untruthful.
“Are you afraid I won’t come back to you?” He brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “Afraid I’ll be distracted by the noise and frivolity of Town?”
She closed her eyes and snugged her body closer to his. “You’re up to something, Christian. I can feel it. I’m worried for you, and you won’t tell—”
“Feel this.” He pressed forward by excruciating degrees, then withdrew at the same tempo almost to the point of leaving her body.
“Tell me…why you…must…” she said, but he advanced again, and her voice trailed off.
He wanted to confide in her, wanted to have no secrets, no silences between them, ever, but some truths were too costly.
“I will tell you I love you,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers on the pillow and setting up a gloriously languorous rhythm. “I love you as I’ve never loved another, as I never will love another.”
“Oh, God…Christian.” She bowed up, her face against his shoulder, and control slipped from her grasp. He wasn’t expecting passion to overtake her so soon, and he lost the battle to draw out his own pleasure. Ashe went over the edge with her, all he could think was:I love you. I love you. I will always love you.
He didn’t know he’d made that declaration aloud until silence fell in the aftermath of their loving. Then he realized that come morning, he was the one who’d be leaving, but tonight, Gilly might be the one making her farewell.
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.”
