Page 27 of The Captive Duke
“My thanks.” He took the roll from her, and they ate in uncomfortable silence for some while. Gilly had to slow her own meal to allow for her companion’s deliberate pace. His Grace was incapable of bolting his grain, even after a long, hungry afternoon with the Regent.
“You’re coming undone.” He made that observation in the same tone of voice as he might have asked for the salt.
“I am slightly perturbed with you, because you have been inconsiderate. I am not undone. I am trying to make allowances.”
The light in his eyes changed, warmed a little. “No, your hair is coming down. Here.” He brushed a hand over her shoulder, where the errant curl was once again free of its pins and bouncing at liberty behind her ear.
“Feathers.” To touch one’s hair while eating was unlady- like in the extreme, but there would be nothing for it.
“Hold still.” He rose and removed a pin from her coronet, caught up the rebellious curl, and fastened it securely back in place. “Why are you trying to make allowances?”
“Because we hardly know each other,” Gilly said.“You are not used to answering to a household, and I am not used to the least thing about you. You could not know I would…expect you back for tea.”
He took the last bite of his cheese sandwich and dusted his hands, stopping to peer at his left hand.
“What?” The question left Gilly’s lips unbidden.
“I ate with my left hand.”
“You hold the reins with it.”
“A single rein. I can’t ride in a double bridle. I don’t trust it for that.”
“I’ve never understood why a horse must be made to suffer two bits at once,” Gilly said. “As sensitive as the mouth is, one ought to suffice. You won’t tell me about your afternoon, will you?”
“It was unremarkable. If you’ll excuse me?”
And just like that, he was on his feet. No explanation for his delay, no apology for keeping the household guessing, no effort at making conversation.
“I wasworriedabout you. I’ll be ready to leave for Severn at first light,” Gilly said, though she was having doubts about the wisdom of that plan.
“As will I.” He went back to the bed of daisies and chose another victim. This one he held in his right hand, tapping against the knuckles of his left as the evening shadows gathered around him. “Prinny thanked me.”
Gilly bit into one of the strawberries His Grace had disdained to eat. “He ought to thank you. You served long and well.”
“He said…” Mercia tapped the daisy against his ownnose. “He said the way I’d been treated was useful for shaming the French into concessions at the negotiating table. Useful.”
“You were treated disgracefully. Shall you mutilate that flower too?” Gilly didn’t want him to. Yes, the daisies were profuse, and only daisies, but she didn’t want him to indulge in pointless destruction.
He looked down, his expression unreadable in the gloom. Then he strolled over to the table and tucked the flower behind Gilly’s ear. His fingers grazed her jaw, probably unintentionally, but it was a sweet touch. Gentle and soothing, unlike His Grace’s mood.
“My thanks for the food. I’m sorry you were worried. I’ll try not to give you cause for it again. You’ll excuse me if I don’t join you for dinner.”
He sauntered back out the gate, into the darkening alley, off on God knew what ducal errand, while Gilly ate the last of his strawberries and wondered if anything she’d endured in her marriage to Greendale could be considereduseful.
Six
GILLY HAD GROWN TOO USED TO THE QUIET OF THEcountryside, and her attempts to sleep in Mercia’s town house were fruitless. The streets grew quieter after dark, true, but the remaining sounds compelled the attention for being more isolated.
Then too, she was anxious. Anxious on Lucille’s behalf, hoping the duke’s reunification with his daughter lifted the child’s spirits, and hoping the child might lift the duke’s spirits.
Gilly tossed back the bedclothes and found her black silk wrapper. Was there any consolation to the new widow greater than black silk? She gathered her shawl around her shoulders and made her way to the library, intent on selecting a book for the next day’s journey. She could read in coaches, in short doses anyway.
Except even in this small task, His Grace had to frustrate her.
She rapped softly on the open library door—startling a man who cuddled up with knives was not well advised.
“Come.” He uttered the word without looking up from his desk.
