Page 71 of The Captive Duke
“I wanted to stop your hovering.”
“Interesting strategy. Has it worked?”
“Well…no. Here you are again.”
“Let me propose another theory to explain your rash actions.” He traced a finger over her brows, a gentle, even sweet gesture Gilly felt in her vitals. “You fancy me.”
“I fancy…?” She blew her hair off her forehead, intending to blow his hand away. He repeated the caress instead, further threatening her composure. “I’ve never heard such a taradiddle.” She fancied him the way some women fancied shoes, bonnets, and chocolate. She fancied him like sunlight and water, like air, like—
And that would not do.
“You fancy me, you were overset by the topic under discussion and by the events of the day, and you sought my arms as a result.”
“I wasn’t kissing your arms.” She muttered the words as she struggled to sit with her back against the armrest, and knew a little consternation. He sounded entirely too calm, given the content of his words.
And the idea that he could possibly have put a ducal finger on a small truth…
Oh,feathers. Oh, damn and blast, a real truth.
“There’s no fancying involved,” she said, swiping at a lock of hair that insisted on dangling against her nose. “You’re good-looking enough, and underfoot. I’m awidow. Widows are allowed queer starts. You mustn’t feel the need to start blathering on about honor and poor relations.”
She’d hit him if he gave her that speech again. The smile he directed at her was so gentle, she knew he wasn’t fooled. He scooted closer and took her in his arms.
“Calm yourself, Gilly. I fancy you too.”
Gilly. How she loved to hear him say her name, to verbally caress a part of her Greendale had found plebeian and unimpressive.
And Christian fancied her. She let the pleasure of that admission wash over her for a moment, the way she’d enjoy sinking into a hot bath before tending to her ablutions.
“Are you about to launch into homilies on the topic of my hating you for compromising me, and grief and honor and more masculine rot?”
“No.” He pulled back a few inches too, which created for Gilly the disadvantage of being studied when she’d rather do the studying. “I ought to, but I’ve had a shift in perspective regarding certain matters, or I think I have. Besides, some fairly tame kissing does not a lady compromise.”
Thatwas fairly tame?
“I’m capable of discretion,” she said. “And I’m sensible of my duty to Lucy.”
He frowned, as if her words were somehow complicated and layered with meaning when they weren’t.
“I’m not sure I’m capable of discretion,” he replied, his expression disgruntled. “Not where you’re concerned. And if you wanted to distract me from the fact that somebody has tried twice now to cause you serious harm, that will take even more than your considerable charms, my lady.”
“You fancy me.” She could not believe she’d said it aloud, and not in reply to his very stern tone of voice, but it caused him to gift her again with that gentle, wicked smile.
“I fancy you, my dear. Alive and whole is a particularly fetching combination. You’ll humor me if I insist on some measures intended to keep you safe.”
“I’m not going back to Greendale.” With each passing day, Gilly became more determined on that. “The memories are not cheering, and I would not crowd Easterbrook—Marcus—as he’s trying to establish his household.”
“No, you’re not going back to Greendale. You’re staying here, where I can keep you safe from all save my own mischief.”
She liked the sound of that, though she shouldn’t. A more prudent woman, even a prudent widow, would be appalled, and lecture him sternly about overreacting to minor accidents, suffering paranoia, and turning up ducal on her over nothing, but she didn’t.
She leaned into his embrace and was silent.
Thirteen
TORTURE BORE AN INTIMACY, SIMILAR TO THAT OF Abad marriage. Only the tormenter and his victim knew the exact, awful course of the misery suffered. Those two participated in the dark duet of pain and manipulation to the exclusion of any spectators or seconds.
Though to be fair, Girard had eschewed physical pain as his preferred means of extracting information from Christian. With scientific precision, Girard tried to induce compliance by alternating pain and pleasure, abuse and care, setting himself up as the god of both dungeon and daylight.
