Page 34 of His Grace, the Duke
“I can’t sleep,” he murmured into her hair. She stilled but didn’t pull away.
“It’s been going on for months,” he added. “I’m... I think it could drive me quite mad if I don’t... if I can’t fix it.”
“Have you seen a doctor?” she asked, her voice muffled by his cravat.
He nodded. “Three.”
“And?”
He relaxed his hold on her. “They’ve all prescribed various tonics and curatives. But each one makes me groggier than the last. It’s not so much a sleep they induce, but a sleep-like death. They leave me miserable. I’m done with them.”
She broke their embrace, shifting away. He let his hands fall to his sides, even though he wasn’t ready to let her go. She surprised him when she raised her hands to his shoulders. Slowly, she kneaded the muscles there, her grip gentlebut firm. It was muted through the layers of his bulky coat and waistcoat, but it still felt good. He groaned, eyes closing.
“Atlas holds up the sky as a punishment,” she murmured. “It is not a noble act, James. It is a torture. Why do you choose to bear so much alone?”
He opened his eyes to meet her worried gaze. “There is no one else,” he said with a shrug.
Her hands stilled, then dropped away. “You’re wrong. If you would but open your eyes, you’d see that you are surrounded by people who think the world of you, people who would help you... if you’d only let them.”
He gave her a weak smile, feeling his walls rebuilding now that he lacked her touch. “I don’t know how to let others help me. It’s not in my nature.”
She returned his smile. “I know. We are very similar in that respect. I too struggle to let others in. ‘Infuriating,’ I think you called me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not you—”
“Don’t apologize,” she said with a laugh. “Iaminfuriating. And distant and judgmental, selfish... and I’m not a very good Christian most days... or a very good lady. I am neither chaste nor demure. Come to think of it, I might just be your nightmare.”
Her smile was intoxicating.
“Well, you’ll have to be mywakingnightmare, for I never sleep,” he added, making them both grin.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I doubt very much that I’m helping...”
James breathed a deep sigh. “No—it—I feel... better,” he replied, surprised to actually mean the words.
Her smile brightened her face. “Good.”
Before either of them could say another word, the gong rang out. She jumped, head spinning towards the sound. Then she looked at him, already resigned to what was coming next.
“Miss Harrow,” he said with a nod. He left her there, feeling her eyes as she watched him walk away.
17
Rosalie
Somehow, Rosalie foundher way back to her room and managed to change for dinner. She was lost in the moment of her encounter with James, replaying their conversation in her mind. Each time she thought she understood who he was and what he wanted from her, he changed his behavior. It was maddening.
At first, she had been certain she was merely a nuisance. As the weeks at Alcott wore on, she distracted him by nature of being hopelessly unsuitable. By the night of the ball, it became clear his interest was not entirely chaste. She still felt the heat of his kisses on her lips. But the carriage ride to London confirmed her suspicions: James had no interest in romance. For him, this was purely physical—he wanted her scent, her touch. No emotions. No friendship. He asked her to respect his boundaries, and she knew it was the right course of action for them both.
But heavens if she didn’t dream about it...
Just last night, she’d fallen asleep between Burke and Renley, dreaming of a world where she might have James too.A world where he could love her and let himself be loved. She wanted to imagine a man like James Corbin could want her. That she could be enough. But in the harsh light of morning, those dreams were gone, faded away with the dew. James remained cold and distant, wholly uninterested. Who was he to be upset that she did as he asked and remained distant in return?
But then they had to meet on the stairs. Here was a different James entirely. A vulnerable James. A James with worries and cares he was willing to confide. He was leaning on her... literally.
The man is infuriating!
Well, Rosalie would not be standing around waiting for him to decide whether he wanted her. She had entirely too much on her plate to fathom wasting another moment on sussing out James Corbin and his mercurial personality. She was going to live her life on her terms, and if he chose to be part of it, he must be the one to bend to her.
