Page 125 of Duke of Diamonds
He lifted his head, his eyes locking with hers.
And then she kissed him.
It was instinctive, a pull she could no longer resist. He answered with equal fervor, his arms tightening around her waist as their lips met again, deeper this time.
The room, the fire, the past, all of it dissolved.
There was only him, and her, and the certainty that she belonged in his arms.
CHAPTER 39
For the first time since they were wed, Fiona had fallen asleep in her husband’s arms. The memory lingered like a soft glow across her skin, warmer than the firelight they had slept beside. Yet, as sunlight spilled through the parted curtains the next morning, it met not two lovers tangled in slumber, but one woman waking alone.
Her hand reached across the mattress instinctively, seeking the shape and warmth of him. Cold linen met her touch instead.
He was gone.
Fiona sat up slowly, her fingers curling into the sheets as that now-familiar pang of disappointment coiled tightly in her chest.Why must he always retreat after letting me in?she thought, fighting the sting behind her eyes. It was always the same pattern—one step forward, two steps back.
The events of the night before returned in a rush, his whispered apologies, the look in his eyes, the way he had held her as if she were the only solid thing in his world. Had he regretted it all come morning?
A soft knock came at the door.
Fiona turned her head swiftly, heart leaping with sudden, foolish hope. She smoothed her robe and sat up straighter, as if preparing herself for his gaze. But it was Miss Jameson who stepped in, carrying a fresh morning gown and the usual gentle concern in her expression.
“Oh, we dearly thank God for your safety, Your Grace,” the lady’s maid said as she moved to lay the garments out and assist with Fiona’s toilette.
Fiona offered a wan smile. “As do I, Miss Jameson.”
The girl’s hands were careful, reverent almost, as she brushed out Fiona’s hair and fastened her gown. Fiona’s thoughts, however, remained tethered to the empty side of the bed.
Another knock came, firmer this time. Her pulse surged anew.
But it was Mrs. Burton.
The housekeeper curtsied and stepped inside with her usual composed efficiency. “His Grace has sent for the physician, Your Grace. He wishes for you to be examined this morning.”
Fiona blinked. “I am perfectly well, Mrs. Burton. Truly, there’s no need to summon anyone on my account.”
Mrs. Burton hesitated, her brow lifting slightly. “His Grace was very insistent when he left his instructions. He wished it made clear that the matter was not to be overlooked.”
Not a word for me, but instructions for everyone else.
Fiona bit down the ache threatening her composure. “Very well,” she said at last. “If it pleases His Grace, then let it be done.”
Miss Jameson finished with her dressing just as the doctor was shown in. He was an older gentleman with silver at his temples and a faint scent of lavender oil clinging to his coat.
After a measured examination, he handed a folded slip of parchment to Mrs. Burton.
“This should soothe her nerves,” he said. “And a liniment for the bruises.”
As the small vials were placed on a silver tray nearby, Fiona’s nose caught a familiar scent. Her brow furrowed.
“Is that valerian root I perceive?”
The man looked at her in mild surprise. “Indeed, Your Grace. You possess quite the keen olfactory sense. It is often too subtle for most. The valerian root is to calm you and aid with your rest.”
“I am rather fond of experimenting with tea leaves. And I sometimes infuse valerian root in my brews,” Fiona responded, adjusting the cuff of her sleeve with idle precision.
