Page 36 of Bound By the Duke
With a deep breath, she sat up, staring at the fire burning low in the grate. Her fingers moved to stroke her bottom lip as several questions raced through her mind.
So what now? Pretend that a kiss never happened?
A sound outside caught her attention—the thudding of hooves against stone and the creaking of carriage wheels.
Noise was unusual in Whitmore Estate, especially at this hour. Any noise, especially this kind, meant something.
She rose, her nightrobe trailing softly behind her as she padded over to the window. Through the narrow slice of glass, she sawhim.
He stood beside a white carriage, dressed in that maddeningly meticulous way of his. Dark coat fitted across broad shoulders, tall frame so effortlessly commanding that the morning air seemed to bow to him. Light caught deep in his brown hair and the hard line of his jaw, as if the sun couldn’t help but touch him.
As though he could feel her watching him, Percival raised his head. Their eyes met, and everything seemed to stop.
His gaze pinned her down, such that something clenched deep between her legs. Her chest ached from the memory of his touch of the way he had pulled her into him like he couldn’t bear the space between them.
At that moment, nothing else mattered, apart from the distance between her window and the gravel drive where he stood.
His stare was unreadable. Cool, icy-blue and merciless, without the fire that had blazed in them the previous night.
But beneath it all, something flickered. Something she almost believed she could reach.
What are you thinking, Percival? Do you regret the kiss? Do you regret what we did last night? Do you regret me?
But he didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t offer a nod of acknowledgement. Those damn walls of his were erected around him again.
Without a word, he turned away. Her eyes followed him as he climbed into the carriage and pulled the door shut.
When the carriage disappeared around the corner, her fingers curled tightly around the window frame, before a shaky breath escaped her lips.
“This insufferable husband of mine,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the cold glass. “You kissed me like I’m yours… and left me like I’m nothing.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, heavy with emotion, but a sudden knock startled them open. It was quick, polite, and eager.
She turned toward the sound, instinctively adjusting her robe and smoothing her hair. She was a duchess now; one shouldn’t be met with disheveled hair or a troubled expression.
“Come in,” she called, expecting a servant or the governess.
But when the door opened, it was neither.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” came a soft voice.
Aurelia blinked, surprised by the sight of Lottie standing in the doorway.
The little girl held a tray with both hands, carefully carrying a small plate of brown, oddly shaped biscuits.
“Lottie?” Aurelia breathed, stepping forward unconsciously.
After the awkwardness from the previous day, she hadn’t expected the girl to come back. Not so soon. Perhaps not ever.
Yet here she was, seeking her out at dawn. And that made something stir in Aurelia’s chest. An ache. A warmth. Alonging.
Lottie looked up at her with those wide, uncertain blue eyes that were so heartbreakingly familiar. “Did… Did I wake you up?” she asked, her voice so small that it almost hurt.
Aurelia shook her head at once, the movement too quick, almost desperate. “Of course not.”
The words spilled out in a rush.
A smile spread across her face as she glanced down at the tray. “You made these?”
