Page 23 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
Her heart skipped several beats and settled into an erratic pattern. “Perhaps the duke feels some sense of comfort, as we are close in age.”
“You are three and twenty and the duke is eight and twenty.”
“Five years is a minimal gap.”
Another smile of amusement touched her father’s mouth. “The duchess mentioned his university education was blighted. She fears the wild gossiping should he go to Oxford or Cambridge at his advanced age. We should suggest private tutoring to help with the gaps in his education. This must be done in a delicate manner so he is not offended.”
Somehow Jules did not think he would be affronted. The duke was…an enigma. It would be foolish to ascribe the usual notions to his character, and it was better to study him before forming an opinion. A few minutes later, Jules parted from her father and was escorted to a guest chamber. It was a beautiful room overlooking the southern end of the estate. Glancing through the window, she spied the duke strolling across the lawn with a large dog at his heel. They walked in some sort of companionable harmony, and then headed off deep into the woodlands of the estate.
Jules rested her forehead against the coolness of the glass. “Is the duke’s chamber on this floor, Mary?”
The servant busily packing away her clothes in the armoire paused. “No, Mr. Southby. His Grace sleeps alone in the west wing.”
She turned to face the maid. “How many rooms are in the west wing?”
“Twenty-five, sir.”
More isolation. “I will also move to the west wing.”
A rather risky move, but her instincts warned her to, and while she should follow logic and science, Jules allowed that innate sense to guide her decision.
The maid’s hazel eyes rounded almost comically. “Move you to the west wing, sir?”
Jules hid her smile. “Right away, Mary. Please ensure my chamber is directly across from the duke’s. There is no need to update anyone on this matter. I shall inform the duchess myself.”
The maid bobbed and hurried to finish her tasks. Jules would not inform the duke that she was relocating to the west wing. However, should he discover her presence and object to her being in his wing, she would remove herself immediately.
Or not.
Moving closer to the duke would allow also her a greater chance to observe him and understand who he was. It was also necessary to gain more privacy for herself to maintain her secret. Thankfully her menses had ended before she traveled down with her father and would not likely return before her departure.
I shall be able to protect my secret from the servants and the duke’s family hidden in the west wing.
Chapter Five
A few hours after requesting a servant to discreetly move her to the west wing, Jules deftly slipped inside the duke’s chamber, closed the door, and leaned against it, her heart pounding. The duke had been gone from the main house for some time, and from what she gathered, he would spend the rest of the evening in the woods. The duchess had seemed angry and defeated when she informed them of this habit of the duke. Jules had shared with her father that she would take the opportunity to try and learn about the duke by observing his space.
It was a very risky and dangerous move on her part, but it felt entirely necessary. There was a niggle of discomfort at invading his space that she squashed, sensing he would not allow her close enough for them to truly help him, and they only had a few weeks. Jules straightened, glancing around the shadowed room.
“You are so alone,” she whispered, frowning at the emptiness of the room.
A four-poster bed was positioned in the center of the palatial room. There was no carpet for comfort, writing desk, or chaise. Half of his walls were large windows covered by dark, billowing drapes. The room was dreadfully cold, and the fireplace remained dark and unlit. Jules stepped forward, the flash of an image snagged her attention, and she turned toward it.
A large painting leaned against the far wall left of the bed. She moved closer, a peculiar feeling of awe and fright thumping through her. It was a dark, powerful, and majestic painting of a forest bathed in gray-blue snow and wolves blended in the background. Some of the wolves were vivid, and others were predatory silhouettes in the background. She stared at the painting, shocked at how alive it felt. A few brushes were on the ground with some oils. Jules stooped before the large canvas and delicately brushed the tip of her finger to the corner.
“You painted this,” she murmured. “How incredible you are.” Yet somehow, even through his painting, she felt his aloneness.
A soft sound had her lurching to her feet and whirling around. The room still felt empty. There was no one here with her. Jules gasped, realizing it was the echo of footsteps growing closer.
“Bloody hell,” she gasped, hurrying over to the large drapes and dashing behind them as the door opened.
She gripped the edges of the drapes until her knuckles ached. It was the duke. Why had he returned when all the reports said he spent each night in the forest? Her heart pounded, and she waited, keenly listening for his movement about the room. There were a few rustles and then stillness.
Jules tensed, straining to discern what was happening. A deep silence lingered, and shifting as slowly as possible, she peeked around the drapes, grateful for the darkness of the room.
The duke was standing before the open windows…stark naked. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged, and Jules could only stare as the silvery beam from the moonlight painted itself over his body. His thighs and calves were thick and powerful, stomach and buttocks lean and delineated with muscle. Though they stood several feet apart, she was all too aware of the breadth of his shoulders, his height, and the inherent power in his body.
You are so beautifully formed, Your Grace.
