Page 45 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“We…I…we have exchanged several letters for the last few months, and I was certain that upon my return to town this season, he would make an offer.”
“You no longer believe this offer will be forthcoming.”
“Since the news of your return and possible malady of the mind, he has only written once to ask if the rumors held any truth. Even my friends who frequently wrote have not sent a letter in weeks, and my correspondence has not been replied to in kind. I am uncertain if I wish to return to town with Mama in a few weeks, but she is insistent that we must show a unified front to thehaut ton.”
James looked at his sister. Felicity bravely smiled, but her lips trembled and the vulnerability in her eyes deepened.
“Who is this gentleman?”
“I…” She glanced away for a brief moment. “He is the Earl of Somerton.”
The duchess had been so certain, despite the power of James’s name, many would still be hesitant to associate with him. The idea was…simply incredulous, yet the pain in his sister’s eyes brought some of the consequences of the scandal surrounding his return into sharp relief.
It was everyone in his family who needed him to be more. James very much doubted he could speak around the emotions clawing up his throat. “He is not worthy of you if he stays away because of rumors.”
A small hiccup came from her. “Mama threatened everyone today that if she should hear any rumors about you…running naked in the woods about town or in the village, they will feel her wrath.”
“I am not insane or addled.” Yet the world would think it because he no longer fit the perfect mold of a duke.
“I know it. I am glad you are home, James,” Felicity said in a choked voice. “I am most happy that you asked me to watch these stars with you. Thank you, brother.”
James made no reply, and his sister appeared contented with his reticence. They stood silently for several minutes, drinking brandy and watching the stars.
Chapter Eight
You smell like apricot blossoms…it makes me want to lick you everywhere.
As Jules lay in the dark, the duke’s words whispered through her heart in an intimate caress. She thumped her pillow for the tenth time, groaning her frustration in its soft depths.
“He is the devil!” she cried with considerable bewilderment.
Why were his words haunting her sleep for a second bloody night? Last night they had kept her awake for long hours and had even stayed with her throughout the day. She had left him in the rain more than three hours ago, and she believed he was still out there…perhaps running still. Jules had met with her father and the anxious duchess, carefully answering their queries. When the duchess asked what was in the woods that drew the duke there, Jules had merely replied “peace” and had not spoken about the cottage in the tree the duke had built deep in the woodland interiors. He would invite his family there when he was ready. She had not told her father of the tree cottage, either, feeling she would betray the duke’s trust by revealing something he had not invited her father to be a part of.
The duchess wanted to know if he would resume his lessons, and Jules had not known what answer to provide. He needed space and time to acclimate, and that was being denied.
Jules had only spent a few minutes with her father before retiring to her chamber to take a bath. She had not lingered in the bath and had scrambled into the bed, hoping for a well-rested sleep tonight. It would not do to have another restless night without slumber.
Jules had never before been tossed into such disorder because of mere words.
It makes me want to lick you, everywhere.
There was a wanton ripple of response between her thighs, and a wicked heat rolled through her body, and she kicked the coverlet repeatedly until it tangled at her feet. If only she could blame her sleepless state on his words alone. The whisper of his fingertips over her chin and throat had felt sublime…wicked…decadent. The heated way he had stared at her through the mist of rain, as if he meant to consume every part of her… Jules huffed. A simple touch or a damn stare should not have such power over her slumber.
“You wretched devil,” she cursed at the ceiling and then laughed. “This isridiculous.”
Pushing from the bed, Jules started to pace. The heat from the fireplace filled her with warmth yet it did little to dispel the cold knot of doubt tightening low inside her belly. This attraction she felt for the duke was absurd…and dangerous. It was indecent to think so avidly of his mouth touching her in places no one had ever seen or felt. And why in God’s name was the desire even there, eating at her every sensible thought?
A plan needed to be formed to manage her encounters with the duke. It would be ideal if they met daily. There were so many things they could unlock through conversations, and while she desperately wanted to know about his ten years of isolation, she would not probe for more than he would allow. Instead, she would try to direct their conversations on how to make him presentable for thehaut ton.
And his future duchess.
Jules stiffened at the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway. Had he returned inside tonight? She hurried over to the massive oak door and pressed her ear to it. The footsteps echoed closer, and she held her breath when they stopped. The sound of a door opening and closing did not reach her ears, and Jules hovered her hand on the door knob, wondering if she should peek into the hallway. The duke had been sleeping in the woods and had no notion she occupied his wing of the house. Jules lowered her hand with a sigh. What would she say to him should she encounter him now? Lament on her sleeplessness? Blame it on his incendiary words?
“I can smell you through the door, Wildflower.”
She lurched back at the unexpectedness of his voice. Jules slammed her eyes shut at her silliness. Why was she even jittery? Since he had not asked her a question, she remained silent, not wanting to confirm she was really behind this door.
“I can tell you are standing right there,” he murmured.
