Page 67 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
She began walking toward the foyer, and he fell into step beside her.
“Did you get me drunk on purpose last night?” she asked. “To ensure I slept the day away?”
It shamed him to admit the truth. “It might have crossed my mind that with enough drink you wouldn’t be up to going out today.”
With a wry smile, she slid her gaze over to him. “Even though they were the terms of our original understanding?”
“I’m a selfish bastard, Rose. I want what I want when I want it.”
They reached the stairs. She went up two steps, before turning to face him, stopping him in his tracks. At eye level, she wasn’t shy about assessing him. She’d done the same thing the first night, and just as he had then, he wanted now to puff out his chest. “You do realize with our new bargain that I shall spend more than an hour a day with Harry. I shall spend a good deal of my evenings with him.”
“I understand the terms and that I shall get the scraps.” But eventually he would get the entire feast. He wondered why it filled him with a sense of sadness, not for himself, but for her. He didn’t want grief to visit her, but it would, and he wanted to be on hand to console her—which also confounded him because he avoided emotional entanglements like the plague. “But I intend to stay near. I’m making an investment here, and I’m in the habit of keeping a close eye on my investments.”
Her lips curling up into a smile brought him a sense of relief. He’d feared it would be days, weeks before she smiled. That she was doing so at his expense was irrelevant. She slid a hand around his neck and leaned in. “Your command of sweet words continues to astound me. I’m surprised women aren’t swooning at your feet at every turn.”
She pressed her lips to his, and he wished that he had sweeter words, that he had mastered the art of kindness. He lifted her into his arms.
“Not here,” she said quietly.
“No, not here.” He’d known that and yet been unable to resist holding her near. He carried on, taking her up the stairs. When he reached the top, he asked, “Which room?”
“The first one on the right.”
He should have known she’d prefer looking out on the gardens to viewing the street. He should have known a lot of things. Should have noticed the sadness in her eyes, the small lines that marred her brow. Should have recognized that her walls were thicker and stronger than his, that they encompassed others.
He strode into a room that astounded him with its simplicity, especially when compared with the library. Ever so slowly he lowered her feet to the bare wooden floor, eased away from her, and walked through the room. Cheap furniture. A bedstead, a wardrobe, a dressing table, a bench, a stepping stool, a sofa. A small table that held a bottle of brandy and one snifter. Nothing more, nothing excessive, nothing that pampered. When he turned around, she had one hand wrapped around the bedpost at the foot of the bed.
“I told you that it wasn’t quite up to your standards,” she said.
“I’ll survive one night.” He strolled over to the window, gazed out. Darkness had fallen. He couldn’t get a good look at the garden, but he could make out the brick wall. While in an expensive area, the property was small. Neighbors could indeed spy on them. He took so much for granted. Privacy most of all.
“When I walked through downstairs, I didn’t find a ballroom,” he said.
“I lied about that as well. I wanted to you to think that I possessed more than I did.”
Closing his eyes, he wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t lie to him about something. To gain what she wanted, she spun lies as easily as one stirred sugar into tea. He couldn’t forget that, and yet he wanted to trust her, to take a chance that something real could exist between them. Her footsteps echoed over the wood. Glancing back, he saw her kneeling before the hearth.
“I’ll see to that,” he said, and crossed over to the fireplace.
“I can manage.”
He took the matches from her. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Are you hungry? I can ask Sally to prepare dinner.”
“I thought you had no servants,” he said as he struck a match and set the flame to the kindling.
“She’s not really a servant, but she assists as needed. She’s a far better cook than I.”
The fire caught, the warmth welcome. “Perhaps later.”
She rose. “Brandy then?”
“That I could certainly use.” Standing, he watched as she poured the liquor into the glass. There was a familiarity to her actions, a loneliness. How many nights had she poured herself a drink? How many nights had she sipped it alone in this room? Was she as lonely as he was? He filled his nights with women, wine, and wagering—but it was only so he could avoid the yawning abyss of loneliness.
She handed him the glass, before sitting on one end of the sofa. He joined her there, settling onto the other end, keeping some distance between them, when all he truly wanted was to be as close to her as possible. Now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t what she needed or wanted. If he got too close, he was going to take her to that bed where he would be cramped and uncomfortable; he was going to ease her distress by bringing her pleasure. She might have indicated that she didn’t want it here, but he knew that sex could be an excellent distractor from dark thoughts, fears, and doubts. He’d relied on it often enough through the years.
He took a sip of the excellent brandy before handing the snifter back to her. He hated the worry, the sadness in her eyes. They would travel with her to his residence. He didn’t want to consider the number of smiles she wouldn’t bestow upon him, the amount of laughter that he wouldn’t hear in the coming days. He couldn’t limit her to an hour here each day. He would have to give her as much time as she needed. It would mean time away from him. He should resent the moments. Instead he would give up everything he possessed to spare her the sorrow that was coming her way.
