Page 68 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
She offered him the brandy. He took it, drank more deeply.
“You’re not going to be comfortable in the bed,” she said.
“I’ll make do.”
She turned slightly until she faced him more squarely. “There really is no reason for you to stay, to be put out.”
The sofa was not so large that when he laid his arm along its back, he wasn’t able to skim his fingers along her cheek. “I’m not leaving, Rose.”
She placed her hand over his, pressed a kiss to the center of his palm—and he could have sworn he felt it in the middle of his chest. “I did not judge you to be a man who would stay with me. I thought you selfish.”
“I am. Incredibly so. I am here because it is where I wish to be. If I didn’t wish to be, nothing would hold me.”
“So your staying has nothing to do with me?”
“Absolutely not.” He tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. “As you’re well aware, I care only for my own pleasures and wants.”
She gave him a half smile. “I have noticed that about you. Strange, though, how your pleasures and wants often seem to mirror my needs.”
Taking another long sip of the brandy, he thought he should mention that he cared for her. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened. Somehow she had become a part of his life that he was loath to give up. He offered her the snifter, watched as her delicate throat worked while she took a small sip. She licked her lips, no doubt savoring the taste that lingered there. He was tempted to lean over and take her mouth. But he feared he would do little more than increase her melancholy.
“I was wondering,” she asked quietly, tapping her finger against the glass, “if you would allow me to bring some of your books here for Harry to read. He so loves reading, and he’s read everything we have.”
“Would it not be better to take him to the books?”
She looked at him as though he had proposed setting her brother on a flying carpet.
Still, he plowed on. “When we return to my residence tomorrow, perhaps he should come with us. He could stay in the guest wing. He would have a bedchamber, a small library, servants to assist—”
“No, I’ll not have your servants gawking at him.”
He skimmed the knuckle of his forefinger along her cheek. “I am a duke, Rose. My staff does not gawk.”
Rising, she moved nearer to the fire, staring at it, holding the bowl of the snifter with both hands. “He’s comfortable here.”
“I daresay he would be more comfortable there. He would have space in which to move about, a thousand books at his disposal. Servants would see to his needs.” She began shaking her head. Standing, he joined her by the fire. “You asked me to help you make his last days happy. My cook could prepare feasts for him unlike any he’s ever experienced. My gardens are lavish. He could walk about them, enjoy them without fear of neighbors peering through windows. You would be within easy reach, anytime day or night. Your worry would lessen. You could check on him anytime you wanted.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Because it lashes at my heart to see you so wounded, so sad.
“It seems the best way not to disrupt our current arrangements.” He wanted to touch her desperately, but he feared she might toss the remaining brandy on him. He would not make himself vulnerable, not even for her.
“I think you care for me,” she said softly, as though the notion had just flittered through her mind.
“Emotions, feelings, sensibilities—they are not my purview. Pleasure is. All pleasures. Pleasure of the palate when a well-prepared meal touches the tongue, the pleasure of fragrance when inhaling the aroma of wine aged to perfection, the pleasure of sight when gazing upon a masterfully painted piece of art, the pleasure of sound when a harpist plucks her fingers over the chords, the pleasure of touch.” He outlined the shell of her ear. “I am given to believe that your brother has seen little of the outside world. I understand your fear of his discovery, your need to protect him from those who would judge him and wish him harm. My residence is more museum than home. He could spend hours browsing through it. I possess trinkets from all corners of the world that he could touch, examine to his heart’s content.”
“I don’t say this to be cruel, but he is somewhat clumsy. If he were to break—”
“They are trinkets. Their value is in the joy they bring, not what they cost me to possess them. If they break, they break.”
“I’ve seen them, Avendale. Some are priceless treasures.”
“They mean nothing to me, Rose.”You do.Why were those words impossible to say? “I shan’t be upset if they break. Perhaps we would even sneak Harry into the Twin Dragons for a game of poker.”
Her gaze roamed over his face, and within her eyes he saw the wonder of possibilities, all that they might share with her brother. “I desperately do not want Harry hurt.”
“I give you my word that he won’t be.”
