Page 94 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Drawing on her glove, she looked over at Avendale to find his expression one of immense satisfaction. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
He slid his hand around her neck, pressed a light kiss to her temple, and whispered, “It was for you.”
Her breath caught, her chest tightened with the knowledge that everything he was doing was for her, to give her memories, to ease her guilt because she couldn’t give her brother a better life. Had she truly thought that, even if Tinsdale was breathing down her neck, she could walk away from her promise to stay?
They waited until the hallway was cleared to make their way to the stairs and out the back. Harry didn’t speak until they were once again in the coach, traveling home. Only this time Avendale sat beside her, as though, having her near in the box, he wasn’t quite ready to be separated from her. He interlocked their hands, and she regretted that she’d put her glove back on.
“Thank you, Duke,” Harry said.
“My pleasure.”
“What are they doing now, do you think? The people on the stage?”
“Turning in for the night, preparing for another performance tomorrow.”
“Did they mind us watching them?”
“No, it’s what they want.”
“It isn’t as it was with you, Harry,” Rose tried to explain. “They want to entertain people.”
“Is it wrong that I didn’t?” he asked.
“No, sweeting. It’s one thing to have a passion for bringing plays to life, to have a desire to perform. It’s something else entirely to be forced into doing something you don’t want to do.”
He nodded, and she hoped he understood. She certainly didn’t want him wishing he’d embraced their father’s attempt to take advantage of Harry’s unusual condition.
“Are you forced to do things?”
Beside her, Avendale stiffened, no doubt waiting for her to explain about the bargains they’d made. But she’d had a choice. The first time she could have walked away. No, she couldn’t have. She’d wanted him as badly as he’d wanted her. The second bargain—she’d had a choice there as well. Or perhaps he was considering the whole of her life, and how it had involved caring for Harry since she was four years old. “You should know me well enough, Harry, to know I don’t do anything I don’t wish to do.”
He blinked, considered, then said, “It was a splendid night.”
“Yes, it was,” she replied, grateful that he wasn’t going to pursue the path of things she’d done. Just because she’d often felt she had no choice did not mean that she felt as though she’d been forced.
When they arrived home, Gerald was waiting to assist Harry. She kissed her brother on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweeting.”
“Good night, Rose, Duke.”
She watched him walk down the hallway, his step a bit slower, his gait more imbalanced even with the cane. “Perhaps Sir William should see him tomorrow.”
“I’ll send word.”
“Thank you.” Turning, she faced him. She would never owe anyone as much as she owed him. If she voiced the words, she knew he would become irritated, his jaw would tighten, his lips would flatten into a hard line. She understood so much about him, until it was almost as though she was part of him. She could read his moods as she’d never been able to read another’s. “I find it interesting that Harry didn’t comment on my bracelet, considering it was a gift from him. I would have thought he’d be pleased that I was wearing it.”
“I think he was simply occupied with his adventure of going to the theater.”
Stepping up to him, she wound her arms around his neck. “I believe, Your Grace, I am not the only one who lies.”
“I am found out.”
He didn’t seem at all upset about it as he lifted her into his arms and began carrying her up the stairs. With nimble fingers, she unknotted his neck cloth, fully aware that anticipation thrummed through her. “I suppose I shan’t need Edith tonight.”
“I’ll be doing the honor of undressing you.”
He did make her feel as though it was an honor while he undressed her slowly, provocatively, pressing kisses to revealed skin that never seemed to displease him. He had ruined her for any other man. When he was done with her, she would spend the remainder of her life in solitude and not regret a moment of it. She hoarded these moments, collecting the details until the madness of their coming together overwhelmed her. But years from now, she would be able to recall the smallest of specifics because she had trained herself over time not to overlook anything so she could describe every aspect of the things she’d seen to Harry.
Not that she would ever share any of this with him. No, these memories were for her alone, to keep her warm when her bones were frail and her skin like parchment. She would recall the way she lounged on the bed and watched as he removed his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers. The manner in which he prowled toward her like some big cat, all long limbs, sinewy muscles stretching out beside her. Beautiful perfection.
