Page 95 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
He could have served as the model for the male portion of the sculpture in the fountain. She was hit with the realization that he probably had. In his youth, arrogant and bold, and confident of his masculinity. She’d been so absorbed by the enticing shape of the figure that she’d barely noticed the face. Shame on her. She who had always hated how her body distracted men had been guilty of the same thing.
But then why would she look at any other man’s face—whether cast in flesh or marble—when such an incredibly handsome and well-formed one was above her now. His dark eyes burned with desire and she marveled that he still yearned to be with her, that after these many nights, the passion continued to flare hot and unyielding.
Dipping his head, he took her mouth. Lifting her hips, she welcomed the marvelous length of him. They moved in tandem. The sensations spiraled, consuming until they alone existed, until they shattered.
And she knew a day would come when her heart would do the same.
Chapter 19
Harry buttoned up the shirt that the duke’s accomplished tailor had made for him to wear when walking about the house. The soft material was heavenly against his skin, made him feel as though he were being continually caressed by the gentlest of hands.
“It won’t be long now, will it?” he asked quietly.
Sir William snapped his black bag closed. “I don’t think so, no.”
“Don’t tell Rose.”
His eyes reflecting regret that there was no more to be done, the physician met his gaze, nodded. “If that’s how you wish the matter handled, I’ll oblige.”
“Normally I like to give her surprises. This won’t be one of them but it’s better that way.”
“You don’t think it would be kinder to prepare her?”
“She knows I’m dying. You told her that already.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I did.”
“She doesn’t need to know how soon it will be, how bad things are now.”
“I wish I could do more for you.”
“You’ve done a good deal.”
“I’ll leave some additional laudanum.”
Harry didn’t object, although he wasn’t going to use it. It made him drowsy. He did not want to spend whatever time was left sleeping. It was imperative he finished writing his story. So many more books were waiting to be read, so many things left to be done. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse to know that his time was short, that so much would not be experienced.
We arrived in London in the dead of night, for that was how we always arrived anywhere, as though we were miscreants intent upon causing mischief, but I knew it was my disfigurement that prompted our secretive arrivals. Although I wore a hooded cloak whenever I went out, it did not have the power to save me from those who would inflict harm. People fear what they do not understand, and they seldom took the time to understand me.
Our residence was the finest in which we’d ever lived. One night Rose went out and the next morning, she described to me a gaming hell. I was at once shocked and intrigued that she would visit such a place. But she did not seem herself as she sought to create a vivid portrait of all that she had seen. I had the sense that there was a good deal about her adventure that she was not sharing, a part of it that even frightened her. I tried not to worry, as I knew there was nothing I could do, yet it seemed I worried all the same.
“Thatcher said you wished to see me.”
Pulling himself from the story, Avendale stood as Rose crossed his library to stand in front of his desk. It had been a few days since their foray to the theater. He was growing bored. He imagined Harry was doing the same. Mechanical toys could hold his interest for only so long. “I’d like to take Harry to the Twin Dragons Tuesday next, and before you object—”
“I trust you.”
The words slammed into him with such force that they nearly sent him reeling. He hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted her trust, how desperately he wanted so much he wasn’t certain he could acquire. She was here with him now because of her brother. She would stay with him for as long as he wished because of all the things he did to ensure her brother’s last days were memorable. He would not resent her reasons, but he found himself wishing for more between them. Even if he considered overlooking her past to make her his duchess, the responsibilities there were far more than she could fathom. How could he ask her to accept the duties that came with being his wife when he knew that she craved freedom?
His entire adult life he’d been a selfish bastard, caring for his own wants and needs. It was an uncomfortable fit to consider changing for her, to think of letting her go when he so desperately still wanted her. He didn’t know how she’d done it all these years, caring for her brother at the expense of her own desires.
“Excellent,” he said cheerfully, not wanting to reveal the doubts creeping through his conscience. “Let’s keep it a secret from Harry for now, shall we?”
“You like secrets.”
“I like surprises.” But secrets did little more than lead a man to ruin.
Avendale stood in the modest parlor of his mother’s residence and waited while the butler informed her of his arrival. Above the fireplace was a portrait of her with her husband and their children. She had asked him to be part of the gathering but he’d been too busy at the time, with scotch in need of drinking and a woman in need of pleasuring. He regretted it now because she asked so little of him. And he was about to ask of her an immense favor.
