Page 74 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“No. I fear it’s too late for us to do much of anything for them.”
“So they’ll go the way of the unicorn?”
He looked over at her. “Yes, I suppose they will.”
She felt a profound sadness. “I always thought I was being fanciful believing unicorns had once existed, but it is possible, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed.”
“If I should ever open another tavern, I believe I shall name it the Quagga, to honor this little lady.”
They rode an elephant and a camel. They had a picnic in a nearby park. As they journeyed in the duke’s carriage back to Whitechapel, Robin curled against Thorne’s side and slept. Gillie found herself wishing she was by his side, instead of sitting opposite him as was proper.
During their outing she’d begun to realize she was falling in love with him, a silly and reckless thing to do, not that her heart seemed to care. She was grateful her days of having fanciful thoughts were behind her, and that she had a more realistic view of the world now. A duke wouldn’t marry a commoner from Whitechapel, and while this particular duke wanted land and property, he wanted a good deal more than her small tavern would provide. If anything more happened between them, it wouldn’t lead to marriage, although she suspected at some point it would lead to heartache. She wouldn’t continue to see him after he married.
When they reached the tavern, rather than going on his merry way, he followed her and Robin in. She had considered not working, taking a little more time to be with him, maybe taking a stroll without their small chaperone in tow, but business was brisk and one of her barmen hadn’t shown up for work. His wife had sent word he had a stomach upset. She couldn’t leave Roger to manage on his own.
“Tell me what to do,” Thorne said, still by her side.
She furrowed her brow at him. “Climb into your carriage and go home.”
Tucking his forefinger beneath her chin, looking at her so tenderly—she did wish he wouldn’t do that as it sent all sorts of tingling sensations and warmth rioting through her—he said, “No, how do I help? You’re short on staff and have a full house and darkness has yet to fall. You’ll get even busier then if what I’ve observed on prior visits is any indication. I can pour a pint.”
“You’re offering to pitch in?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m not totally devoid of skills or consider myself above helping when help is needed.”
“No, of course you’re not.” She’d known that, of course. “Yes, I’d welcome your assistance.”
It turned out he was not only skilled at pouring a pint but at carrying on conversations with those who wandered over to the bar—or more precisely he was skilled at listening, expressing sympathy at their troubles.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d hidden away a dream of sharing this place with a gent, but tonight she faced the bittersweet memory. Whenever he passed by her, he laid a hand on the small of her back or her shoulder. Sometimes when she was pouring a drink, she would glance over to see him watching her with a secretive smile as though he took pleasure from her nearness or was considering doing wicked things with her when they closed up for the night. She was certainly thinking about doing wicked things with him.
Perhaps it was because they’d been together most of the day, or the small kindnesses he’d shown to Robin, or the fact he’d stepped up when it was needed, without complaint, but after they’d closed up for the night and he escorted her to the top of the stairs, she didn’t lower herself to the landing. Instead she walked straight to the door.
“You’re not going to take a moment to absorb the quiet, to relax?” he asked.
Only after unlocking the door and pushing it open, did she turn to face him. “No. Tonight I have something else in mind. Come inside.”
“Gillie—”
“I know. I know what will happen. And I want it to. It’s my choice and now it’s yours. Either go down the stairs or follow me in.”
She walked into her apartment and stopped, glancing around, knowing that after tonight nothing in here would ever look the same to her, because everything would carry the memory of this night. The few trinkets, the books, the furniture, they would all bear witness to what was about to transpire. Yet even knowing everything would change, she would change, she couldn’t seem to not be glad for the clack of the door closing, the snick of the lock being turned, the click of his footsteps as he neared.
His hands closed over her shoulders, his mouth pressed against her nape. “I like that I don’t have to move your hair aside to appreciate the long slope of your neck. It’s as graceful as a swan’s.”
Closing her eyes, she relished the heat of his open mouth again touching her nape, aware dew was collecting, warming her even more. “Not quite as long,” she said on a breathy sigh that hardly sounded like her.
“No. Not quite as long.” He moved his mouth to the other side of her spine, gave the sensitive skin there some attention. “I want to wash your back, Gillie.”
Her eyes sprung open. “Now?”
“Yes. I’ve dreamed of doing so every night since the one when you turned me away.”
“I wasn’t turning you away—” She swung around. How to explain?
“I know. You didn’t trust me.”
