Page 20 of A Duke for Hire (The Devil’s Masquerade #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Two Weeks Later

“ B less y-,” Tristan began to say to Hugo, then his words were cut off as he himself sneezed.

“What the bloody hell is going on, Fenwick?” Duncan asked, wiping his red eyes.

“Dust and pollen,” Hugo explained, that coughed as another cloud pulled into his lungs. “The first rotation is being harvested, it kicks it up into the air. No one is safe.”

“I cannot concentrate like this,” Everett stated, joining in on the displeasure as he held his kerchief to his face. “Can you at least shut the windows?”

“What, and have us die of heat?” Dominic growled, swiping angrily at the dusty air.

“We’re finished with this meeting, aren't we Hugo?” He asked, turning to his friend.

“As long as your satisfied with the dividends, yes,” Hugo replied, his eyes stinging.

“Then let’s get out of here, head to White’s in London and get some whiskey and air that doesn’t burn my lungs,” Everett stated.

“Marvelous idea,” Duncan chimed in, already heading toward the door. “Ezra and Morgan are there already, all we have to do is send word to them about meeting at White’s.”

In the hallway it was slightly easier to breathe, but even still Hugo could see the tiny dust particles shimmering through the air.

“You coming, Hugo?” Tristan asked.

Hugo shook his head. “I am not finished yet. You go. I’ll find another place to work. Perhaps in the west wing, since the winds are blowing to the east.”

“Suit yourself,” Everett answered, obviously wanting to waste no time getting out of there.

Hugo walked them all to the door and they bid their goodbyes, but just as he was about to close the door, Tristan turned and put his hand on it.

“Theo wants to know for sure that you are bringing Seraphina to the Rose festival ball in London this Friday. Please tell me you are so that I may put an end to her nagging,” Tristan pled.

Though he wasn’t thrilled about returning to London so soon, Hugo nodded. It had never been his intention to keep Seraphina from her friends, and he wanted her to know that.

“Tell Theo that we will assuredly be there,” Hugo replied. “Just don’t expect me to be in a cheerful mood about it.”

“You never are,” Tristan chuckled. He then clapped Hugo on the shoulder, and hurried toward the waiting carriage.

Seraphina looked up from her book, and her brows rose in surprise as she took in the state of Hugo.

“What happened to you?” She asked.

“Dust,” Hugo muttered, then sneezed so loudly and violently that Seraphina had to stifle a laugh.

“It is not funny,” he grumbled, blowing his nose into his kerchief, “It’s wickedly annoying. Your library seems to be the only room in the house unaffected by the dreaded stuff. Unfortunately that means I need to finish my work in here.”

Seraphina waved an arm around the vast room she’d newly reorganized and made her own. She had continued taking Leah’s advice, and as her sister-in-law promised, things had turned around. She was not only completely comfortable with staff now and her new responsibilities, but indeed enjoyed them. As well as her new home. It had seemed vast and cold and first, but now that she knew her way around and claimed a few rooms as her own, it felt like hers.

As Hugo had promised, Merrivale had indeed become her safety. She woke up happy every morning, and though Hugo never stayed in her bed after his visits, she went to sleep happy every night. There was truly no one to fear, no one to hide from. And it made her spirit soar.

“By all means, you are welcome to share the space,” she replied. “Sit wherever you wish and breathe in the clean air.”

Hugo made a show of dragging a deep breath of the clean, unpollinated air into his lungs and then huffing it out slowly, making him giggle. He was still quite somber most of the time, but more and more, he seemed to make small attempts at jokes.

“I’ll be sure not to disturb you,” he said, taking a seat at the empty desk. “Please, return to your reading. Pretend I am not here.”

Seraphina simply nodded as she shifted comfortably in her large, cushioned chaise, and watched leisurely as Hugo set his portfolios atop the desk. Within minutes he was focused on his work, reading and scribbling with intent.

A smile tugged at her lips as she felt comfort stretch between them, and she eventually turned her eyes back to her book. Try as she might though, she could no longer focus on its words. Instead, she began to think of her time thus far at Merrivale, and the small changes that had taken place.

Hugo was trusting her more. Not just with the ins and outs of the Merrivale workings, but with himself. S omething was forming between them. Even if at times it was still more physical than emotional. Her body warmed as she thought what had happened between them just the night before, and before she could help herself, her eyes were leaving her book to look up in his direction.

She blushed when she found him looking back at her, and at the same time, they dipped their heads back to their previous focus. As if unable to help themselves, though, her eyes gravitated upward again a short time later, and she became transfixed on what she saw.

Hugo’s face was etched with concentration as he attended to his work, but the shards of light coming in through the windows were highlighting the sharp, angular planes of his features. The sun cast golden flecks from his green eyes, almost making them glow as he looked down at his pages, even though they were framed by black, defined eyebrows and thick, black lashes. Cheekbones, sharp but not overly prominent, accentuated his well-defined lips and his chiseled jawline.

Yes, scars marred that otherwise perfection, and yet as she stared at him, she could not picture him without them. In fact, they only seemed to highlight the masculine beauty that was Hugo’s face.

Her eyes dipped lower, tracing over the corded column of his barely exposed neck. He looked so different dressed in the finery of the ton’s latest fashions but no less handsome. The memory of him in the simple peasant’s shirt flashed in her mind, and she pictured the slow rise and fall of his sculpted pectoral muscles swathed with curly black hair.

Heat laced through her veins as she remembered touching it. How surprised she was to feel the alluring contrast of hardened muscle and soft hair. The image of herself sinking her teeth into that muscle suddenly flashed in her mind, and her cheeks burned red.

“How is your book?”

Seraphina jolted in her seat, so intensely that her book slipped from her fingers and fell into her lap. Her blush deepened as she snapped her eyes up to his and saw a smirk twitching on his addicting lips.

“Good, good, it’s good,” she stuttered out, fumbling to pick it up. “And your work? How is it?”

“The longer you stare it me the harder it becomes,” he teased.

“Are we speaking of your work or…” her eyes dipped to his waist, hidden by the desk, as she smirked, “Something else?”

She expected him to chuckle, but grew self-conscious when he only stared back with an unreadable expression.

“Apologies,” she murmured, cheeks flushing as she held her book up to her face. “That was most untoward. I shall not speak again.”

Dropping his pen, Hugo put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

“Do my scars distract you?” He asked her.

Seraphina’s brows flew up in surprise as her lips dropped apart and her book dropped to her lap.

“You know they do not,” She stated.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” He asked.

“It is not your scars specifically I find distracting,” she replied. Drawing her courage, she added with a whisper, “In fact I find them quite alluring.”

Hugo’s brows perked.

“Alluring? Do tell.”

“They suit you somehow,” Seraphina confessed, then instantly felt a surge of guilt. “Though, I despise how you came to have them.”

The amused smirk on Hugo’s face dropped and he removed his hands from the back of his head.

“You are a strange woman, you know that?”

Seraphina blushed again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“It is not strange to admire you, husband. Your courage, your drive to survive, especially at such a young age, well- it is admirable.”

She held her breath, expecting him to snarl or show displeasure that such a topic was breached. Hugo studied her for a long moment of contemplation, his face an unreadable mask of emotion. Then he grunted, and picked up his pen again.

“I cannot say I have ever had my actions deemed admirable,” he muttered, looking down at his papers, “But I am glad my scars do not offend you. There’s not much I can do about them.”

Silence settled between them for a moment and Seraphina nibbled on her bottom lip. She wanted to learn more about him and she thought perhaps this was her chance. He never spoke much about the past, but now that he knew what she had been told…

She got up, laying her book on her chaise, and wandered over to his desk. Hugo’s pen stopped mid-stroke, and he glanced up at her, those green, sharp eyes piercing directly to her soul. Longing poured through her as she got closer and boldly, she sat on the edge of his desk.

“I believe I am starting to understand you a little better every day,” she told him, tracing her fingertips along his hand that held his pen.

Satisfaction bloomed in her when she felt a slight tremble from him, and she caressed her fingertips further, tracing up to his wrist.

“I am all ears,” he rasped.

He flicked his pen away, then twisted his wrist so that it was he that grabbed her, and pulled her into his lap. Hugo then reached up, tracing his fingertips along her exposed collarbone and throat. Delicious little shivers traveled through her at the delicate touch, and she felt her womb pulse with excitement.

“Tell me little lamb, what is it you think you know?” He asked.

“I think you abhor violence,” she murmured, growing dizzy as his fingers laid their gentle claim, “especially toward women. I think that you want to protect, even when you don’t want to get too close.”

A low, rumbling sound that she could not determine as approval or disagreement came from Hugo’s chest as his fingers slowly closed around her throat. He squeezed. Gently. And it caused a small moan to pour from her lips.

“What else do you think?” He commanded, his tone low, firm. But not harsh.

“I think I would like to get closer to you,” she whispered, closing her eyes to the pleasure of his touch. “I want to find who you are. Beyond your pain and the rumors that surround it.”

Hugo’s hand stilled and Seraphina opened her eyes, finding him staring at her intensely.

“Let me in, Hugo,” she whispered. “Talk to me.”

Hugo said nothing as he unwrapped his fingers from her throat and then lifted her off of his lap. Disappointment filled her as he then stood up from his seat and, abandoning his portfolio on the desk, walked toward the door.

“Please wait,” Seraphina said in a rush. She moved from the desk to follow him, but one glare had her stopping in her tracks.

“Tristan asked me to remind you of the rose ball the day after next,” Hugo stated, changing the subject entirely as his hand held tightly to the doorknob. “I ordered you a new dress for the occasion.”

Seraphina sighed.

“Hugo, I don’t want more dresses, I want to get to know you.”

“I would appreciate it if you wore it all the same,” he said, refusing to talk about anything else. “If we must go back to London, then we have to show the ton that I haven’t eaten you alive or some other nonsense.”

“I don’t care what they think,” she insisted, taking a step toward him. “I care what you think. Hugo, please. Talk to me!”

“We should depart tomorrow morning,” Hugo went on, opening the door. “That way you have more time with your friends. I presume that you and your maid will be up late packing. I will not visit you this evening.”

Seraphina called his name again, but Hugo was already gone. Escaping her presence yet again.