Page 20 of A Tempting Maid for the Beastly Duke (Lustful Lords and Ladies)

“Because of me?” Rose asked incredulously. “What do you mean?”

Henry hesitated to speak at first, but he finally mustered the courage to do so, revealing everything. “When I told my friends that you started working as a maid for the duke, they said he was going to hurt you. I… I have to protect you, Rose. You are my sister.”

She shook her head, feeling overwhelmed by everything she had just heard. “That isn’t true, Henry, and you know it. Deep down, you do. You cannot tell me you are a fool who will always take the word of others over his own sense of righteousness. You know this isn’t right. Mother and father have taught you better than that.”

“The duke should know what is right,” he snapped back. It is because of him that all my friends’ families are poor! It is his fault that our uncle died just after the duke dismissed him from his position at the manor! And now, you work for him! Is that right? Is that fair?”

“You have no idea what you are talking about, Henry,” she told him angrily. “You are full of bitterness, just like the rest of the villagers. You cannot see truth from all the judgments you’ve made over the years.”

At that moment, the duke stirred on the ground.

“Quickly, go!” she urged him. “Before the duke wakes up!”

“No!” Henry refused. “I will not leave you alone with him. He will hurt you.”

“The only one hurting me here is you, Henry!” she snarled back at him. “You should leave at once, and hope that I can forgive you for what you have done.”

Henry seemed to have much more to say, but one glance in the duke’s direction assured him that she was right. He had to go. Just as Henry disappeared from view, Mr. Trent emerged from the manor. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene: the duke on the ground, Rose kneeling beside him, her hands stained with dirt and blood.

“What on earth is going on here?” Mr. Trent demanded, his voice sharp with concern and suspicion.

Rose looked up, her heart pounding in her chest. She hoped fervently that Henry had managed to leave before Mr. Trent could notice him. “Mr. Trent, please, help me get the duke inside,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m not sure what happened. He’s hurt.”

Mr. Trent’s gaze flicked toward the direction the boys had fled, a frown creasing his brow, but he didn’t ask further. Instead, he quickly moved to William’s side, his expression softening with worry. Together, they brought him inside, laying him down on the chaise lounge in the drawing room.

“Mr. Trent, could you please go and see if there are some bandages and a basin of clean water? I need to clean his wounds properly.”

Mr. Trent hesitated for a moment, glancing between Rose and the unconscious Duke. Then, with a nod, he turned and hurried out of the room. Rose stayed by William’s side, her hands trembling slightly as she continued to dab at his wounds with the damp cloth. Each breath he took was shallow and labored, and she fought to keep her own breathing steady.

It wasn’t long before a maid arrived, carrying a basin of clean water, bandages, and some additional cloths. Rose thanked her quickly and set to work, her focus entirely on William. She dipped a fresh cloth into the clean water and began gently cleaning the dirt and blood from his face and hands.

“You’re going to be all right,” she whispered, her voice soothing and soft. “Just hold on.”

As she worked, memories of the previous night flooded her mind—how she had kissed his forehead and scars, the way he had looked at her, the kiss they had shared. Her heart ached with the confusion and intensity of her feelings. She hadn’t expected any of this, but she couldn’t deny the connection she felt with him.

“Rose…” Wiliam’s voice was faint, barely a whisper. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

“I’m here, Your Grace,” she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I will take care of you. Try to rest.”

***

But William couldn’t rest. His eyelids fluttered, his vision slowly clearing as he came to consciousness. The soft light of the room was almost too bright, and he squinted against it, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The first thing he saw clearly was Rose’s worried face hovering above him.

“You had me so worried,” she told him in a comforting voice.

He couldn’t help but remember the first time they met. Only that time, it was he who found her unconscious in the woods, bringing her back to his home and tending to her. Now, she was doing the same for him. Tenderness washed over him, and he knew that he could no longer deny the depth of his feelings for this woman. But he could also not forget what happened.

“I… I was attacked,” he said. “It was those boys from the village. They did this to me.”

Reality began to intrude, and William’s memory returned in disjointed fragments—the commotion, the barn, the blow to his head. He winced as he tried to sit up, but Rose’s firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder kept him lying down.

“Don’t try to move too quickly,” she said softly. “You need to rest.”

“No, Rose,” he shook his head, although every movement brought him pain. “This has gone on long enough. This must be the work of those same boys from the village who have been wreaking havoc on my property.”

Rose’s eyes widened, and she took a deep breath, her expression one of pleading desperation. “William, the boys are just young and foolish. They don’t realize the seriousness of what they’re doing. They’re just listening to silly stories about the monster in the manor.”

William flinched at her words. He knew she didn’t think of him that way, but it hurt to hear Rose refer to him like that. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, confusion mingling with the pain. “Why are you suddenly defending them? It was one thing to have to constantly mend broken windows, but a fire, Rose… that is serious. Someone could have died.”

“I know!” she said desperately, her voice on the verge of breaking. “But no one died. We were fortunate. The situation is already bad as it is. Why make it worse?”

William frowned. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A fire could have taken lives. His life.

“Rose…” he said, his eyes wide and incredulous, “I could have died. Do you understand that?”

“I do, of course I do,” she replied frantically, but he could not understand why she would take the opposite side. Why couldn’t she understand him and be on his side, as she had been up until that point? What changed?

“But?” he asked, his question lingering between them.

“But you have to admit that it is not only their fault,” she said, her pitch constantly changing. One moment she was shouting, the next she was whispering. He could tell that she was upset, that she was in pain, but not because of him. That was what hurt the most.

“Then whose fault is it?” he demanded to know. “Did I set my barn on fire? Did Mr. Hancock?”

“No,” she replied, barely audible.

“Those boys have crossed the line, Rose, and they need to be taught a lesson, before they do something the entire village might regret,” he said, only then realizing that he made it seem like a threat, but in reality, it wasn’t.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, shocked.

“I mean that the fire could have easily spread to the closest homes of your precious village as well, and then what?” he exclaimed. “Will that be my fault as well? That I didn’t extinguish the fire in time?”

He could feel his heart breaking into a million little pieces and he knew that he would never be able to put it together again. Not that it mattered. Love was never meant for the likes of him. It was better to forget that silly notion and live out the rest of his life as the monster that he was.

“You haven’t made it easier on anyone, especially not on you,” she tried to reason with him again.

“What do you mean?” he raised an eyebrow.

“You could have gotten out more. Let people see you for who you really are,” she clarified. “I have seen the real you. They could have done the same, if only you had allowed them.”

His jaw tightened angrily. “It is my own business whether I want to go out of my own home or not,” he snarled. “It is not the villagers’ business, and neither is it yours. Whether I choose to socialize with them, I should at least expect not to have my property set on fire. Or is that asking too much?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I know those boys have gone too far. You are right in thinking so. But that is only because they don’t know you. They only know what they heard from their parents, whom you’ve dismissed from their places of employment in your manor, the same employment that has put food on their tables for years.

You dismissed them without taking them into consideration upon returning from France and now, it is only to be expected that they speak very poorly of you.”

William stood in stunned silence, the weight of Rose's words sinking in. The connection had never occurred to him before. He had always assumed the boys were simply taking jokes about his appearance too far. He had put up with it because, in some twisted way, he felt he deserved it. But now, it turned out, he was even more right about that than he had realized.

Rose noticed the shock on his face and asked, “Why did you think the boys were doing this all this time?”

He stiffened, his shock quickly turning into defensiveness. “It's none of your business. It is clear who you are trying to protect, and it’s not me.”

Rose’s eyes flashed with hurt and frustration. “I’m standing up for people I care about. Including you. I’m sorry you don’t believe me.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and stormed off, clearly upset. William felt a pang of guilt for how harsh he had been with her, but he quickly pushed it aside. It was probably for the better; he told himself. Her loyalty clearly lay with the villagers. And he was meant to be keeping his distance from her, anyway.

As he stood alone, the echo of their argument ringing in his ears, he couldn’t shake the feeling of regret. He had been too harsh, too quick to dismiss her. But what choice did he have? The boys’ actions had gone too far, and he needed to put a stop to it.