Page 2 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

There was no underlying intention beneath his words, and for once, Joan couldn't sense any hidden meanings. The barely concealed mirth in his voice was also reflected in his eyes, and Joan couldn't help but wonder how a man could look so handsome.

Most of the men she had met before had such ugly characters that manifested on the surface as well. But this man… he seemed so different from all the others she had crossed paths with.

Most of them had no qualms with reaching for her, no matter how she disliked it, but he hadn’t tried to touch her. Not once.

Despite his teasing, he was cordial and respectful, clearly trying not to burden her with any expectations.

It had not been long since they met, but she already appreciated his presence greatly.

But there was something more that tugged at her attention, claiming her gaze each time she glanced at him, causing her eyes to linger on his form in a bid to learn a little more about him with each look.

His hands were big, much more than hers and the difference was clear in the way he lifted his cup of ale with a singular hand and no care in the world, where as she had to hold hers up with both hands.

His hair looked like red hot coals in a certain light, and it seemed the length bothered him with the way he continuously brushed it back, away from his forehead.

Joan considered that the reason those men had scurried away quickly was likely because of his imposing form, thanks to the broad shoulders that gave him a daunting appearance, even though all he was doing was simply having a drink while seated.

“I suppose we'll just hae tae wait an' see. Have ye lived in London a' yer life afore noo?”

Joan paused, wondering if it was all right to be truthful, just this once.

“I suppose you could say that,” she let herself say.

“An' the idea o' leavin' disnae scare ye a wee bit? I understand ye're only headin' tae bide wi' yer folk, but I can see that's no' a simple task for a young lady,” he reasoned.

He was not wrong. It had been a difficult decision to make, even more so to execute. But she had not been left any other choice, not with how things had become in her home.

Her mother’s passing had been hard enough, with her feeling as though she had lost the only direct family she had left.

The grief had nearly consumed her whole, but her dear cousin Georgina had provided her a reprieve, and for what felt like the first time, Joan was gland that her cousin and uncle – Benedict Brook – had moved into their house, following the passing of Joan’s father.

She had not been the only one mourning her mother, Priscilla, though. Uncle Benedict had been utterly distraught by Priscilla’s passing, to the extent that he had hidden away to grieve for two years. When he felt ready to face the world again, he emerged and things went downhill from there.

Joan’s uncle had started to look at her strangely, as though he was tracing familiar lines across the panes of her face.

She did not understand the dangerous implications of that until he began to seize the opportunity to touch her inappropriately, whispering things about how much Joan looked like her late mother.

The idea of it all disgusted her, especially when she realized what this meant concerning her mother’s relationship with her uncle before she died. No matter how much she begged, her uncle refused to relent, pushing closer and crossing even more boundaries. Until she could take it no more.

Joan thought about how skittish she had been for days before her escape.

She had tried this once, to run away. But Uncle Benedict had caught her before she had gotten far enough, and he had locked her up for weeks, barely allowing her to have any food or water, until she “accepted his request”.

And after that, she knew that there was no other choice left for her.

She had to leave.

“The alternative… staying would be worse. Yes, I am afraid, greatly so. But this is something I must do.”

To save my life.

The man nodded with an air of understanding. “ I wish yer grandparents a' the best. They're very lucky tae hae such a grand granddaughter. I hope they get better soon. Seein' yer ain kin in that state can be... quite difficult.”

His voice sounded a little shaky then, as if the weight of a burden only he carried was reflected in what he had said.

“You sound as though you know what that feels like,” Joan heard herself say, raising her wine to her lips once more.

He shrugged, the calm air that had surrounded them growing a little bit tense.

“Aye, mebbe. My faither... he died a wee while back. Livin' wi' him has been... a struggle, tae say the least.”

Joan's heart sank, hurting for this man before her. If he felt sad about that, he didn't show it, downing the rest of his drink and waving at the barkeep to bring him another. Quickly, Joan finished her drink and pushed her empty glass towards him.

He seemed amused by the action before he pointed to her glass as well, while looking at the barkeep. After more drinks had been brought to them, Joan couldn't help but ask,

“Were you two close?”

He nodded. “Quite. My whole family is. Or.

.. we were. He did his best tae provide for us for a' thae years.

An' noo I'm tryin' tae dae the same, but his shoes are.

.. they're mighty big tae fill. I'm a Scot, ye ken, an' I'm awa' tae London 'cause I got a letter askin' for a meetin'.

I'm prayin' it's a business deal o' some kind, 'cause I need money tae look after my family properly. They're a' I've got left.”

He was toying with something in his hand, and she couldn't help but fixate on the way his fingers tugged at the others. He noticed what she was looking at and followed her gaze, chuckling slightly as he worked a ring off his finger.

““This is a family heirloom that once belonged tae my faither.

He was a Baron an' a Laird, an' he kent just whit tae dae at the richt time.

He did teach me mair than enough o' whit I needed tae ken tae work it a' oot.

But still, I'm quite uncertain aboot a' o' this.

I dinna ken if I can truly live without him.

I'm no' sure if I can afford tae make ony mair mistakes, wi' sae much at stake.

My mother an' my sisters are a' lookin' tae me tae keep the family name strong, but I fear that everythin' I dae is fueled by false courage an' could lead tae nothing but sorrow,” he admitted quietly as he held out the ring for her to see.

It was a large gold ring, with a crest of a swan surrounded by roses and thorns.

The piece of jewelry seemed so small in his large palm, but when she picked it up, she realized it was heavier than it looked.

Joan couldn't help but wonder how much of it was the weight of the gold and how much was from the responsibilities it came with.

“I… I think you’ll make an excellent head of your family.

You clearly care about them deeply. Even now, you are only worried that your actions might affect them if you make any mistakes.

I don’t know many men who are that dedicated to their families.

None that I’ve met, anyway. It is not in my place to speak about you or your past, but I think your family is fortunate to have someone as reliable as you are looking out for them,” she said, handing the ring back.

He took it from her gently, their fingertips brushing against each other as the ring changed hands. For once, Joan didn’t feel like recoiling from the touch of a man, and she wondered if it was simply because she’d had too much wine to drink.

For a moment, his hand lingered, fingertips just barely touching hers, and he muttered quietly,

“Ye sound as though ye wish ye had someone just as reliable.”

Joan let herself smile, just a little.

“Perhaps. Alas, it would seem I am fated to rely on myself alone.”

“What a heavy burden for such a fair maiden to bear,” he shook his head, his mood becoming lighter as he looked at her, light returning to his gaze. “It sounds as though ye need a knight, my lady.”

“Surely, you are not trying to offer your services. What happened to your desire to be mysterious? I thought that was more important than anything else?” she asked, pretending to be surprised.

Joan raised her cup of ale a little too forcefully, causing some of the liquid within to slosh out of it, spilling onto her hand. She sighed at her clumsiness, looking for her handkerchief but before she could find it, he had whipped his own out and began to dab her hand dry.

He almost seemed petulant as he shrugged and said while still cleaning up her hand, “Well, I dinnae see why I cannae dae baith, but let's just let sleepin' dugs lie, I suppose.”

His touch was warm and his grip gentle, but it sparked something deep within her.

It made her strangely hunger for more touches, more warmth.

He glanced up at her, his gaze lingering on hers for a moment, and for a moment, she thought he could see what she was thinking, and was horrified, for having such strange inklings at all.

“It is safer that way,” he added, smiling as he released her hand.

The small tug of the corners of his lips made her want to do anything to see it again, a reaction that confused her immensely.

Joan had never bantered with anyone like this before.

Not even with her cousin Georgina. She did not have any friends either, so she often worried that she might not know how to properly converse with others.

However, if she had done or said anything strange or inappropriate, the man before her seemingly had no qualms with it.

“It is getting late,” he noted suddenly, pulling his hand away from hers and slipping on his ring. “ Please, let me walk ye tae yer room. It's no' safe for ye tae wander aboot, especially when ye're clearly no' used tae the drinkin'.”

He rose to his feet and waited for her to follow suit before leaning forward to whisper in her ear,

“ Ye seem like a very prim an' proper English wumman, so it wouldnae surprise me ye're no used tae drinkin' ale. A precious lass like yersel' has likely only ever tasted champagne.”

Joan's heart grew unsettled, and she worried that he might have recognized her from back in London, but he merely pulled away and said,

“Ensure that ye are careful tonight. Lock yer door as soon as I leave, all right?”

It took her a moment to express that she had not yet booked a room, and he quickly took her to the innkeeper to do so. Then he walked her to her room, offering to carry her bag for her.

He relented when she declined, and his lack of a vile reaction only made her feel even more puzzled by this man. She did not understand why he was so different from the other men she had met, much calmer and kinder. Besides that, she did not find him repulsive as she did others.

His touch has been warm, almost reassuring, and she couldn't help but wish they would not part ways.

“Here we are,” he announced, opening the door for her and stepping aside so she could go inside. “Remember my words tae ye; see that yer door's locked the hale nicht. Dinna open it unless ye're goin' oot.”

He handed her the key and waited, instead of leaving. It took her a moment to realize that he was waiting for her to leave and close the door before he left, and that only fueled her bravery.

“Would you… Like to come in?”