Page 21 of Duke of Disguise (Ladies of Worth #4)
Avers did not spend a restful night. His usually steady mood was feeling altogether frayed the next morning. The shock from being held at gunpoint had not abated until the small hours and any sleep he had gained had been fitful at best.
He needed to clear his head. Once he was up, he decided to venture out into the grounds of the lodge. Fresh air was what he needed to overcome the feeling of being trapped at the Comte’s mercy. Descending the stairs and not knowing his way, he opted to go out the front door.
The day outside was uncertain, the sky covered in white-grey clouds and the air, which had started true to early autumn, had turned cool and damp. Rain threatened. Skirting the front of the building, the gravel of the drive crunching under his boots, he followed the shrub line around to the rear where the formal gardens were laid out. To his right was the entrance to the stableyard, an archway leading through to where the Tremaine greys must be resting. Directly behind the lodge the gardens were simple lawns divided into quarters by gravel paths for promenading.
It was likely he could be seen from the house, so to gain time away from prying eyes, Avers turned left towards the rest of the gardens. He passed a line of manicured trees, his pace now a brisk stride and his mind fully occupied—despite his best efforts—with replaying the events of yesterday. He turned off the main path, heading towards one of the garden’s stone walls, and was just going around a set of rose bushes to come parallel with it when his booted foot connected with something soft.
“Ouch!”
Avers tried to pull back, off-balance from his forward momentum. He failed, lurched sideways and plunged several steps further before coming to a stop and jerking round.
Mademoiselle Cadeaux knelt on the path, rubbing her ankle beneath the hem of her skirts.
“I beg your pardon.” The tension running through Avers’ body, which had already been at an all-time high, was pushed over the edge by surprise and his apology came out more like an angry question.
Mademoiselle Cadeaux glared at him, then bent down to examine her ankle again, muttering something in French. He took in the soil on her hands and the nearby basket of cut roses.
“It is nothing.”
“I’ve hurt you,” he said, failing to curb the anger in his voice. First yesterday’s incident and now he’d inadvertently hurt Mademoiselle Cadeaux. “What were you doing crouching on the path in such a fashion?”
“I was weeding—before I was interrupted.”
She rose, batting down her skirts and smearing yet more mud on them, before placing her hands on her hips and throwing him a challenging stare.
He felt her dark-eyed gaze keenly. There was a gentle flush to her cheeks from the morning air and her hair escaped in floating tendrils framing her face. His eyes dropped down, taking in the gown she wore that had clearly seen better days, the floral material a little faded, the cuffs frayed. It wasn’t the glittering, pleated and bowed gowns he had seen her in before. Her appearance was so altered, he supposed some might see her as dowdy in such a garb, but they would be wrong. He had never seen her look more beautiful.
Avers had been staring for too long.
“Do you mean to chastise me with your stare, Your Grace? I realise weeding is not the work which women of your rank undertake, but I am not a lady, remember?”
She had misunderstood his look. It was anything but critical. Her sudden appearance set off a whole different range of emotions to the ones he had been feeling. Unfortunately, it left him even more discomposed and before he had the sense to stop himself he snapped back at her.
“I apologise. Being held at gunpoint has a way of disconcerting a man.”
Shock fractured her expression. “Gunpoint?”
She took a step forward and then jerked to a stop.
“You weren’t privy to your Comte’s little game? His test of loyalty?”
His tone made it sound like an accusation and he saw the flash of anger in her eyes. He didn’t care. What was wrong with this woman? She stayed with a madman, putting herself in harm’s way, getting burnt for speaking to him. If Vergelles had been willing to order a Duke to be held at gunpoint to test his loyalty, there was no telling what he would do to a mistress of no name or rank.
“I’m amazed at your foolishness in choosing to continue in such harmful company,” he said.
“You kick me and now call me a fool?”
Her knuckles turned white as she dug her fingertips into her hips. “And what are you, if you paid no heed to my warning? Now you have put us both in danger.”
Guilt lanced his chest.
“But you are determined to think the worst of me,” she said, bending to pick up the basket of flowers, “so I should not be surprised. I shall do you the favour of sparing you my company.”
The stab of guilt transformed to an ache in his chest. She made to walk past him back to the lodge, and before he could stop himself he reached out a hand to grasp her arm, arresting her step beside him.
Mademoiselle Cadeaux looked up at him, her dark eyes full of surprise. He could smell the earth on her, mingling with the scent of roses and… what was it? Lavender? This close he could see the delicate flush of her cheeks from the cold morning air. It deepened under his gaze. His eyes dropped to her mouth, taking in the rise and fall of her slightly parted lips.
He instinctually dropped his head an inch. Stopped. Recognising the overwhelming desire he had to kiss her. The realisation shocked him into releasing her, yet he didn’t move away.
Had she just shivered before he let her go?
He remained close enough to her that his legs felt the press of her skirts. Something indefinable was passing between them in this moment and he knew it was transitory. Soon enough it would be broken. Before it was, he needed to apologise.
“Forgive me,” he said huskily. “My fear has made me bullish, and you have borne the brunt of it.”
He reached for her hand, and traced a thumb lightly over her bandage that still covered the burn. “Not just fear for me.”
Her brow puckered, and her eyes widened in comprehension. What was that expression on her fair face? One of surprise mingled with disbelief?
His fingers found her wrist and continued tracing their random pattern. There, she did it again—she shivered. He had not been this close to anyone in a long time. The desire to be known, to be understood and cared for, he thought he had grown past, but it seemed those feelings had just been lying dormant.
“You need not fear for me,” she said, a hint of a waver in her voice. “I only repeat my last plea to you, that you stay away from me.”
“I am finding that hard to do,” Avers replied honestly.
“You despise me and then you wish to protect me. I find you contrary, Your Grace.” She said the last part quietly, attempting to escape his gaze by looking to the path behind him.
She was considering walking away from him again.
He sighed, releasing her hand, and stepped back to put an appropriate distance between them.
“I cannot… I carry a wound that runs deeply, given to me by the woman you quizzed me about at Madame Pertuis’ last salon. I have not found a way to heal just yet. When I am pressed on it, I am afraid I do not show my best. I am not a… a whole man. I have been broken and I cannot find the way to become whole again.” His honesty, his rawness, shocked even himself.
This woman had a way of drawing from him the infection that had festered in his heart since it had been broken. While she lanced it, the hurt came out, but he was starting to feel relief too, as the pressure released. As though acknowledging it somehow gave it less power to define him.
“I am not your healing.”
Her blunt words caught him off-guard. She no longer avoided his gaze. Her eyes found his and conveyed a frankness matching her words.
“I didn’t—” he began, but she cut him off.
“What you speak about is unforgiveness and it is the enemy of contentment. No other person is the elixir for that ailment but God.”
“You are an expert in the matter?” he said, dropping into his usual provoking tone as a defence against the painful rawness of what they spoke.
She raised a single brow at him and he felt the challenge. She would not be giving anything away.
“You’re suggesting I must forgive the one who broke my heart?”
“I am not suggesting you must do anything.”
Avers chuckled softly. This woman continually surprised him. “But you advise it?”
“I know that unforgiveness is disfiguring to the soul, and before you throw my position back at me, I also know the irony of speaking about my soul when you believe me a common mistress.”
Believe me. That was an odd turn of phrase.
“You have no wish to walk a different path?”
It was her turn to laugh, but the sound was maudlin. “Consider yourself blessed to have been born a noble and a man. You have options where others do not.” She looked past his shoulder again. “We should go back to the house before you are missed, or we are seen alone together.”
He didn’t want this interview to end.
“May I escort you? It is the least I can do after kicking you.”
“Yes, it is.”
The atmosphere between them lightened. Avers offered her his arm but she shook her head.
“I believe it would be prudent to return to the house separately.”
Avers was disappointed, but she was right.
“A wise choice. You are not a fool, Mademoiselle Cadeaux.”
He saw the corner of her mouth crook upwards. Her eyes twinkled as she inclined her head in acknowledgment of the compliment.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I wish I could say the same about you.”
Avers laughed, watching her turn on her heel and make her way back towards the lodge’s south side. He waited a short while, taking a turn around the garden and going over all the words they had shared, his amusement dying down into thoughtfulness.
He had wanted to kiss Mademoiselle Cadeaux… That was not a desire he had felt in some time. And the more she spoke to him—the more wisdom that poured from her lips and candour that she operated with—that feeling had strengthened. But she had pushed him away. She had made it clear she was not the solution to his discontent and that action made him admire her all the more.
Unforgiveness is disfiguring to the soul.
The words hung clearly at the forefront of his mind. They deserved careful thought. But as he turned into the lodge’s entrance, he resumed his alter-ego and made ready to play his part. Deciphering the mixture of emotions Mademoiselle Cadeaux had stirred within him would have to wait.