Page 30 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)
“Miss Fields.” The Duke of Eccess rose from his desk, the remains of luncheon upon it, and Temperance’s whole body tingled with surprise.
Gentlemen rose to their feet whenever a lady of equal or higher standing came in.
Not a servant or a governess. It had been difficult for her to become accustomed to, being the daughter of an earl, but now she had become a governess so entirely, the gesture sent her stomach floating to her throat—with equal parts flattery and guilt.
The moment their eyes met across the room, her doubt melted away like whipped cream on her tongue.
“ Bonjour ,” she said, barely able to stop a smile that stretched the corners of her lips. “Are you ready for your French lesson?”
Yesterday she wouldn’t have dared to smile at him like that. Today, things felt different. In fact, they had entirely changed. She didn’t think there was a person in the whole world she’d felt closer to—besides her papa—than she’d felt to the duke last night.
In that huge kitchen where he’d cooked for her, made her the mince pies and fed her the most delicious roast beef she’d ever had, where he’d spilled his soul to her. She could still feel the hot, wet tears and the expansion in her chest like she was flying.
He’d spilled all his secrets to her. To her regret, she had kept hers.
She didn’t want him to call her “Miss Fields” anymore.
She’d had to bite her tongue last night to keep from opening up about her true identity, telling him she was hiding, she was on the run.
She was his equal, the daughter of a nobleman.
Another woman would have apologized for lying and put herself at his mercy, begged him to keep her hidden, told him what danger she was in—about her stepmother, Bartholomew, and their hired men watching the house now.
But last night Temperance couldn’t find the strength to hurt and disappoint him after such a tender moment. She could tell him today.
She should.
Except, a little voice whispered, how prudent would it be to trust him?
She’d trusted the Duke of Enveigh with her letter to Mr. Barton, and somehow that had led to Mr. Finch or one of his men knowing exactly where to find her.
Every time she placed her faith in someone, the net around her seemed to tighten.
It was better, after all, to rely only on herself and trust no one.
“I’m afraid we have to cut our French lesson short,” the Duke of Eccess said formally. “To my utmost regret.”
He looked impeccable this afternoon—crisp, as if preparing for an audience with the Regent. His dark rust-colored coat was perfectly tailored, the silk waistcoat beneath embroidered with golden flowers. How could he appear so fresh after their sleepless night when she felt so utterly trampled?
Despite herself, Temperance remembered how his solid body had felt pressed against her and the way her skin had simmered under his large hands.
Like the dough he’d been kneading, he had shaped a new version of her, one consumed with a sweet need to taste his savory skin, to feel the buttery glide of his tongue against hers and the way pleasure melted through her like warm honey.
He’d opened new worlds to her…and she kept the most important thing hidden from him.
Her true identity.
Temperance knew she needed to shake off the impulses of her body, the desire to demand he push her against the wall and satisfy that aching need he’d awoken, consequences be damned.
She commanded herself to remain calm. Observe these feelings like clouds , she told herself. “Has something happened?”
“It’s both good and bad news. The bad news is that the third contender for the position of the president of the Board of Trade is a relation of the prime minister himself. This will surely give him an undue advantage. His name is Lord Bartholomew Langston.”
The Duke of Eccess continued talking, but Temperance’s mind stopped registering what he was saying. All pleasant thoughts and urges gone, her face felt icy cold and she couldn’t feel her limbs. She turned to the window so fast, pain shot through her neck. Was someone watching the house now?
Bartholomew had managed to install himself as another candidate?
Lady Auster must have pulled strings with her distant relation, the prime minister, to ensure her nephew would be considered.
While her thoughts galloped in panic, Temperance realized that Bartholomew wasn’t just competing for the position of president; he wanted another opportunity to be in the same house as her.
“But the good news,” continued the Duke of Eccess, oblivious to her panic, “is that the prime minister and other important people have accepted my invitation to host an event today. I’m afraid after the accident with the wine, I cannot risk the children interrupting us.
Therefore instead of our French lesson, I’d like you to take them out for the afternoon. ”
She couldn’t speak for a moment. Take the children out? When there was someone watching the house?
That was almost like handing herself to Bartholomew and her stepmother’s men willingly.
The Duke of Eccess was frowning. “Is there an issue?”
Temperance opened her mouth to say something, to say no, that it was a bad idea. She could assure him she wouldn’t let the children out of her sight upstairs in the schoolroom.
She could now confess the whole truth, ask him for help, like a normal person would. If she stepped out of the house, Mr. Finch could grab her and drag her away or even hurt the children.
But on the other hand, being in the house meant Bartholomew could find her…and then what?
“Is it going to be another soirée?” Temperance asked uncertainly.
“No. A trade discussion.”
“W-with all contenders, including L-Lord Langston?”
His frown intensified as he studied her with his piercing gaze. “Yes. Why? Do you know him?”
Temperance’s face felt numb as blood drained from it. She shook her head vigorously. “N-no. I simply wanted to know if all three of the candidates were invited.”
“They are, so I must ensure the house is quiet. The prime minister himself is coming, Board of Trade members, even the editor of the London Gazette .”
She remembered Bartholomew’s cruel hands, the pain that he’d inflicted upon her. If Lord Langston was going to be a guest in this house, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to leave.
The question was, where would be safer? Inside the house where he could find her and there would be nowhere to run? Octavius would be here to protect her, but she would need to tell him she’d been lying from the beginning.
Or if she risked it and took the children outside, she could keep her secret a little longer—and there were only twelve days left until Christmas Day, when she would go to her solicitor’s office and finally claim her independence.
“Very well,” she said.
“There is a seasonal market on the Serpentine in Hyde Park. Take the children in the carriage. And it’s been cold enough for the water to freeze so perhaps even ice skating will be possible, so take skates for you and your charges.
” The Duke of Eccess handed her a pouch, which jangled with coins.
“Please treat the children and yourself.”
She took the pouch and willed her hands not to shake. “Very well, Your Grace.”
Hyde Park’s seasonal market buzzed with activity.
Stalls adorned with ivy and holly stood in rows, smelling of gingerbread, wassail, and woodsmoke.
The Serpentine had indeed frozen solid and skaters glided across the ice.
Stallholders had set up warming stations along the shore, selling hot spiced wine and roasted chestnuts.
Temperance’s heart tightened in her throat.
She should be looking out for anyone who was following them, but she couldn’t see any sign of them, and it was so wonderful to watch people on the ice.
Another tradition she’d had with Papa—whenever there was solid ice on the pond at their estate, they’d skated together.
Yet another thing she’d never do with him again.
But she could, perhaps, share it with the children. The Duke of Eccess had been right to remind her to take the skates.
“Oh, Miss Fields!” Sophie pointed excitedly towards the frozen lake. “Could we go on the ice?”
James peered over the low stone wall that bordered the Serpentine. “The ice seems to be thick enough.”
Despite the anxiety that had plagued her, Temperance found herself smiling. “Indeed. Since there are so many people skating, it must be safe.”
“Might we do it, too?” Margaret asked, her usual reserve melting away like snow in sunlight.
These children had known so little joy in the past year. When had she last seen such enthusiasm in their faces? Her ankle no longer hurt so she’d be able to skate and help them. “I don’t see why not.”
“Papa taught us skating,” said James. “The skates are part of our inheritance we brought with us.”
Her heart squeezed. “It was my papa who taught me, too.”
The children looked at her with sadness in their eyes—the four of them united by their common misery. Perhaps it was time to make new memories for them, happy ones.
The children’s skates were well-made, wooden frames shod with iron blades and leather straps wrapped around their boots like gladiator sandals.
Remembering her papa’s instructions, Temperance helped them fasten the bindings around their ankles snug but not too tight.
James glided onto the ice confidently and Margaret followed more cautiously but with clear skill.
Sophie laid her little hand in Temperance’s and stayed close to her.
For nearly an hour, they enjoyed the ice, laughing and chasing each other across the frozen lake.
By the end of the hour, James was skating backwards, turning sharply with ice fountaining from under his blades, and leaping small ridges of ice.
Margaret skated in circles, occasionally racing James across the width of the Serpentine.
Sophie trusted herself more and more, skating farther from Temperance.