Page 17 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

H ester lay on her back in the dark, watching the tracery of pale blue light on the ceiling. She could not close her eyes, not with the memory of Thomas so close—his hand at her jaw, the warmth of his body bridging the last inch between them.

The castle had not helped. Every stone seemed to hoard its own memories, and if she turned her face into the pillows, she could almost taste his cologne: sandalwood, citrus, and a bright note that was, maddeningly, just out of reach.

She rolled over. Stared at the embroidered coverlet.

Back again. It was futile. The more she tried to sink into sleep, the more her mind replayed the library scene, over and over, like some cruel farce in which her only role was that of idiot ingénue.

Her cheeks burned at the thought. Ridiculous!

She was a grown woman—a duchess now. How could a single look undo her so?

A clock somewhere in the castle struck a muffled hour, followed by the echo of it in some distant hallway.

Hester sat up. The room felt too tight around her, every shadow watching her with sly intent.

With a huff, she swung her legs from the mattress, found her slippers by touch, and shrugged on her robe.

Hester found herself at the gallery before she even realized she’d left her bedchamber. The air had that peculiar stillness that only belonged to ancient houses at night—alive with the threat of movement, though nothing truly moved. She walked, arms wrapped tight around her.

It was then she heard it.

A low, guttural sound that was not a voice, not quite a growl.

Followed by a dull, fleshy thud. Then another and another in a steady rhythm.

Hester slowed, heart thudding against her ribs.

The noise came from behind a door partway down the hallway: the sports room if she recalled from the tour with Mrs. Smith.

The odd light under the door glimmered like the thin edge of a blade.

She should turn back. Of course, she should. But Hester Jensen had always been far more curious than sensible. She took three quiet steps closer, pressing herself to the wood paneling and listening.

And into her mind, as if conjured, drifted Nancy’s voice: “He turns into a werewolf at night, especially on the full moon.” Nonsense, of course, but just then, with the moon pouring in through the windows and that animal sound from behind the door, Hester felt every hair on her arms rise.

A new grunt rattled the wood. That was quite enough.

She whirled on her heel and ran, her robe flapping behind like the banner of a fleeing army.

She did not pause to look back, not even when she reached her own bedchamber.

She bolted the door and twisted the key in the lock until it could turn no further.

Only then did she press her back to the wood and let herself breathe again.

She slept little that night, but her dreams were full of full moons, deep howls, and a pair of blue eyes—sometimes warm, sometimes glinting with fierce light.

Hester woke to sunlight pooling across the foot of her bed.

For a moment, she clung to the hope that it had all been a dream—the midnight prowling, the echo of grunts, the foolish heat in her face whenever she thought of Thomas—but the ache in her neck and the way her heart tripped when she sat up told her otherwise.

She dressed and left her chambers. Hester took her seat at the end of the long table, buttered a slice of toast, and tried to steady her hands.

She was halfway through the toast when the door swung open, and Thomas entered, looking altogether too hale and hearty for a man who had been up half the night howling at the moon. Hester reprimanded herself for harboring such ridiculous notions. Worse yet, believing them.

He wore a crisp linen shirt, his hair still damp at the nape, and he took his seat with a nod in her direction. “A bright morning we’ve got today,” he remarked, pouring himself a cup of coffee with the careless grace of a man supremely at ease.

Hester nodded, cheeks heating. “Indeed.” She tried to hide the tremble in her fingers by setting the toast down and folding her hands. She wished he would not look at her so directly; his gaze seemed to pin her to her chair.

They ate in silence for three bites then Thomas asked, “Did ye sleep well?”

She nearly choked on her tea. “Quite well, thank you,” she lied, reaching for the toast and devouring the rest in two quick bites. There. She had eaten. She was officially a duchess who took her health seriously.

She pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for my errands with Mrs. Smith.” She stood so abruptly that her chair nearly toppled.

Thomas regarded her with that maddening curiosity, a slight arch of one brow. “Are ye going somewhere? Seems like ye’ve barely touched your food.”

Hester forced a small smile. “It’s a bright morning we’ve got today,” she sputtered, “and I have much to accomplish.” She risked a glance up, hoping he did not see through her, and then hurried from the room before he could object.

Mrs. Smith and Miss Holt were already waiting with the carriage when she stepped outside. Hester climbed in, already feeling the tightness in her chest begin to ease. There was nothing like practical work to banish ghosts, especially those conjured by one’s own foolishness.

Hester was relieved when they arrived at the village, and soon, their activities took over her thoughts.

“Surely, you can do better on the price for these blankets.” Mrs. Smith gestured to the soft wool folded neatly before them.

The shopkeeper chuckled. “I suppose I can for our new Duchess.”

In the next shop, Hester ran her fingers over a stack of linen bolts, the smooth fabric cool against her skin. “These will make perfect handkerchiefs,” she murmured, more to herself, and Mrs. Smith gave an approving nod.

Outside, when their shopping had concluded, three children ran past Hester, and a small, genuine smile spread across her face, warming her heart for the first time in days. They climbed into the carriage and made their way home.

Upon their return, Hester turned to the housekeeper with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith, for your company this morning. I should like to take a walk.”

“A walk this morning is a splendid idea. Perhaps Your Grace would like some company?”

Hester smiled. “I would. Thank you.” She drew a deep breath.

The air out here was brisk and smelled of heather and distant sea.

With quick steps, they crossed to the lawns, skirted a patch of violets, and began a slow march toward the eastern edge of the estate.

The castle, with all its shadows and secrets, receded behind her.

Out here, at least, the only company was the wind and the sound of her own heartbeat.

The sound of voices brought them up short at the far end of the garden. Thomas was standing with a man, conversing.

“That’s Mr. Bailey, the steward,” Mrs. Smith remarked, her voice imbued with a knowing lilt as if she had plucked the thought directly from Hester’s mind.

“They must be on estate rounds,” Miss Holt mused, glancing toward the pair in the distance.

“Oh my, in that case, I shan’t intrude upon the Duke’s business,” Hester declared, seizing the chance to sidestep Thomas once more. “Besides, I could use a breath of fresh air.” She turned to Mrs. Smith. “If you would be so kind as to continue without me?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith replied with a slight nod, her expression unreadable as she moved ahead, leaving Hester to navigate her own thoughts.

Hester adjusted her skirts and changed direction, hoping to slip away before Thomas noticed her retreat.

Yet, curiosity tugged at her, compelling her to glance back.

There he was, deep in conversation with Mrs. Smith, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A wave of embarrassment washed over her; why was she avoiding him?

Those ridiculous rumors Nancy had spun were proving more potent than she cared to admit.

As she walked, the gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the sea, soothing her frayed nerves. Soon, she found herself at a picturesque spot overlooking the vast expanse of water. The waves danced beneath the sunlight, and she inhaled deeply, willing her unease to dissipate.

“Refreshing, is it not?” a voice broke through her reverie, and she jumped, spinning around to find Thomas approaching.

He dismissed Miss Holt with a slight wave, and Hester felt a flutter of apprehension at his sudden presence. How absurd this all was! She had gone to such lengths to avoid him, only for him to follow her here.

“Did you trail me?” she asked, feigning indignation though a smile tugged at her lips.

“Trail ye? Nay, I merely sought yer company,” he replied, a teasing glimmer in his eye. “Mrs. Smith mentioned ye fancied a walk, and I thought it only polite to join ye.”

“How presumptuous of you, Your Grace,” she quipped, unable to suppress a grin.

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. “Aye, but I’ve learned that a bit of presumption can lead to pleasant surprises. How did yer errands fare?”

“We procured some lovely linens for the orphanage,” she shared, her heart swelling with pride. “I look forward to embroidering them for the children.”

His expression softened, revealing a tenderness that wrapped around her like a comforting shawl. “That sounds delightful. I am certain they will cherish whatever ye create.”

Hester felt the warmth of Thomas’ gaze wrap around her like a soft shawl, and in that moment, her earlier fears began to dissipate. She couldn’t help but realize how foolish it was to avoid him.

“Perhaps I ought to return to the castle now,” she suggested, attempting to mask her unease with a hasty excuse. But before she could take a step away, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist with a firm yet gentle grip.

“Are ye avoiding me, Hester?” he asked.