Page 9 of Master of Games (The Duke Fraternity #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

They ate dinner silently, though a thousand questions danced on Tabbie’s tongue. What had Caden’s brother been like? How had his father made it known that he was disappointed in his bastard son?

And what about his mother? Had she finally given him her love and attention?

But she ate in silence, watching Caden out of the corner of her eye, waiting for him to signal he was ready to speak.

He finally lifted his head. “You haven’t touched your wine.”

She looked at the glass of deep red liquid, shimmering in the glass. “I find that I’m far too curious to drink.”

“Curious about what?”

“You.”

He winced and then smiled. “Oh joy.” But then he lifted the glass and handed it to her. “You won’t bother me. I promise.”

She took the glass from his hand. “Thank you. But I have to confess, I believed you the first time. I wasn’t abstaining for your benefit but for mine.”

“Do tell.”

She sighed, turning the glass in her hand. “I tend to drink to cure boredom, which, when I think on it, is a terrible reason to consume alcohol.”

His brows lifted. “You are the most interesting person I know. How can you be bored?”

“I have closed myself off. I spend a great deal of time alone.”

“Why is that?” he asked. “Why shut yourself away?”

She found herself taking a small sip to delay answering. As she lowered the glass, Caden leaned over the small table, and taking her chin in his hand, softly kissed her lips. “Delicious.”

Heat crept up her cheeks as she turned away. “That might be cheating.”

“On my sobriety? Maybe. But I think I’ll call it my one exception.”

Tabbie looked up at him through her lashes. “There are so many questions I want to ask you about your past.”

He sat back in his chair. “I can imagine.”

“So, do I have your permission…to ask…”

“You can ask me anything.” His good hand came over his heart.

“Can I ask how your father made his displeasure known without disowning you?”

Caden looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll answer your question if you take off one article of clothing.”

She stared at him, her mouth agape. “You don’t mean it.”

“Perhaps you should have a bit more wine. For fortitude.”

“I am not taking off my clothes.” Touching him, rubbing against him, that was one thing. But actually letting him see her scars…

“The fire is low. And I’ll not ask you to take off your chemise. But we’ll both expose a bit more of our wounds. No?”

She might hate him. She was longing to understand more and he was using the information against her. “I told you about my past without any tit for tat.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“You were a hero in that story.”

“I’m a burn victim turned recluse. That does not make me a hero.” Her teeth clenched together even as he ran a hand down her arm.

“You are the person who threw yourself into danger to save someone you loved.”

She liked that interpretation. Still, to show him the evidence filled her with cold dread. “You’re going to think I’m hideous.”

“I’m not.” And then he drew in a breath. “Let’s begin. When my brother died, at the funeral, he called my brother his one true son, and told everyone that a family legacy had died with him. He was right. I wasn’t his child. But in saying the words…”

Tabbie gasped. Because if everyone thought that Caden was the duke’s child, those words were even more awful. “Oh Caden.”

“He let the whole world think I was a disappointment rather than just declare me a bastard.” His jaw was so hard, he looked as though he could cut glass with the line of it alone.

To her disbelief, she began pulling out her fichu. As the cloth slid across her skin, she could see the licking marks that lanced across her chest. Not as bright red as they once were, but they still stood out on her pale skin.

“He gave away every unentailed piece of the dukedom, claiming I’d destroy it anyway.”

She tugged the laces at the back of her dress, letting the bodice slump forward. As it fell away, her chemise loosened, revealing even more of her skin.

He hardly attended it. “Then he hired additional solicitors to manage the remaining assets, stating I was incapable.”

At every turn he’d been undermined. Changing tack, she unlaced her boots, pulling them off before rolling down her socks.

Her legs were mostly untouched, the majority of the burns confined to her torso and one arm.

He reached for her foot, hooking her ankle so that he pulled it into his lap and began gently massaging the ball of her foot.

It felt so good that she sunk down deeper in her chair so he could reach even more of her foot.

His hand slid over the skin of her heel to her ankle and up her calf.

It occurred to her that she’d deeply missed being touched. She’d been so removed from…everyone.

“What did you do? Did you fire those solicitors when you became the duke?”

“No,” he answered, his fingers stuttering the slightest bit on her calf. “I let them do their job.”

There was a tightness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. She cocked her head, assessing him even as he pointed at her chemise. “You said I didn’t need to take if off.”

“Pull down the one shoulder. Let me see your arm.”

She pulled her foot from his grasp, giving her head a violent shake. “I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you have more questions?”

She did. Lots. But as curious as she was about him, she couldn’t allow him to see any more. It was just too painful. “I’m tired.”

“We just woke up.”

“I should go to bed.” Pushing up from the chair, she grabbed the glass of wine and the bottle. She wasn’t leaving it here with him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Tabbie. Wait.”

But she didn’t listen as she pushed through the connecting door, closing it behind her.

* * *

Shit. He pushed too hard too fast. Again.

She’d gotten so close to his own wound, he’d been deflecting. Which was a mistake.

Running a hand through his hair, he pushed up from his chair, his injured arm twinging. He didn’t care.

Crossing to the fire, he stoked the flames, tossing another log on the fire.

Her boots still lay on the floor, the top of her dress tossed in a heap. With one arm, he picked up her boots and then tucked them deeper into the crook of his arm to grab her discarded top.

With steady strides, he moved to the door, opening it to step into Tabbie’s room.

She stood next to her fire, bare feet, corset, overskirts, and chemise still in place, as she drained her glass of wine.

“Tabbie.”

She turned away from him, rather than toward. “You were right. I should have had the wine first.”

He dropped her belongings, his gaze casting about the room. It was not decorated as a child’s room. It was done in sophisticated shades of cream and white, a massive room with a four-post bed that would suit the queen.

“This is your room?”

“It was my mother’s,” she whispered.

And suddenly, he understood. He was in the master’s suite. “Where does your father sleep now?”

“The guest suite at the end of the hall. When he’s here, which isn’t very often, he never steps into these rooms.” She refilled her glass.

He didn’t tell her she ought to slow down. Tabbie was a grown woman, and he’d drowned many, many sorrows in a bottle.

“You stay and face the memories alone.” He wasn’t asking a question. She was too strong for her own good sometimes.

She shook her head, her shoulders drooping. “I feel close to her here.”

He ached for her. He mourned the loss of love that was never his. But Tabbie? She’d loved and lost and he could feel the connection and the grief. “I’m sorry I pushed too hard.”

She turned to him then. “I’m sorry I ran away. I just…”

“It’s all right. You’re afraid.”

She scowled. “I am not afraid. I am educated. There is a difference.”

That sick feeling filled his stomach. “Educated?”

“It all seems fine. And then when you’re most vulnerable, even the people who say they love you will step on your weakness.”

His hand clenched into a fist. “I would never—”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

He pulled himself up straighter. “I don’t have much to recommend me personally, so I can hardly blame you for not trusting me. But I will tell you this…I will only help you.”

She shook her head again. “No.”

He let out a sigh. “Do you think you’ll accept my offer of marriage?”

“No,” she winced. “It’s not you, Ironheart. I seriously doubt I will ever be that intimate with another person. Ever.”

He was back to being called Ironheart. “If that is true, then you’ve already rejected me, and you might as well show me some of your scars and get over your fears.”

She turned back to the fire. “My former best friend made fun of them at my first ball in front of a large crowd of men and women. They all laughed. You can still reject me.”

Anger coursed through him that she’d had to endure that kind of treatment. “I am very adept with a pistol. And fortunately it was not my shooting arm that was hit. Who should I kill?”

She spun back to him, her face etched in surprise until a laugh burst from her lips.

He rose his brows. “I wasn’t jesting.”

“Have you killed a man before?”

“Yes.”

She’d been about to bring the wine to her lips, but she dropped the glass down again. “Really?”

“Yes.” He’d killed two men three days ago. Not that she needed those details.

“And you would avenge my honor?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Slowly, she set down the glass on the mantel and then unlaced the chemise enough to pull her arm from the three-quarter sleeve.

He could see the marks on her chest, the ones that dipped below her neckline, lancing down the delicate flesh of her arm past her elbow.

He ached for her.

And the scars did nothing to change how he felt about her.

Crossing the room slowly, carefully, he reached behind her, removing her overskirts, before tugging at the laces of her corset.

She stood in nothing but her chemise and it was then that he leaned down, placing a light kiss on her raised angry flesh.

A small cry fell from her lips. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. I just…” A small sob fell from her lips.

He pulled her belly to his, holding her close as he kissed her again, a little higher, and then lower, right to the edge of her clothing.

He’d like nothing more than to pull the fabric away, assessing the totality of the damage, but for today, this was enough.

Instead, he trailed his lips over her shoulder and down her arm, keeping her close as he murmured soft words between the kisses.

Finally, her hands raised up to thread into his hair, her fingers clutching the strands like she was hanging onto a buoy.

He kept kissing.

Her head fell to his shoulder as she trembled in his arms. “I don’t regret the scars,” she whispered. “I don’t regret going in the building.”

“But you will hold yourself apart before you let anyone hurt you again.”

“Yes.”

He brushed the tip of his nose along her skin. “I understand.” He did. Completely. “Your bed looks ridiculously comfortable.”

“Caden.” His name on her lips held all kinds of warning. But she was calling him Caden again.

“It’s just sleep. I promise. I’ll only toss and turn in that room by myself.”

“Me too,” she sighed as she nodded against his shoulder.

He smiled against her skin. Because he was making progress. He just had to keep knocking down the very thick walls she’d built around her heart.