Page 13 of The Blind Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Annette woke from a fitful night’s sleep possibly more tired than she was before.

All night long she’d dreamed of memories from when she’d lived her life with her first husband as well as recollections of the kisses she’d shared with the Duke of Masterson.

As much as she’d loved and adored Timothy and the life they’d led together, there was something compelling and interesting about her new husband that she couldn’t deny.

And therein lay the problem.

Fear was a constant companion, as real to her as if it had grown into a real being.

What if she allowed herself to care for Peregrine and the same thing happened to him that happened to her first husband?

Or what if he died differently? She wasn’t strong enough to be a widow twice, to grieve again, to lose everything again.

The first time almost killed her, and even now, she was a broken shell of the woman she used to be.

A knock at the door that adjoined her dressing room sounded overly loud in the silence of her bed chamber.

“My lady, do you require assistance in dressing?”

A faint smile curved Annette’s lips, for the young girl with the pretty blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. The maid was as determined as she was stubborn. “That would be lovely. Thank you.” But she still didn’t plan on removing from her suite.

When the door opened, Annette slipped from the luxuriously comfortable bed.

In fact, the whole suite was quite lush and expensive, but not in an excessive or lavish way.

It had been tastefully decorated in the colors she’d spied the night before, and the fabrics of the bedclothes were so soft and refreshing against her skin.

The feather pillows had been like sleeping on clouds, and though slumber had been elusive, having a comfortable place to lay her head made her self-imposed exile moderately better.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Molly said as Annette made her way behind the silken privacy screen painted with a peaceful lakeside scene in an Oriental style. “Uh, do you plan to leave your suite today?”

“I do not. Thank you.” The very thought of doing so sent icy fear twisting down her spine. In silence, she did the necessary then moved to the wash basin and splashed the cool water on her face to help wake her up a bit more strongly.

“Shall I order you a breakfast tray?”

“In a bit.” As she spoke, a rumble went through Annette’s belly, for it seemed a lifetime ago when she’d eaten the dinner brought up.

She followed Molly into the dressing room.

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter what I wear today since I won’t be seeing anyone.

” Thank goodness her belongings had been brought over from her parents’ house, so there were plenty of books available, sketching pads, as well as her paints and canvases should she wish to fill her days with such pursuits.

“You will feel better once you’re properly dressed, and from what Mrs. Rankin, the housekeeper, told me, His Grace has scheduled time later in the week for you to meet with a modiste.

She is one of the most expensive in London, so that means the gowns and things you’ll receive from her will be quite beautiful. ”

“Oh, that is too much trouble to go through on my behalf.” The dressing room doubled as a sitting room, with cheerful furniture of a rich walnut wood and upholstery of light pink and moss-green brocade shot with gold thread.

“I don’t need more new gowns. The ones I currently own haven’t been worn yet. ”

Much to her parents’ displeasure.

“But, my lady, you are a duchess now, and His Grace wishes to give you everything you could ever desire. Why not let him pamper you?”

Why indeed.

“It is difficult to explain, even to myself.” Too tired to protest when Molly began the process of the toilette, Annette let her mind wander to her ducal husband.

There was no denying the man was quite striking to the eye, but she didn’t like that he continued to disparage himself due to his lack of sight.

Being able to see didn’t make a man good or bad; it simply…

was, and from all she’d learned of the duke, he possessed a lovely sense of humor as well as patience. Both traits she appreciated from a man.

Yet could she allow herself to bring down the much-needed barriers to enjoy perhaps a friendship with him? It was a tall order, for friendship meant some measure of fondness, of loaning out a piece of her heart for that endeavor, and that meant the ability to be hurt again.

I am simply not strong enough for that.

Instead of talking about herself, Annette posed a question to her maid. “How long have you been in His Grace’s employ?”

As Molly assisted her into a shift of fine lawn then a petticoat of the same embroidered with sweet tulips and vines on the hem, she smiled. “About a year. All his staff are extremely pleasant and congenial. We had hoped he might marry sooner, but he didn’t seem inclined.”

Annette nodded while the stays were laced. “Has he had mistresses over the years?” It was a valid question, and not prying.

“If he has, I haven’t seen that evidence.

” The maid shrugged. “Men have needs, of course, but His Grace is quite discreet. Perhaps he visited a mistress elsewhere, but he has never brought a woman into this house. The only people who visit are his friends, and though they treat him with respect due to his lack of sight, they also joke and tease because they are his friends. The duke needs more of that.”

“It must be a lonely endeavor at times to have no one for his own and to be forever in the darkness.”

“I wouldn’t know, my lady.” Molly then helped her on with a pretty dress of lavender cotton with stripes of stamped trailing vines on the skirt. “He keeps largely to himself, but I do know he’s worried about your health and well-being.” She nodded. “We all are.”

“Is that due to caring about me in general of because the staff have, for so long, wanted His Grace to wed to improve his well-being in particular?”

The maid shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” She blew out a breath as Molly led her over to a dressing table, where she sat on a cushioned bench and submitted to having her hair brushed.

At least he hadn’t ordered her from her suite and hadn’t demanded that he join her for conversation or anything beyond that.

Since they’d not discussed what each of them had wanted from the union, she assumed the duke wished for everything a marriage—regardless of how it had come about—contained.

“I don’t know how long it will take for me to gather the courage to leave these rooms. But to be fair, I have been like this for a few years. It isn’t the duke’s fault.”

The maid didn’t answer, but there was doubt in her eyes as she attended to Annette’s tresses.

It didn’t matter what anyone thought. This was how she felt, and while it was a lonely prospect as was being blind—perhaps—she didn’t know how to act in a different way, for the alternative was far too frightening.

Especially in light of how the two kisses they’d shared had awakened the familiar but largely foreign need inside her for a more intimate connection with the duke.

A couple of hours later, a knock on her bedchamber door sent apprehension through her chest. She had eaten breakfast on a tray in her sitting area after she’d finished with dressing, but despite the curiosity for exploring her new home, terror kept her rooted to what was more familiar.

And safe.

“Annette? Won’t you please come out of your rooms?” The hope in the duke’s voice had hot guilt building in her chest.

“No.” A waver set up in her tone, even in the one-word answer. “There are far too many ways I could meet danger, and in here, I am safe. From everything.”

Why am I like this?

“Very well. I will sit outside your door like I did yesterday, and we can just talk.”

Once more, she was astounded that he didn’t use the weight of his title or his right as a husband to demand she come out of her room.

Perhaps, in time, she would come to trust him—beyond giving him permission to kiss her—but it was a process, and from experience, she didn’t know how long it would take.

Did the staff even now talk badly about her, proclaim her too damaged to be his duchess?

She didn’t know, and if they were, there was nothing she could do about it.

“Thank you.” As relief surged through her veins, Annette sank onto the floor on her side of the door and rested her back against the wooden panel. “I appreciate your patience so much.”

“It is the least I can do.” The steady strength of his voice reached her through the door and sounded low enough that she assumed he sat on the floor instead of in the chair from last night. “Shall I tell you of how I injured my leg?”

“Yes. I assumed you used the cane to navigate about.” There was such freedom in conversing with him like this, for there was low risk for her.

“Oh, I use it for that as well.” Humor wove through his tone. “Since I lost my sight at the age of twenty, I was unable to take part in the war like so many of my friends and acquaintances.”

“Then what happened?”

“Lack of agility, really.” He chuckled, and the rich sound tickled through her chest. “In learning how to navigate about my own townhouse the first year I was blind, I missed a few steps, and ended up tumbling tip over tail down the remaining treads. It was embarrassing, of course, and resulted in me breaking my left ankle. That took ages to heal, and even then, there is still a bit of phantom pain, and the mobility never returned fully like it was before.”

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” The stark honesty in his story connected deeply with her. “That must have exacerbated your loneliness when you were forced to stop walking for a time.” Conversing with him like this wasn’t nearly as frightening as doing so in person.