Page 15 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 15

G abriel wasn’t surprised to find himself alone at Stonewell after his business with Christian finished. Knowing his sister, Charlotte would keep their guest out and about as long as possible, delaying the purchase of her Season event dress as well. He chuckled lightly, imagining poor Thalia being pulled by the arm between each shop.

His mind drifted back to her small collection of simple dresses, and he reminded himself to ensure she had proper attire for Charlotte’s up-and-coming ball. That was, unless Charlotte had already bought out an entire store’s worth of inventory for her guest.

He traveled through the manor’s first floor, coming across the head butler and requesting they visit the kitchen to inform them about dinner preparations. “On that note,” he added before the server could turn his back. “How did Mr. Sutton enjoy his day alone at Stonewell? I assume you kept him out of trouble?”

“Absolutely, Your Grace,” the butler said. “He actually spent very little time within the manor’s walls.”

“Is that so?”

His butler nodded curtly. “He requested a small breakfast and a packed meal for the road, Your Grace. Spoke of visiting family today, if I recall.”

Gabriel repressed the urge to grin; then Robin had chosen today to ‘visit’ Oslay Hall. Whether he had spent his time staking out the grounds, or acted boldly and broken in already, Gabriel couldn’t rightly say. But, given how Giles had seemed mostly on an even keel at the warehouse, Robin certainly hadn’t been caught.

Or news of his capture hadn’t reached the ears of the owner just yet.

“If you hear word of Mr. Sutton’s return, request he meets me in my personal study. Have the kitchen send a small plate of dinner that way as well, if you please.”

“With haste, Your Grace.” With a curt bow, his butler made his way down the hall, leaving Gabriel to make his own way towards his study. Then, suddenly, his butler’s voice called out once more. “Oh, Your Grace? I forgot to mention Miss Sutton’s early return; she took her dinner to the dining hall and is likely still there.”

Immediately, Gabriel spun on his heels, his interest piqued. “How did she seem?”

“She mentioned feeling under the weather, Your Grace,” his butler said. “And requested a light dinner of soup.”

Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. “Have dinner sent to the dining hall instead; I’d like to check in on our guest.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

* * *

Sure enough, as Gabriel entered the dining hall, he immediately spotted Thalia near the front of the table. She sat in the same seat as the night before, delicately sipping a cup of tea with a small book in hand, half a bowl’s worth of soup and a slice of crusted bread seemingly abandoned before her.

Much to his surprise, she had changed out of her olive dress and into a nightgown, a robe tucked under her chin while her hair laid flowing well past her waist.

Gracious, but it really was as majestic as he hoped it would be, still damp and curled from the bath she must have taken upon arriving home. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, intermingling with the light smell of smoke from the crackling fireplace nearby.

“A touch early to be preparing for sleep, don’t you think?” Gabriel asked.

Thalia gasped, quickly setting the book against the table as she rose to curtsy. “Y-Your Grace! I’m terribly sorry; I didn’t hear you come in.”

Gabriel allowed himself a soft chuckle, approaching Thalia’s seat with a curious glance towards the book. “ Poems of John Donne ...” He leaned over her shoulder, giving her a sidelong glance. “Looks like my personal copy, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the maids offered it to me,” Thalia quickly explained. “I wasn’t entirely sure where the library was, and she mentioned she knew where…” She shook her head, offering the book Gabriel’s way. “Forgive her, won’t you? If anything, it’s my fault she felt the need to rummage in your personal collection.”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

Thalia paused, then nodded gently. “I haven’t… quite reached The Flea just yet.”

“Then you must hold onto it. Make it worth the maid’s bold act.”

Gabriel pressed the book against Thalia’s chest, fully insistent on the matter. It was hard to ignore the firmness of her bosom, how a mere collection of pages were all that separated them, and… he quickly distracted himself with a new topic of conversation. “I heard you managed to free yourself from my sister’s grasp? Quite a feat, if I do say so myself.”

Thalia offered a nervous smile in reply. “She seemed awfully upset, but ever the gracious hostess. And,” she added quickly. “Miss Louise was very insistent on her purchasing a gown for the Season.”

He nodded, noting the pallid look of her face. “And… you’re feeling better, now?”

Thalia blinked, clearly confused.

“The butler mentioned your early return was due to poor health.”

“O-oh.” Thalia’s gaze tilted towards the soup, hands wringing in her lap. “Yes, I… I felt a bit overwhelmed, being in public for so long. I suppose I’ve forgotten how much it takes out of me.”

The desire to gather her in his arms, to push the rest of the world out and protect her fragile heart, intensely thrummed in Gabriel’s chest. Little rabbit indeed; she was in desperate need of a distraction, it seemed. “So you don’t get my staff in any further trouble, little rabbit,” Gabriel offered his hand, “Shall I show you where the library is?”

“A-are you sure?” Thalia asked, attention fixated on Gabriel completely. “I would hate to intrude on your evening, Your Grace.”

“I’ll decide what—or who—is intruding on my evening. Besides,” he added with a smirk. “You have yet the pleasure to witness my sister’s sculpting era.”

Thalia’s eyes widened, a bright smile crossing her face. “You actually kept her works, then?”

“Suppose you’ll have to come and see for yourself, little rabbit.”

* * *

True to his word, the duke had, in fact, kept many of his sister’s attempts. Thalia wandered the halls of Stonewell at his side, marveling at the many lopsided vases filled with freshly-cut flowers, or small sculpts of beasts she rightly couldn’t put names to.

All the while, Gabriel fed her interesting tidbits about not just Charlotte’s art, but the framed pictures or crown moldings along the corners of the hallway. There was so much character in each room he took her to; Thalia could feel pride radiating off the duke with each new discovery.

That wasn’t all she could feel, of course; every so often, his hand might find hers and direct her through a doorway, and that brief connection caused her heart to flutter. His scent was ever-present, even after they’d separated and kept a polite distance from each other. Smoke and wood; the outdoors in its rawest state.

“Did you really keep that frog-faced bust?” Thalia suddenly asked. “Or is that something you simply like to torture your sweet sister with?”

The duke gave her a faint, if not mischievous grin, and led Thalia down the closest corridor. After a few more twists and turns, the pair ended up standing before a massive oak door, carved in beautiful detail and stained a brilliant dark shade.

The duke grasped the knob and pushed inward, revealing a dimly lit room filled wall-to-wall in shelved books. Thalia’s gaze tilted upward, catching the night sky through a glimmering glass dome.

“Oh, my… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this.”

“You’ll never see something like this, either.”

Her attention turned, suddenly aware that the duke had left her side. He moved across the library briskly, approaching what seemed to be a writing desk propped against the wall; there was barely any space for the chair to fit. With a quick and easy shove, he turned the desk sideways and slipped beneath, producing a small bust cradled in his arms.

Thalia blinked, laughter bubbling out from her chest. It really did look like a frog—his eyes bulged out from the squashed features of his head, and his lips were stretched entirely too long across his face.

“It’s uncanny, isn’t it?” the duke asked.

“It truly is!” Thalia laughed. “How on earth has she not found it yet?”

The duke returned the bust beneath the writing desk, pushing it back into place. “My dear sister is interested in a great number of things, but books are entirely too stationary of a task.” He leaned against the desk, the faintest traces of a smile crossing his face. “She’d always tell me that living the adventure was far more interesting than reading about it.”

“That certainly sounds like her,” Thalia said. “Whomever manages to catch her eye will be a lucky man, indeed.”

“ Luck will have nothing to do with it,” the duke insisted. “It shall be she who pursues him, mark my words. Whomever the man is, she will hunt him down to the ends of the earth, regardless of the obstacles.”

“Just like her brother would?”

Another mischievous glint passed his eye, and Thalia felt her core positively melt. “She had to have learned it somewhere.”

Thalia chuckled lightly, glancing back toward the bookshelf with feigned interest. There were certainly a number of titles that caught her eye— The Mysteries of Udolpho, Mansfield Park —though she was surprised to spot a particular book partially pulled from its place. “ Pride and Prejudice , Your Grace?”

The duke offered a light shrug. “I’d hardly be considered a proper connoisseur of literature without Jane Austen’s works among my collection.”

“I mean no disrespect—I quite enjoyed her work myself, back in Oslay Hall.” Thalia eased the book back into its place, offering the duke a sincere smile. “I’m just… surprised to see it looking so well loved. Romance didn’t strike me as an interest that took you.”

“Truth be told…” It was the first time Thalia saw the duke hesitate in anything he did, let alone during conversation. He exhaled loudly, crossing the room before slipping the book back out from its place. “It’s my mother’s favorite. This is likely her personal copy.”

As if to prove his point, he opened the book and flipped through a few dog-eared pages; Thalia immediately took note of the hand-written annotations along the page’s borders.

Immediately, it became strange to her that such a cherished memento would be put in such a public place. Not stored away safely to reminisce, but be fully exposed to whatever damage other hands may have wrought on it. Thalia frowned, wanting to ask about it, but the duke seemed lost in his conversation; she hardly wished to interrupt.

“She often enjoyed telling me stories around this book,” the duke continued, his expression clearly in a place of reminiscence. “How she often carried it like a security blanket during schooling, how she tried to emulate the titular heroine herself.”

He flipped through a few more pages, pressed flowers tucked between little snippets of writing. Thalia noted the stark difference in penmanship, the flirtatious language used.

“Are these notes…?” she dared to ask.

The duke closed the book, gently returning it to its place. “My father’s handwriting. Yes, it is.”

Thalia recalled the horrid tension after Charlotte dared to mention their paternal figurehead. And yet, the atmosphere now only seemed heavy with regret, a bitter sadness she could practically taste on her tongue. The duke looked at the book with equal parts disgust and longing, as if some good memory still lodged itself within its painful existence. “Your Grace,”

“But the past is the past,” the duke spoke curtly, ending whatever conversation they might have had in its place.

“My mother ensured it stayed as such.” He glanced to Thalia, stone walls once more built between them. “I must excuse myself, Miss Sutton. There’s business I need to attend to this evening, and I hardly wish to impede on yours.”

Thalia bit her tongue, a coppery tang of disappointment coating it as she watched the duke leave. Briefly, she outstretched her arm, splint catching against the moonlight from the skyline above, and she grasped hopelessly at the air where he once stood.

“I should decide that for myself,” she murmured softly as the library door swung shut. “Shouldn’t I?”