Page 17 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 17

A s Gabriel suspected, finding the painting supplies took very little time, and soon, both women were out in the garden, easels erect and palettes messily mixed in a myriad of paint shades. He took to the gazebo and had a small arrangement brought up from the kitchen, consisting mainly of seasonal fruits and cold slices of meat.

He sat with a cup of green tea, eyes drifting between his sweet sister and the little rabbit, their backs turned and fully concentrated on their canvases.

Charlotte took interest in a butterfly’s bush, her strokes quick and somewhat messy as she tried to capture the various insects fluttering about the flowers. Messy for now, perhaps, but Gabriel knew well that refinement came later, in the confines of her art studio. Minimal sound, minimal distraction; Charlotte worked best that way.

His attention then turned to Thalia, who was paying very little attention to the scenery and instead completing what looked to be a portrait. Gabriel recognized the background as the rookery in Whitechapel, the person of interest appearing to be slumped over in their chair, half-dressed in canvas slops and a thick apron.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he rose from his chair for an approach, ensuring to give ample warning as to not cause her brush to jump.

“A secret suitor of yours, Miss Sutton?”

Thalia glanced over her shoulder, a dab of gray paint having somehow made it onto her nose. He wanted nothing more than to brush his thumb across it, dragging his fingers down the length of her face and grasping her jaw to pull her in for a kiss. Instead, Gabriel focused on her painting, determined not to appear so desperate.

“Unless you’re worried my brother will woo me, your Grace,” Thalia chuckled lightly, “there’s no suitor here but yourself.”

Sure enough, as Gabriel inspected the weary man’s face, it did hold a likeness to the younger Sutton.

“What inspired such a somber scene, if I may ask?”

Thalia’s expression softened, her attention going back to the painting as she gently added layers of ashen gray to the foreground.

“He’d come home very late from toshing—I couldn’t rouse him for anything. And, the way he sat there, deep in sleep,” she shook her head, setting her brush aside to stare at the piece for herself. “I’d never seen him look so… so…”

“Vulnerable?”

Thalia’s eyes met Gabriel’s; he was surprised to find them so stern, so void of the softness he’d grown used to. “Exactly so.”

“That’s the curse of the eldest,” Gabriel offered. “Acutely aware of the pains our siblings are going through.”

“Yet, at times, unable to do anything more for them.” Thalia turned back to her painting, gently rubbing her hands clean on a stray cloth already stained from previous works. “Sometimes, I think about what might have been. The fate of Oslay, how much better it would be in Robin’s hands. If things had been different—if he were the true heir, and I the afterthought of some tryst–”

“Don’t say that,” Gabriel interjected, surprised at how harsh he sounded. “You are not an ‘afterthought’, Miss Sutton, regardless of life’s happenings.”

Thalia tilted her head, a weak chuckle escaping her lips. “You are a strange one, your Grace.”

Gabriel blinked; he wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant to say that aloud. Thalia must have realized it herself, because they quickly broke eye contact afterwards, her hands once more busied with her brushes. He watched her quietly for a moment, adding details and shading that further brought the painting to life.

“I understand that feeling, though,” he finally said. “That… desire, to put your own needs aside for the sake of your sibling. Bearing the weight of all the world’s horrors, and yet somehow, it still finds a way to sink its claws into them. That agony once they’re grown, once they learn for themselves…”

Thalia paused mid-stroke, shoulders stiffening. “It’s awful.”

Gabriel glanced toward his own sister, still in a frenzy of brush strokes. “You can appreciate why I’m concerned for my own sister’s well-being right now.”

“Then… you should talk to her, Your Grace. “

Infuriating. She knew very well what ailed Charlotte and refused to speak. Gabriel wished dearly he could take her to his office, sit her down, and interrogate her into submission.

He paused, his imagination briefly spiraling into thoughts of his hands pinning hers to the desk, their faces close enough to feel the hitch of her breath, and her neck fully exposed, pristine, eager for a claiming bite.

“I mean no disrespect, Your Grace,” Thalia added hastily afterward, breaking Gabriel free from his machinations. “Nor to heighten any anxieties you may have for your sister. It’s simply not my place to speak Charlotte’s mind.”

She gently added a stippling of color to the rookery’s walls, rinsing the paint in a small cup of water before utilizing a mixture of oranges and whites to paint more detail across Robin’s face. “She is feeling vulnerable right now, Your Grace. I admit, I had a hand stirring these feelings free from her, but more than anything…”

Gabriel found himself leaning on her every word. Even more infuriating.

“More than anything…” Thalia sighed lightly, giving him a pleading glance once more. “I think she would like you to listen to her.”

Her words stung briefly, hardier than any slap to the face he’d ever received from a woman. For a moment, Gabriel considered the request quite insolent, entirely unaware of the relationship he’d fostered so carefully with his sister. Charlotte had as many freedoms as he could allow her—she need not find a husband so desperately.

She could fill her days with horseback and running barefoot instead of more ladylike tasks—and yet this practical stranger claimed to know better? Prey indeed; this little rabbit deserved more than a bite to the neck. She deserved far worse for her presumptions.

But, no. There was no malice in Thalia’s eyes, no self-righteous lilt to her tone or a posture that suggested her to be holier-than-thou. The way she spoke, the way she practically begged; Gabriel realized she truly wished for nothing but the best for his sister.

Perhaps this was her way of repaying Charlotte for all her kindness shown, or perhaps this was simply the sort of person Thalia Sutton was. A little rabbit in a world filled with wolves, undaunted from changing her morals in the face of complete annihilation. And he would not join the scavengers who hoped to take advantage of, or misread, her intent.

He rested a hand gently against her shoulder before walking off, directly focused ahead on his sister. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Charlotte interrupted him.

“Don’t be cross with Thalia on my account, dear brother.”

Deflective. Audibly agitated. Somewhat truly was wrong. “Miss Sutton has done something to upset you,” Gabriel began.

Charlotte snorted, another flick of her brush creating a jagged line across her backdrop. Her shoulders remained still, her posture rigid, and she spoke with an increasing bite in her tone. “She was quite helpful, as a matter of fact. Once more, your taste in women has proved impeccable.”

Gabriel frowned, drawing closer to his sister’s side. “Charlotte.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling my own emotions, thank you.” A slight break in her voice, hastily covered by a flurry of movement. Charlotte attempted to dip her paintbrush in water, find a new brush to mix her paints with, catch the last sight of a monarch before it vanished into the brush—and instead, she found her wrist gently grasped by Gabirel’s hand, stopping her in mid-motion. “Let go.”

Gabriel remained still.

“Gabriel Harding, I’m not afraid to kick you where it hurts!” As if to prove a point, his sister’s leg struck out, though a step to the side easily kept him from harm. Her body was trembling now, her voice catching in what had to be the largest lump growing in the back of her throat.

“Charlotte.”

“Leave me alone, Gabriel!”

He shook his head, gently beginning to hum under his breath.

“What, do you think me a child having a tantrum?” Charlotte angrily spat, wrenching her arm free from his grasp. “That some stupid lullaby will magically make everything better?” She crossed her arms and stood before him, scowl deepening as the song persisted;

Hop, Little Rabbit, hurry home.

Through the tangling briars and nighttime’s gloam.

For a moment, her expression softened, a twitch of her brow betraying the hurt beneath her dark expression. “S-Stop.”

To your little rabbit’s burrow, deep in the ground

Where all is still, and safe, and sound.

Her arms uncrossed, and she furiously wiped at her face with the back of her hand. But she didn’t move to cross her arms again, didn’t stiffen her posture or try to turn away from her brother’s influence. She had every opportunity to leave, and she remained firmly in place.

Little Wolf howls against the moon

His lullaby singing, ‘Let’s play again, soon.’

“You know this part,” Gabriel said softly, holding out a hand. “Sing with me, Charlotte.”

Choking back tears, Charlotte’s stubborn streak soon wore itself down. With an irritable huff, she stomped across the field and practically headbutted into Gabriel’s chest, allowing his arms to fall over her body. He waited patiently, stroking her hair and humming the verses once more to himself, until finally, her wobbling voice met with his.

Little Wolf howls against the moon

His lullaby singing, ‘Let’s play again, soon.’

‘We’ll run through the meadow, beneath Orion’s star.’

For now, sleep soundly, wherever you are.

How long had it been since he’d sung that song? Gabriel continued to hum the tune gently, stroking his sister’s hair as she slowly began to let herself open up to him. Briefly, his eyes met with Thalia’s gaze, having long-since abandoned her portrait.

Her expression looked… relieved, radiating with a warm understanding only another eldest could fully comprehend. She then blinked, face reddening as she waved a servant toward her, indicating the cleanup of their art supplies before excusing herself with a neat curtsy.

And as she crossed the lawn and headed back inside, Gabriel made it his mission to hunt her down.

* * *

Thalia was glad she had left when she had. Once it became clear that the duke had taken her advice to heart, she watched him a mere moment more before slipping away. This wasn’t her moment to intrude upon, after all; she hardly wanted to take attention away from the Harding siblings.

Many hours passed, and she took to occupying herself in the library, wanting to give the pair as much space as she possibly could. She tried to busy herself with reading, exploring the shelves—Thalia even took to digging out the frog-eyed bust from behind the writing table. Staring at the duke’s ridiculous visage gave her a modicum of comfort, and still, her stomach twisted and soured. She had truly stuck her nose too far into their business, and for that, Thalia wondered if she should begin packing her things.

As she stood to do just that, though, a light knock came from the library’s door. Before she could answer, a gasp slipped out in its place, and Thalia found herself staring at the duke himself.

To say he was unreadable was a horrific understatement; his posture remained firm, his expression cool and unflinching. But the eyes entirely gave way to his true thoughts, and the man looked…tired. Hurt, perhaps, as he returned her gaze, but weary through and through.

He crossed the door’s threshold and closed it gently behind him. The room’s tension buzzed in Thalia’s ear, and it was all she could do not to completely tear her gloves apart.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found her tongue dry, her lips disconnected from her mind. And thus, she kept silent, unwilling to break away from her predator’s stare. To look away would mean certain doom; she was sure of it.

Finally, the duke spoke to her, his tone nearly as unreadable as the rest of him. “I’m not sure I’ve seen her so upset in quite some time.”

Thalia’s blood ran cold. This was it.

“She spoke quite in length about our… parents,” he continued, slowly making his way closer to Thalia, gaze unmoving. “Everything she had told you earlier this morning.”

“Y-Your Grace.”

“I won’t stand here and say my ego remained unaffected by all this,” the duke interrupted, “because that would be a lie. To think, my own sister—my last blood relative, for whom I have cared since our parents’ departure—shared such intimate and troubling thoughts with someone that isn’t—that she didn’t come to me at all without coaxing is simply—it’s…”

Thalia blinked, watching as the duke struggled with his words. It was… unnerving, to say the least, and his mouth eventually snapped shut in a frustrated grimace. He ran a hand through the length of his hair, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face briefly before being pushed away. Anger? Or, something more refined …irritation? Disappointment?

“Guilt,” Thalia murmured softly, unaware she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

The duke’s eyes widened, and the emotion fully encapsulated him. His posture hunched inward, his shoulders tensed terribly, and his face—no amount of rigidity could hide the ache he must have held deep in his heart.

“You’re… feeling guilty,” Thalia repeated, “Because Charlotte didn’t feel as if she could share those thoughts with you.”

He stared at her, long and hard; when was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut?

“I-I’m sorry, your Grace. That was completely out of line—I should have never interfered with your family’s business.” Thalia dipped her head low, bending down into an uncomfortably deep curtsy.

If she was lucky, he would forgive her for her insolence. He would allow her time to pack; the dignity of walking out of the estate on her own two feet instead of being escorted out like a common criminal.

She listened to the thud of his footsteps, his shoes appearing in her field of view. From the corner of her eye, Thalia could barely perceive movement from his arm, and her wrist ached terribly. She squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting the oncoming sting of a slap, the squeeze of a hand around her arm, her neck, her–

–chin.

His hand barely even held against it, a brush of fingers coaxing Thalia to tilt her head upward and stare into his eyes properly. His expression was unexpectedly soft, for someone handling a busybody troublemaker such as her.

If Thalia were feeling courageous—and she was uncertain if she had any courage left, at this point—she might have assumed the duke was quite close to tearing up. That he, perhaps, was feeling quite… quite…

“Vulnerable.”

Once more, she hardly registered the audibility of her comment. And, once more, the duke hardly seemed to notice her audacious remark. He seemed far more interested in peering well past the depths of her eyes, giving Thalia a chance to explore his own as well.

Dark, yes, but their complexity was noted for the first time. The duke’s eyes weren’t simply “dark”, but shades of umber mixed with sepia. They were wet sand dyed by midnight’s embrace, the oldest bark in an ancient grove, rough earth hewn, and speckled with flecks of gold.

Her hand brushed against his cheek, lingering far longer than she expected. His skin felt rough, the barest prickle of facial hair sending a tingle of nerves up the length of her arm.

The urge to lean in closer, to observe those eyes with everything she had, pulled Thalia’s face inward, their noses a hair’s breadth away. She was warm all over, acutely aware that the duke’s arm had settled around her waist at some point.

His hand slipped down her neck and pressed lightly between her shoulder blades. For all intents and purposes, he was holding her completely upright, her legs limp and useless beneath her body’s weight.

Something small kept her at a distance. Memories of her room that first evening, of their stolen kiss and the gut-wrenching shame that followed. It flooded the corners of her mind, freezing the last bit of her core as it tried to melt into the duke’s grasp entirely.

Her free hand lifted from her side, attempting to grasp some part of him, to push herself free and not place the man in a compromising position. It failed, of course, lingering against his shoulder as her other arm followed suit; she had secured herself around his neck, and briefly, she was in panic.

At least, until the duke caught her lips with a kiss of his own.