Page 8 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 8

T he roses really were quite lovely. They came in a wide variety of colors, and Thalia suspected it had been the supplier for Orion’s Hunt. But it was difficult to truly enjoy the sights, as she was far more fixated on Louise.

They’d been walking for mere minutes, drawing farther and farther from Charlotte and the gazebo, and Louise hadn’t spoken a single word. Thalia hadn’t either, but she hadn’t known what to say. She was certain she knew why she’d been chosen on this walk; it was only a matter of waiting for the metaphorical dam to break.

Finally, when they had put a good distance between themselves and the gazebo, Louise finally spoke. “You were the woman in the infirmary, weren’t you? During Orion’s Hunt; you were being tended to by Gabriel.”

There was no use in lying. Thalia nodded sheepishly. The pair drew to a stop before a long wooden bench, and Louise took a seat. Thalia followed suit, gloved hands wringing in her lap, and waited for the inevitable scolding.

“Are you alright, Thalia?” Louise gently took her splinted hand, cradling her wrist with genuine concern in her tone. “It wasn’t Gabriel who did this, was it?”

“Wh-what?!” Thalia sputtered, completely taken off balance. “Oh, gracious, no! He—he really was helping me, Your Grace.”

Louise’s expression was so warm, so inviting. “Refer to me by my name, please. I would like to think we can become friends.”

Thalia nodded, her ravaged nerves beginning to ease.

“That’s good to hear, though.” Louise released her hold, hands returning to her side. “My husband adores the man, but Gabriel has always been…” she paused, her lips pursed. “Well…I hadn’t expected to see such a private man in such a delicate situation. He’s not exactly known for his caring demeanor.”

That didn’t entirely surprise Thalia. And yet, everything she’d seen from the duke suggested otherwise. He wasn’t overly emotional, certainly, but the man did seem surprisingly open.

“I’m just saying that, if Gabriel has put you in an awkward position–” Louise began.

Thalia quickly shook her head, offering as reassuring a smile as she could. “On the contrary, he’s working to help me out of such a position. The mere fact that I’m no longer forced to be in Whitechapel is… is…” She blinked, then blinked furiously, surprised to suddenly find herself in tears.

“Oh, Thalia…” Louise offered her hand, and Thalia quickly took it, squeezing tightly as horrible shudders overtook her body. “You are safe here.” She gestured a hand, calling one of the gardeners to their side. “Why don’t you excuse yourself to your chambers? I’ll let Charlotte know you’re feeling unwell. The staff can escort you, and if you’d like, there’s a beautiful selection of scented oils for baths. I enjoyed one just the other day; the Hardings are quite renowned for their scents.”

Briefly, the smoky earth-scent of Gabriel overtook Thalia, pulling more tears from her eyes. “I-I couldn’t.”

“You absolutely could,” Louise insisted. “And you shall. Don’t fret; Charlotte may be young, but she is ever the gracious hostess. Besides,” she added, setting a hand gently against her bump. “She’ll hardly argue with a woman in my condition, and you shouldn’t either.”

That got a wobbly laugh from Thalia. Wiping her face, she finally relented and stood, giving a deep curtsy to Louise. “Thank you so much, Your Grace—ah, I mean, Louise.”

She offered that same, warming smile back. “Of course, Thalia. Take as much time to yourself as you need.”

* * *

She had forgotten how grand a room could be. As the waitstaff drew her bedroom door open, Thalia almost collapsed beneath the weight of her frame, gobsmacked by the size of it all. It easily filled the space of half of Robin’s rookery, decorated in beautiful cool colors of rich blue and faded lavender.

The sweet, almost woody scent of the aforementioned flower stood tall in a number of vases, intermingled with floral notes of jasmine and peace lilies. Thalia immediately found herself drawn to the king-size mattress, its plush comforter and array of soft pillows looking ever so inviting.

“Let us know if you need anything, Miss.” The maid gave a quick curtsy and gently closed the door behind her, leaving Thalia to bask in the vastness of it all. Her eyes stretched around the room, finally settling on her small collection of suitcases and wrapped frames brought over from Whitechapel.

Her belongings seemed so…insignificant, in comparison. With a gentle sigh, Thalia moved towards her things and began to unpack, feeling the need to tidy up a small amount before she explored the lavatory. Such a nice room deserved to remain nice, after all.

Suddenly, a knock came from her door, and she quickly stood upright. “Come in!” Much to her surprise, it was Gabriel Harding who appeared on the other side, and she quickly offered a curtsy. “Oh, Your Grace! Please, come in. I apologize for the mess; it seems my things from Whitechapel arrived without my knowing.”

The duke’s eyes immediately fixated on her small pile, and Thalia resisted the urge to block his view. “Yes, the footmen informed me a few minutes ago. I wanted to ensure nothing had been lost or damaged on the trip over. We’ll be taking a trip into town soon enough, in case anything needs replacing.”

“Oh.” Thalia’s face flushed, and she quickly nodded her thanks. “That’s very kind of you, Your Grace, but hardly necessary. Everything seems in perfect order. Thank you kindly again.” Silence hung between them, and Thalia couldn’t help but offer a nervous grin. “Um…would you like to see for yourself, Your Grace?”

He didn’t offer a reply, but did move towards her collection. Slowly, methodically, the duke began to unwrap frames and gingerly open suitcases, immediately abandoning them if any sign of cloth or clothing hid within. His attention turned to a pair of large canvases propped against the wall, and nerves knotted in Thalia’s stomach. “Th-those are mine,” she quickly offered. “My own—well, of course they are, but I meant to say–”

“You paint?”

Thalia nodded, biting her lip. “They’re… not very good. Or finished. It’s hard to find the time, as of late.”

The duke nodded, moving back towards her suitcases once more. Slowly, he opened a few latches filled with knick-knacks and personals, taking a particular interest in her collection of books. He held them aloft with great respect, glancing along the spine curiously. “ The Romance of the Forest , hmm?”

Now Thalia’s neck felt hot. “It… it was my mother’s.”

The duke set the book gently atop the pile. “I have my own copy in my study, though I find poetry easier to read during my busy schedule.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a fan of John Donne’s work myself.” The duke finished perusing her books, his gaze now fixed directly on her. “Tell me, have you read The Flea ?”

Thalia had not been expecting a literary discussion when she first entered her room, and she certainly hadn’t expected one from the duke. She drew towards her belongings, taking a book in hand as some excuse to do…something, she supposed. “I’m afraid I haven’t, Your Grace.”

He seemed pleased with her response, and cleared his throat lightly.

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which though deniest me is;

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be

The duke paused, seemingly gauging Thalia for her reaction. “It’s one of my personal favorites. I wonder… if you could deduce why that is?”

It was worded like a challenge, but not one Thalia was so eager to take on. Still, it felt rude to simply brush past his question, and Thalia set her book to the side, kneeling down to collect a few dresses from one of the abandoned suitcases. “It’s… a unique poem, certainly. And you yourself seem drawn to unique things, Your Grace.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched him draw closer to her side. “Do you consider yourself unique, Miss Sutton?”

Briefly, her breath caught in her chest, and she forced it out as nervous laughter. “I would say I’ve had unique circumstances, though in the whole of London, I would consider myself quite average.”

She moved to put her dress away, her skin tingling as the duke’s hand found hers. The splinted one, precisely, and he held it with just the right amount of tenderness and restraint. He wanted her to stay, but not if it injured her further.

“Do… you see me as wholly unique, Your Grace?”

* * *

He did. Gabriel Harding did, and he was not willing to admit as much to himself, let alone aloud for Thalia to hear. Oh, he’d had women come and go in his life, hunted and pleasured dozens far above Thalia’s own stature.

Yet this woman who stood before him—dress in arm and green eyes so wide and desiring more than life had offered her—was so inexplicably different. The urge to pull her close, to devour her there and then, was almost inescapable, and Gabriel fought to keep himself under control.

There was nothing outwardly alluring—typically alluring—at any rate. Her dress was rather modest, her hair done up in a typical manner and powder practically non-existent.

But all of this only served to accent what made her so desirable; the curve of her waist, the grace of her stance, the warmth and optimistic gleam that hid buried deep within her expressive face.

Even the way her lips pursed—the way she looked questioningly at him now, as if waiting for him to make the next move. A little rabbit, familiar with carefully watching the wolves life had sent after her.

Gabriel gently tugged against her hand, and to his delight, she pulled closer. He cradled her splinted wrist, fully taking it in under the guise of careful inspection. “This is healing well, then?”

Thalia nodded, the scent of sunshine bouncing off her curls and infecting Gabriel’s mind. “Thank you again for helping. You really didn’t need to.”

Oh, but he would do so much more to help. Gabriel was ready to destroy any standing Giles Tilbury hoped to have among high society, and to his utter bemusement, he still hadn’t a proper reason as to why. Deep down, he had an inkling, and deep down, he suspected Robin had guessed it as well.

What are your intentions with my sister?

Gabriel gently placed a kiss against her bandaged knuckle, gaze rising to meet Thalia’s. “Such matters aren’t your concern anymore, little rabbit.”

“B-but…”

“Consider this time for you to recover,” Gabriel added. “So I may have the chance to catch you properly. Prey is hardly worth the chase if it is injured, after all.”

There—he could feel the pleasant shiver running up from her fingertips and traveling the length of her hand, sending her cheeks into a bright flush.

Gabriel stood upright, daring to pull Thalia even closer to his person, and she obliged. He inspected her face, the roundness of her cheeks and fullness of her lips, and he wondered what part of her body would taste the most divine. “What are you thinking about?”

Thalia looked as if he’d just asked her a wholly intimate question. “Th-Thinking, your Grace?”

He nodded slowly, a bemused smile crossing his face. “Such a unique woman must have such a unique outlook on life.” Closer; he dared to inch closer, their noses but a hair’s breadth from each other. If he wanted to, he could tilt his head and nip the lobe of her ear. But, whispering would suffice, and given the visible shiver running the length of her back, she seemed equally as taken by his act.

“I-I…” she leaned away, their eyes meeting once more as she dared a slight furrow of her brow. “I recall the exact phrasing being ‘strange’.”

“Was it, now?”

Thalia nodded weakly. “I was… a strange woman, with a strange mind.”

Gabriel chuckled deeply, lips barely brushing against Thalia’s; a gentle test, the first bite to see if she was fully alert. Warmth flooded his body as she leaned in for more, and of course, he was more than willing to give it.

* * *

What was she doing? What was she doing ?! Thalia should’ve pulled away—she shouldn’t have allowed for a kiss to begin with. There were so many emotions running through her upon arriving at Stonewell manor, and she hadn’t expected them to come at her so violently.

She assumed her room could have been the place to let said feelings out, but then the duke came, and the way he spoke to her, drew close to her, touched her hand and pulled her closer while talking about… about…!

She had to pull away. She had to stop, but she found herself unable to. The duke tasted of smoke, of the outdoors, and his hands settled so perfectly against the curve of her hip. And—and he was leaning into it, grasping at her, trying to discover every inch of her being through the use of his hands or the taste of his tongue.

Her imagination flew past her, reminiscing the sensations she felt during Orion’s Hunt; Thalia wanted nothing more than for him to take her to the ground, pin her beneath his body and restrain her like…like…

Suddenly, he pulled away, and Thalia found herself dizzy. His arms remained around her, keeping her balanced, and he scrutinized her with those beautiful, all-reaching eyes.

Deep and dark, like the forbidden reaches of a forest, prowling with predators far too dangerous for someone like her. And yet, she was leaning, pressing against his chest, hoping for another taste. A bite, she mused, facing burning hot and core positively melting.

But, he was right to move away. He was of far saner mind than she, and Thalia pulled away completely, her hand brushing curls of hair behind her ear. “I… I…should take a bath. I mean, I wanted to… that was my original intent. For coming up here.”

A look crossed the duke’s face, and Thalia swore he wanted to suggest he join her. But, no, he had proven himself an honest man, and she was simply imparting her own beliefs. Her own twisted desires, corrupted by the stress and hardship she’d faced the last month or so.

The duke eventually nodded and started towards the door, offering a glance over his shoulder as his hand grasped the knob. Gracious, but if his hands were only grasping—Thalia shook her head furiously, fighting to pay attention to the buttons on his vest. Anything but his face, the expression of polite disgust he was likely to be wearing.

“I would suggest the bottle of ‘Chamomile Dream’, Miss Sutton. It helps one settle the mind,” he suggested.

Thalia nodded furiously, offering a low, long curtsy that she didn’t break until her door clicked shut. She listened intently for the duke’s footsteps, and as soon as they faded away, her legs gave out completely, and she collapsed in a disparaging state.

D-Did I just kiss the Duke of Stonewell?!