“It is still dark. But a little shorter than you remember. Short of my shoulders these days and with a curl,” Gemma replied.
It was a risk if Emily’s appearance had been described to the Duke. But he could verify her words easily enough by touching her hair. So there was little point in lying. The Duke raised a hand as though to touch her, but then let it fall. Gemma clamped her teeth closed around a gasp at that aborted movement. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms and legs at the nearness of her naked body that had come within his touch. Giddy with wanton abandon, she turned, raising her arms above her head like a ballerina. A sighted man would have been treated to her naked back, calves, and derriere. The fact that he could not see the intimacy she was granting him made her almost delirious with excitement.
If he stumbles now, his body will touch mine and he will know I have been naked before him the entire time. How would he react? With lust or shame?
“Very good. Our visitors are in the west wing, the opposite side of the castle to this. There need be no contact with them, if you do not desire it. And I would recommend not.”
Gemma nodded, then remembered to whom she was nodding. “Yes. Thank you,” she said.
A quizzical expression creased the Duke’s face. Then he shrugged. Gemma berated herself for the slip. Emily Carlisle would have no reason to be grateful. The men had nothing to do with her.
I must be more careful. As soon as he is gone, I will take some clothes and perhaps some food from the kitchens and make my escape.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Upon bidding the Duke a goodnight on the threshold of her chambers, Gemma closed the door and waited. After a moment, she walked through the antechamber, dressing room, and into the bedchamber, remembering how excellent the Duke’s hearing was. Excellent enough to tell if she were standing on just the other side of the door. Taking off her shoes, she returned to the outer door, stepping with utmost care so as to be as silent as possible. She felt as though she were in a trap, its steel teeth closing about her. With her cousins staying within the castle, there was no way she could bring herself to stay. The risk was too great.
Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for any sign that the Duke remained. Her heart hammered within her chest and she found herself hoping that he had. She wanted to fling open the door and confess everything to him, again. This time, the instinct was even harder to put aside than it had been previously. She swallowed, resting her forehead against the door, and counting slowly to ten. It had been a strategy she had devised to stop herself when an impulse had her by the throat. And it often worked, enabling her to bring to mind the potential consequences and re-think. Of course, the trick was remembering to stop and count in the first place.
At ten, she had the impulse to fling herself upon the Duke’s mercy under control. She slowly opened the door and peered into the dim hallway. There was no sign of him. She closed it again and stood with her back to it. Fatigue was tugging at her limbs and making her eyes heavy. Suddenly, it was draping itself over her like a blanket. She stood away from the door and shook herself, returning to the bedchamber and, while holding back her hair, put her face into the cold water of her wash basin. After long seconds, she lifted her head out, gasping from the frigid water and wiping at her face with a hand.
I cannot afford to become sleepy now. If I sleep, I may miss the opportunity to escape. Tomorrow, the real Emily Carlisle is expected. I must be away before she arrives.
Going to the wardrobe, she took out a number of the more practical dresses and a sturdy pair of shoes. Finding a cape, she turned a spare dress, night dress, and stockings in its center after spreading it on the bed. Then she tied the corners together to make a bundle that could be carried. Finally, sitting on the edge of the bed, she yawned.
I have a long journey ahead of me. A lot of walking, particularly as I do not know precisely what road to take. I only have a vague direction in mind. I could steal some food and drink from the kitchen to sustain me but what good if I am slowed so much on the road by fatigue that I am overtaken and caught?
She lay back on the bed, keeping her feet on the floor so as to not be too comfortable.
A little while cannot hurt. And it will ensure that the entire house is asleep, servants as well. If I keep myself a little uncomfortable, I should not sleep too deeply.
* * *
Gemma ran through the woods. Behind her, the baying of the hounds was growing steadily closer. She risked a look over her shoulder and saw their monstrous silhouettes against the lanterns carried by her pursuers. The hounds leaped and plunged, muzzles occasionally raised skyward as though taking up her scent from the air. No matter how hard she ran, she could not gain any ground. Tree roots and rocks caught her feet. Branches and brambles snagged in her clothes and lacerated her skin. Her chest burned from the exertion, each breath rasping in her throat. She could not tell how long they had been chasing her but it was long enough that her legs felt leaden. Abruptly, the landscape changed.
Bursting from the trees, Gemma found herself standing on the edge of a gorge. Its depths were black and impenetrable. Far below, the sound of water gnashing against rocks rose to her. Looking ahead, she saw that the far side was far beyond any human ability to leap. She turned to face her hunters. Fear squeezed her heart in an icy grip. She could hear the voices of her cousins now. They called to each other from different points in the dark wood, seeming to be capable of moving impossibly fast. They also laughed. It was a hard, almost maniacal sound. A sound that promised cruelty and wickedness. The first hound emerged, shoulders bunched and jaws wide as it saw her. She backed away to the very edge of the gully until there was nowhere left to run.
A horse appeared from behind her. It sailed through the air, leaping the gorge in one, effortless bound. Its rider was bare-chested, the contours of his body picked out by shafts of moonlight that broke through the trees. He had wide shoulders and a sculpted physique. He positioned the horse in front of her and charged the dog. Its tail dropped and it turned, fleeing back into the woods. Eugene appeared, rifle raised and pointing at the rider.
“Look out!” Gemma screamed.
The rider produced a pistol and fired at Eugene, who fell to the ground with a groan. The rider whirled his horse and stretched a hand to Gemma. It was the Duke. But now he could see.
“Come with me. I will protect you.”
She dashed forward, taking his hand and promptly being lifted from her feet as she swung up onto the saddle in front of the Duke. His arms encircled her and he urged the horse forward. She saw the gorge looming and could not look, pressing her face into the Duke’s bare chest. Wrapping her arms about his waist, she closed her eyes tight. There was an immensely masculine fragrance about him, it contained a hint of spice and wood with a muskiness that made her head spin. A sensation of being lighter than air was followed by a thump as the horse found its feet on the far side of the gorge. Trees enveloped it and the sounds of pursuit were lost to Gemma’s hearing.
“Why do they chase you, Gemma?” the Duke asked.
“They mean to kill me, Your Grace,” she replied, breathlessly.
“I would deem it a favor if you called me Hamilton,” he replied, kindly.
Gemma smiled, still with her face pressed against his bare chest. There was a light furring of hair across the top and down between his bulging chest muscles. It felt comfortable against her skin.
“Thank you, Hamilton,” she said.
“Why do they want to kill you?” he asked.
