Nay.He did not deserve the right. He had abandoned her. Had left her with no word, no warning, and no explanation. Had disappeared from her life as if she were of no import to him at all.
She could still recall the frowning servant at Brixton Manor, Carlisle’s country seat.Mr. Ludlow has gone abroad. I regret to say that he is not at home.
Even after he had humiliated her, she had chased after him. But he had been long gone. And then he had returned eight years later, a stranger who was more compelling than ever. More forbidding, moreforbidden. Still, she wanted him. In the basest, most shameful part of her, she yearned for Clayton Ludlow in a way she had never longed for another man.
Perhaps it was because he was the only man who had ever touched her.
She had never lain with a man other than him. She could have, naturally. Should have, likely, for then she would not be currently cursed with this hungry pulse between her thighs. With this heat pooled in her belly. With this languorous ache in her breasts.
Freddie had given her his blessing. With Edward as his heir, he had decided that a spare would not be immediately required. Perhaps never. And he had been only too eager to continue his life as he had lived it prior to their marriage, spending all his time with Percy. “Take a lover,” he had urged her, squeezing her hands and giving her the beatific Freddie smile she loved best. “God knows I would, were I you.”
She had toyed with the notion, knowing Freddie, while beloved to her, would never be her match in a physical sense. Knowing he was right to urge her elsewhere. She had attended balls and soirees. Had kissed lords all too eager to take an experienced married woman to their bed. And she had denied each one. They had never been right. None of it had ever been right. Instead, she had devoted herself to being Edward’s mother and Freddie’s friend, two of the most fulfilling roles she had ever inhabited.
But somehow, so many years later, that wicked hunger was still alive, burning brightly inside her. It had not died or dimmed. If anything, it had grown higher and hotter, and the moment she had first seen him, those flames had threatened to burn her anew. With each time her path crossed his, the fire scorched more than the last.
“Your Grace?”
She blinked at her reflection in the mirror, realizing belatedly that her lady’s maid had been endeavoring to garner her attention for some time now, judging from the slight tinge of exasperation in her voice. “Yes, Marks?”
“How shall I dress your hair, if you please?”
“A Grecian braid shall suffice,” she answered absentmindedly.
She did not care how her hair was dressed. She did not care how she looked. She had no one to impress—especially not one grim, forbidding mountain of a man she had once known. Her husband was dead. She stared at herself, feeling as though she was trapped in a nightmare. Freddie, the one man in her life who had never disappointed or betrayed her, who had been steadfast and loyal and kind, was gone forever.
And Clay had returned.
Her hands clenched into fists, the crescents of her nails biting into her tender flesh. She must not think of him in such intimate terms. He was Mr. Ludlow to her now. A stranger tasked with her protection and nothing more.
Surely it was Freddie’s loss and the aching hole he left in her heart that made her strangely susceptible to her old feelings. Three months had passed since the day of his murder, and the horror of it all was as fresh today as it had been upon the day word reached her.
She had been taking tea.
Edward had been having lessons.
She would never forget the moment her life had forever altered. Her tea had slipped from her hand, spilling on her skirts, the delicate cup hitting a carved table leg and smashing. All she had been able to think about was how terrified Freddie must have been in the final breaths he had taken. The assassin had attacked him from behind. She had been thankful for that one small mercy. That Freddie had not seen the end coming to him.
“Take this handkerchief, Your Grace,” Marks interrupted her musings once more, offering her a monogrammed linen square.
She had not realized she was crying, but the return to the present made her aware her cheeks were wet. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the handkerchief and dabbing at her cheeks. It was one of Freddie’s, for she liked having these small pieces of him about, along with the mourning brooch she wore fastened above her heart that contained a lock of his hair.
“It is horrid, Your Grace, what happened to the duke. I do not know how you bear it. To think these vile murderers would wish ill of you.” Marks, not ordinarily an expressive woman, clicked her tongue with disgust, her countenance in the glass softening with sympathy. “They will find their justice at the hands of the Lord.”
“Let us hope their justice comes sooner than that,” she said quietly.
Thus far, the true culprits responsible for plotting and committing the act remained free. How she hated the faceless, nameless menace. Men who had used Freddie as a political sacrifice, spilling his blood without a thought for the man who had been a gentle and beloved husband and father. Without a thought for how very much he would be mourned and missed.
Marks put the finishing touches on her hair. “There, now. You are ready to take your breakfast.”
Breakfast. How had she forgotten Clay’s intention to ruin the solitude of her morning routine? It returned to her suddenly, along with the reminder of his silken voice, rife with effortless command.
I will speak with you in the morning, Your Grace. Over breakfast, just as you suggested.
She had not suggested. Nor did she wish to face him again, with her emotions too raw and near to the surface. Seeing him with Edward had affected her in a way she wished most heartily it had not.
“I think I shall take breakfast in my chamber this morning,” she said with a forced lightness even she could hear in her tone. “I have some correspondence I wish to read and make, and my head is aching. Would you be so kind as to have a tray sent up, Marks?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The lady’s maid offered a quick dip and then left the chamber, hastening to do as Ara had asked.
