“Hide!?” he repeated. “He will surely see me.”
“With the way he is stumbling towards this door, I do not think it likely.”
The door handle turned before they could discuss it anymore. With no excuse or lie he could tell for coming to help the duchess so late in the evening, Owen had no choice but to hide. He reached for the nearest thing to hand, another door leading to a second room, where the drinks cabinet was housed. He jumped behind it, leaving it a little ajar so that he didn’t make a sound by closing it. Unfortunately, this small room did not have another door out of it.
He was trapped.
“Gilbert,” the duchess said, clearly pretending surprise as he walked into the room. The sound of furniture being knocked over made Owen press his eyes to the gap, looking out to see what was happening.
The duke was indeed in his cups and had knocked over a table before stumbling and grabbing onto the back of a winged armchair. The duchess was facing him with her hands over her mouth in surprise.
“You are early,” she said nervously from behind her hands.
“Astute as ever, Diana,” the duke said bitterly. Owen felt his hands clench into fists, especially when he saw the duchess lower her head. She did not do that so often these days in Owen’s company. She smiled and held her head high, but the duke appeared to have the opposite effect on her.
“How was London?” she asked, trying to make conversation as he swayed, gripping onto the chair. He didn’t reply, but he released the chair and walked towards her. “What is it?” she asked, backing up. He reached for her.
Owen had to plant his feet into the floorboards to stop himself from walking into the room and standing between the two of them. When the duke took her wrists and jerked her forward, she fell into his chest, colliding with him. He went to kiss her, but she refused it, turning her head away.
Owen was nauseous at the sight. He hated to think of a man like the duke, someone who had taken many maids to his bed and no doubt visited brothels too, taking the duchess. She was too ethereal, too innocent to be touched by him.
The duke growled in the back of his throat at her rejection.
“You do know as my wife you took a vow to be obedient, hmm?” the duke said, his voice leering as he released her. She backed away, nearly falling over as she reached for the card table. She planted her hands on the surface and lifted her head, clearly looking towards the gap in the door that Owen was peering through.
“You took a vow to be loving,” she whispered. Owen heard it, but he had the advantage of seeing her lips move as well.
“What was that?” the duke asked drunkenly as he walked around her, swaying with the movement.
“Nothing,” she said hurriedly, looking down to her palms on the table.
“I see I will not get your duty from you tonight,” the duke sneered in her ear, making her recoil from him and look away. “Then I must get it from elsewhere.” These simple words made her snap her gaze towards him.
Owen turned his head against the doorframe and rested it there. He had been so certain one of the maids was in the duke’s bedchamber the other day that he had found himself desperate to save the duchess from the pain of knowing it. That all seemed futile now.
“Who?” she asked shakily.
“Does it matter?” the duke asked. “Goodnight, wife,” he said bitterly as he staggered towards the door again. “You will have to perform your duty sometime, you know. I need an heir.”
He flung open the door, lurched through, then clattered it closed behind him so harshly that the walls shook and even the cabinet behind Owen trembled, making the carafes and glasses chink together.
Owen waited a beat, listening as he heard the duke’s footsteps march across the marble floor. When all he could hear was the duchess and her shuddering breath, he knew it was time to come out again. He pulled back the door and stepped through.
“Your Grace?” He approached her, wanting to call her something more intimate than that awful cold title.
“You should not have had to witness that. I am sorry, Mr Arnold,” she said and wiped her cheek. He realized as he walked around her there were tears on her cheeks. He hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. It was nothing special, plain white with an embroidered dove in the corner, a gift from his mother, but he placed it into her hand. “I could not.”
“Please, take it,” he said softly.
She took it, but it was the press of their hands together as she took the handkerchief that made them both freeze. They both kept staring down at their touching hands, with Owen painfully aware of how gentle that touch was.
This is what she deserves.
She should have a man adoring of her, one besotted, someone who would be gentle and delicate with her. Not someone who demanded she performed the duties of a marriage bed.
“Mr Arnold,” she said softly, sniffing as she maintained their touch, palm to palm with the handkerchief between them. “Please, do not let this be the last night you keep me company. I beg of you.” When he saw the way her eyes glistened with more unshed tears, threatening to fall, he capitulated.
“I do not think I could leave you alone now,” he said softly. She smiled through her tears and lifted the handkerchief to her cheeks, drying the tears. When she tried to give it back to him, he refused. “Keep it, please. Something awful tells me that you might need it again.” He nodded back to the door through which the duke had just left.
