“You are beautiful, Your Grace.” He confessed the truth. What would be the point in keeping that from her now? The sketch was a declaration of just what he felt for her. She coloured and looked down at the sketch again.
“Why am I a fairy?” she asked, holding it close to her. It almost seemed something precious to her from the way she was clinging to the paper.
“It’s how I think of you,” he said, feeling his words were breathy, so startled he was to see her adoring reaction to the drawing. “Someday, I hope to draw you with the wings intact.”
His words did something, for she looked up and smiled, but her eyes were glistening, with unshed tears.
“Your Grace,” he said in surprise, leaning towards her. His body acted on impulse, without restraint, and without him really thinking through his actions. He reached for her, passing his hand up her cheek and caressing her with his thumb, wiping away a tear as it escaped down her cheek. “Please, do not cry.”
“For a change, these are happy tears,” she said, blinking in the effort to try and stop the tears. “I fear they will not stop now.”
“Then I must find something else to stop them,” he whispered, leaning towards her. There was only one way he could think of, and with her clutching his sketch with so much need, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind.
When he pressed his lips to hers, he felt her respond instantly. It was a gentle kiss. It began with just a press of her lips before he angled his head to the side, deepening it. He pulled her slightly forward until she nearly fell off the chair and into his lap, feeling the way she gasped into the kiss and reached for him, curling a hand around a lapel of his jacket.
The more he moved his lips against hers, the more she responded until she was arching towards him. She dropped the sketch somewhere and looped her other hand around his neck, pulling him down towards her. He deepened the kiss further, begging permission past the barrier of her lips and teasing her tongue with his own.
The heat seemed to pick up between them. Even with the gentleness of their movements, their hands were urgent, pulling each other closer.
It may be scandalous to kiss her, but I do not care. I will happily take the risk.
***
Owen was doing his very best to be formal and do his duty as he wandered around the dining table, serving breakfast, but it didn’t help that he could feel the duchess’ eyes on him at every opportunity. At one point, he poured the duke’s tea, standing behind him, before lifting his gaze to meet the duchess’. She was smiling at him. He lifted his eyebrows in warning behind the duke’s back, urging her not to give them away.
She smiled another time and looked down at her breakfast, the blush in her cheeks suggesting she remembered just what they had shared the night before. He couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t stopped thinking of that kiss since it had happened.
“I am leaving for London this morning.” The duke’s words broke the silence in the room.
“You only got back from the Bath townhouse early this morning,” the duchess said, keeping her focus on her breakfast.
“I do not ask permission from my wife for when I can leave the house, Diana.” The harshness of the words made Owen stop serving the coffee and look between the couple in surprise.
He is always cold to her, but that …? It was something else.
Owen watched Diana carefully, seeing the way she fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat.
“May I enquire as to how long you will be gone?” she asked quietly, clearly nervous of speaking at all now.
Owen had to place himself behind the duke’s back so he would not be seen as he tipped his eyes to the ceiling and muttered a silent prayer. What kind of man could willingly make his wife so frightened to speak? He deserved a good knock around the head, to knock some sense into him.
He is a duke, though. Your life would truly be over if you hurt a duke.
Finding there was nothing more for it, Owen moved to the Duchess’ side and served her tea, hoping his proximity would be enough to assuage the coldness from her husband.
“A couple of days. My plans are not settled.” The Duke turned the newspaper over beside him, giving his full focus to the paper.
It gave Owen and the duchess one moment of privacy. Owen was careful to keep his back to the duke as he smiled down at her, offering her one wink, loving the way her cheeks coloured at the sight of the wink.
“I trust you will have no more adventures in the snow while I am gone. I would hate to have to pay a doctor again because you slipped in the snow.” The duke’s words made Owen’s hands clench into fists around the teapot handle.
“I need to visit the modiste in Bath. If you do not object,” the duchess added hastily.
She should not have to ask permission to leave the house!
Owen walked around the table again, feeling strangely invisible to the duke. As he arranged one of the platters with a cloche over the top on the sideboard, he kept glancing at the duke’s back, wondering how easy it would be to spill the contents of the eggs on the platter in the duke’s lap, just for an excuse to put the duke in some discomfort for a change.
Good Lord, what am I thinking? He could fire me for such a thing.
