She smiled, then turned to her father and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Will I see you at supper, Papa?”
“Of course,” he said.
The sweet girl looked up to her father as if he’d hung the moon, and Ariadne remembered how she used to look at her own departed father once upon a time.
“And you will finish the story at bedtime too?” Emily pleaded.
For the first time, Ariadne witnessed a break in the duke’s stoic demeanor as his face softened and he gazed at his child with gentle tenderness. “Yes, pumpkin. We’re almost finished, and I know you want to know the ending. Now, go off to your governess.”
As she went off, Ariadne said, “Thank you for saving me… again.”
He waved her off, “That’s nothing different from what I do every day. When you regain your faculties, we need to go to my study, and you will sign the marriage agreement I have made.”
Instead of acknowledging that, she asked. “How did you find me?”
“I checked your bedroom, and you were not there,” he said. “No maid or footman has seen you wondering the halls so I suspected you would be here. Never do that again, of you might break your neck.”
And there goes the tender moment we had.
Something rippled across his face, and Cedric winced, grabbing at his face. Instantly, her irritation vanished, and worry swamped her heart; she reached for him, but he flinched away, using his free arm to bat hers away.
“How bad is it?” Ariadne fretted, “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing,” he said, “It happens sometimes when I overwork my muscles. The fire damaged my nerves and sometimes caused spasms. It hurts like the devil sometimes.”
“Surely, there is a crème or a solvent or something that can help?” Ariadne asked.
“I just take laudanum.” He cut her off.
“Should I get it for you?” Ariadne asked.
He paused for a moment, his shoulders fell in defeat, clearly choosing to get help, rather than battle through the pain, “Please. Get Hunt. He will help you.”
Rushing from the room, she held in her fear and descended the stairs with no clue where to find Mr. Hunt. A maid directed to the silver closet when she found him polishing the dinnerware.
“Mr. Hunt, His Grace needs laudanum,” she said calmly. “If you would show me where it is, I will take care of it.”
He bowed, “I will show you where it is, Your Grace. His Garce usually takes it with a finger of sherry to mask the taste,” Hunt said as he took her to another closet. Plucking a key out, he quickly opened the lock and took the bottle down.
She followed him up to the floor above and took her into a well-appointed room, which, with the massive desk, leather furniture, and towering shelves, had to be the duke’s study.
Hunt quickly made a glass of sherry and added a few drops of laudanum. They headed to the library, where Cedric was slowly massaging his temple.
“Your Grace,” Hunt said, as he handed him the glass. “Please.”
She watched as he took the glass and drank; the muscle under his eyes twitched. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but clenched her hand at her side; she doubted he would want her to touch him.
Finally, he sat back, strain still tight on his face. “Thank you, Hunt.”
“I’ll send up a heated cloth,” the butler nodded. “Please, excuse me.”
“Is it still paining you?” she asked.
“Somewhat,” he said.
“How often do they happen?”
He threw back the rest of his drink. “Once upon a time, almost every day. Now, not so much.”
