Page 66 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“It is the duchess…“ The voice paused. “The missive said you must come as quickly as possible. That is all that was written.”

Rowan leapt from the bed, his gaze darting around the room, finally settling on his clothes from the previous night. The hurried movements drowned out whatever the servant said next.

Following suit, Marce climbed from the bed, locating her shift, dress, stockings, and shoes lying haphazardly over a chair near the hearth. She focused on dressing herself as Rowan collected a fresh pair of trousers and donned his shirt from the day before. Next, he slipped on his Hessians and ran his hands through his hair before turning to assist her.

“Not the way I pictured acting as your lady’s maid for the first time,” he breathed against her exposed back as he latched the pearl buttons and called out, “Inform Charles that I will be ready to depart in five minutes.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Footsteps sounded as the servant hurried down the hall, away from Rowan’s chambers.

“I will come with you,” Marce said, her stare darting about the room. “As soon as I locate my gloves and cloak.”

“We can stop in the study before departing.” Rowan halted, taking her in from head to toe. “Are you certain you want to return to Hadlow with me?”

Confusion swirled as Marce attempted to read the meaning behind his question. “Of course. Leona is like a mother to me. If she is in need, I will be at her side, no matter where you and I stand.”

His stare narrowed as if her reply hadn’t been what he wanted or expected, but after a few seconds, he nodded and started for the door, leaving Marce to follow quickly or be left behind.

By the time they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Marce was in front of him as she hurried to the study to retrieve her cloak. There was no sign of Lord Cresthaven as they departed the townhouse, and Rowan assisted her into his waiting coach.

“Ready?” he asked.

Marce nodded, settling on the seat beside him. His hand found hers, and their fingers twined together in a way that felt both familiar and comforting. With a sharp rap on the ceiling above, the driver jangled the reins, and the coach burst into movement, throwing Marce back against the velvet squab.

Rowan’s hand trembled, and his fingers tightened on hers, betraying his apprehension. She shifted closer, hoping to offer him the reassurance and support he needed. Neither knew what awaited them at Hadlow.

And so, Marce remained silent at his side as he looked anywhere but at her. The passing landscape as they fled London proper and hurried through the early morning countryside held his attention while she was given ample time to dwell on their night together.

All the while, their hands remained clasped.

There was naught either could do until they arrived in Kent.

As they passed through Welling several hours later, Marce realized that this was their first complete journey together from London to Hadlow Estate. But with so much weighing on them both, and despite having unlimited things to discuss, they both remained silent.

Rowan, his breathing coming in haggard gusts, stared out the glass pane of the coach window.

Despite their joined hands and everything they’d experienced the night before, the distance between them could not have been greater. If Leona passed, their last excuse to remain together would be gone, and they’d need to further explore what lay between them.

Chapter 28

The day had remained bight, with nary a cloud in the sky or a passing carriage on the roads all the way to the Kent countryside. Their journey was endured in silence…a contemplative stillness, unlike their previous coach ride. Several times, he’d longed to inquire as to her musings, yet he’d remained mute, acting as if the passing scenery held his attention. Rowan was hesitant to speak on the matter of his mother, and Marce accepted that, sitting quietly at his side until slumber had pulled her into a deep sleep, her breath coming in even, smooth inhales and exhales.

Eventually, he’d drawn the drapes, shrouding the interior of the coach in darkness and keeping the afternoon sun from waking Marce. She’d taken the seat next to him so readily, it had sent him reeling. How had they progressed from two people who were little more than strangers to this?

Any other day, he might have found comfort in their newly discovered understanding of one another. Unfortunately, his worry over the duchess’s health made it impossible for him to explore all they’d learned of one another recently—on both a physical and emotional level.

It was only when his coach drew to a halt outside Hadlow that Rowan released Marce’s hand and nudged her awake.

“We have arrived,” he whispered. After their night together, locked in one another’s embrace, he was exhausted, too, but sleep had eluded him during their travels.

Running her fingers through her tangled, wayward curls, Marce gave him a tentative smile. “I must have fallen asleep. My apologies.” Her voice was thick with sleep, and Rowan thought he could wake to the earthy tone every morning for the rest of his life and die a happy man at the end.

Without any consideration, he leaned down and kissed her.

A simple, chaste kiss, but it sent a shock so intense through him, Rowan was certain she experienced the same.

And it held promise—a promise that the time would come for them to speak about everything that had transpired between them the night before. Time still for him to make amends—no justifications, no rationalization…only words of apology and a promise for them to explore a future free of lies and deception.

The carriage door opened, and a footman put the steps down for them to exit. Rowan ignored them, leaping down and raising his hand into the coach to assist Marce to the ground.