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“Are you well, Your Grace?” Her words were slow, and when he glanced at her, she was approaching him like she would a startled horse.

He glanced at her hips, the evidence of what they’d just done glimmering in the candlelight. He was surprised she wasn’t panicking as well. He had a feeling the last thing a woman like Miss Dawson wanted was to become with child. Rafe’s gaze snapped back to hers, and his body went cold. Or was this her plan all along?

“I finished inside you,” he bit out.

She cocked her head. “And you care about that?”

His chin jerked in, his eyes stretching wide. “My seed is in you. You could end up with child.”

Her eyes narrowed, and something in her gaze had him shifting on his feet. “Most men of your station don’t care, Your Grace. You fuck whomever you please, uncaring about the consequences, and not taking care of those consequences when they arise.”

He…he supposed that was true.

She looked him up and down. “I’m not some debutante. I’m well aware I’m disposable to your kind.” She muttered something under her breath, then walked out of the chamber.

His jaw dropped. What was happening?

“I wouldn’t…” He wouldn’t what? He would do right by his steward? Who was he jesting?

“Duke!”

And like the dog he apparently was, he hurried after her. She was in her kitchen, standing before her shelves of tinctures and herbs. “Untie me.”

Right. Shite. He obeyed. She took down a jar, poured a modest pinch into her palm, then tipped the contents into her mouth. She chewed slowly as she replaced the jar on the shelf, then busied herself with wetting a couple of towels. She tossed one his way and then started wiping herself down with the other.

He took care of himself, attention locked on her. She was quick and efficient with her movements, her jaw working over whatever she was chewing. She didn’t seem to care at all that she was naked before him. She was so bloody confident. And he was still so bloody confused. What was happening?

She finally swallowed and met his gaze. She waved a hand in front of her mouth. “That will ensure nothing comes from this.”

His eyebrows lifted. He knew there were steps women took to avoid consequences, but he had no knowledge of what those methods contained nor their effectiveness. Apparently, Miss Dawson was knowledgeable in that area. “And you are…certain of that?”

She took the towel from his hand—the one that had been dangling there, forgotten after he’d finished with it. “There’s no way to be fully certain. But it hasn’t failed me yet.” She headed back in the direction of her bedchamber.

He frowned as something unpleasant twisted in his gut. Hasn’t failed me yet. He shook it off and followed. When he stepped into her bedroom, she was shrugging into her lawn shirt, the hem falling to mid-thigh. He should probably get dressed and take his leave. But he just stood there in a daze as she made her way past him and back out of her bedroom. He was starting to become dizzy.

He hurried to the door of her chamber. “Miss Dawson?”

She glanced back at him. “I just have to use the privy. Do you need it? It’s just outside.”

“Outside?” His eyes widened. “You cannot go out there like that, and at this hour.”

She snorted. “Oh, to be a duke. We commonfolk have to use a necessary outside—no matter the hour. And”—she leaned forward conspiratorially—“at night we do it in our underthings!”

“Why not use a chamber pot,” he grumbled as he trailed after her, snatching his trousers along the way.

She shot him a withering look. “Who do you think would be cleaning that chamber pot, Your Grace? I choose the short walk.”

Ah. He supposed he couldn’t fault her for that.

A short while later, they were both back in her bedchamber. Rafe sat heavily on the edge of her bed and began pulling on his stockings. Each blink was a monumental effort. Standing out in the dark night, the events of the night finally hitting him, had allowed exhaustion to finally set in. Well, he had achieved his aim. No slab of stone was keeping him from sleep tonight.

“Do you want to stay?”

He slowly lifted his head. “Stay?” He blinked. And blinked. The word didn’t make sense.

Miss Dawson’s lips twitched. “Spend the night, Duke. As long as you’re gone by morning, I have no qualms if you stay.”

He glanced away and busied himself with pulling on his shirt. Definitely not.