The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

K it lolled in his armchair in his study. Hopefully he would be left undisturbed with the bottle of whisky close beside him, and the memory of the last few hours would be dispelled. That was what he needed, time and space to drown all those confusing emotions, that Miss Keating inspired in him, and the remaining mystery that swirled around her being down here. She was a curiosity, one he resented mainly because he did not enjoy unanswered questions, but if he was honest with himself, being remotely interested physically in a woman was an inconvenience.

The deep quiet of the night was a welcome sight after the day he’d had, and the dusk in the cave and return walk had not brought any relief. Nor had the last few hours helped much. He’d heard how the roads beyond the estate were still blocked, and his butler assured him, even if he were to send out each and every one of the servants to help, it could be weeks before an exit would be possible and the roads accessible again. It was not because he felt a strong desire to go, his remaining on the estate was all he could envision for himself, but packing off the confusing Miss Keating… Well, that would be a solution .

For an indulgent moment as he sipped his strong drink, and let his imagination wander back to the cave, the memory recalled how Miss Keating—how Elsie—had felt nestled and secure against his body. She curled up so sweetly, so naively. Of course, it had to be innocent, didn’t it? As the daughter of a vicar, surely Elsie had no idea what thoughts she might inspire in a man with her back wriggled close to his chest, her rounded bottom pressed against the flaps of his trousers, and their legs entwined. It had been for warmth, he told himself, after all the coldness of the cave had played a crucial part in her decision. There could be no other thought in her mind.

All his wicked, desirous instincts that drifted to her dainty body, dishonouring her in all the ways he wanted, in the same manner he’d always judged his relatives?—

From next door, there was a loud crashing sound, and the distinctly unladylike voicing of a curse, despite the speaker most definitely being a woman.

Kit found himself on his feet, alert despite the swishing of whisky that was colouring his vision and distorting his reactions. He had no doubts who it was, and the very devil in him that battled against desire, annoyance and confusion carried him forward to the side door, which he flung open almost vindictively, to look across the adjoining library with a calculated fury. She had no business being downstairs at this time, was it not enough that she was bothering him, flitting in and out his mind and stirring his blood, without destroying parts of his already dilapidated manor house?

“Why Miss Keating, what mischief are you set about now?” he was quite pleased his voice came out steady and clipped, with no sign of the three tumblers of whisky he’d ingested.

She was posed on a ladder, halfway up the bookcase, around her a pile of books.

Insolently Kit’s eyes travelled down her form. Her hair was loose, and by the candle she had carried with her, he could see the flickers of light hit the chestnut waves with a warm glow. The expression was harder to tell as she ducked her head, then he could not see her brown eyes or the feelings dancing there. She was wearing a nightdress, a billowing white monstrosity that his eyes narrowed in on—it looked wispy and insubstantial. Had she really been wandering around in such a state? With only a casually draped Indian shawl wrapped around her as any kind of barrier. A vision of tearing at the material, as he had done with the bottom of her gown, flashed through his mind, and his body tensed at the idea. Now all he wanted to do was tear that nightdress off her and fall upon that delightful body.

“Oh, I did not think anyone would be awake.” She was still perched on the ladder, seemingly frozen in place.

“So, you thought you would throw my belongings all over the floor?”

“They slipped.” Her reply made sense, but it was not something Kit wanted to embrace, having been logical, gentlemanly, and practical all day, now all he wanted was the chance of indulging in some of his other instincts—ones which he did not think a vicar’s daughter should ever be privy to.

“What made you think it appropriate to roam around a household at midnight? Is this the norm in Berwick-upon-Tweed, or even Edinburgh? Do you regularly take yourself to explore a gentleman’s house with so little regard for—” he had stalked forward, ignoring all his earlier kindness and their interaction because of his frustration over her. The latter feeling had blended together his questions, his thwarted lust, and his general annoyance, and created a baser feeling best summed up as anger.

But it seemed as if this was enough to stir a similar response from Elsie. Her body moved, turning towards the onslaught, her feet carrying her down the ladder, and across to the table to snatch up her candle. Despite the low lighting, he could not see the colour that bloomed in her cheeks, and the fire that had sparked in her eyes .

“You seem to delight in being the most changeable creature I have ever met.” She was within five feet of him, her diminutive height not diminishing the matching annoyance. “One minute the daring rescuer, then the unwelcoming host, and yet you came down into the cove and…” She had reached him, and with her free hand swatted at his chest. He would have liked nothing more than to snatch up that little fist, and pressed it against the muscle, but he let her fingers drop away. “I can tell my presence displeases you, but look what was left for me to find today, tucked into my bed. Can you wonder why I feel the need to seek the smallest of comforts in a book?”

She extracted from her sleeve a small sheet of paper, with the words get out whilst you still can scribble on it. Despite the dim light Kit was fairly sure he recognised the handwriting, and he thought the writing resembled Flora’s.

With a decisive movement he tucked the note into his inner jacket pocket, promising himself a discussion with his sister in the morning.

Elsie was watching him expectantly. “Is this typically how guests are treated here?”

“To say we hardly ever receive company would be an understatement, added to which, would you say you were a typical guest?” Kit wondered whether he should list all the ways that Elsie was not in any way behaving in a manner that any of his distant acquaintances would have deemed suitable. Then again, he reasoned that finding such a threatening note on her bed was far from ideal—what had his sister been doing? Still, he did not feel as if he could cast Flora aside and inform Elsie that she was correct in principle—no, today he had spent far too much time realising how insightful the young woman was before he went around admitting as such to her. She was a stranger here, and his loyalty was to his sister.

“I did not claim to be typical,” Elsie snapped, having waited long enough for Kit to say something else. She turned and walked across to the library’s fireplace, which still had some burning embers in the grate. The soft light was not enough to penetrate the layers of her nightdress, so instead it created a golden halo around her—so she seemed rather like an angel shining there. Elsie made a loud sucking noise as she drew in a heavy breath. One of annoyance or sadness, he was not sure. It rather spoiled that poetic image, but oddly enough Kit found it endearing. “Nonetheless…”

“It may well have been placed in your chamber as a harmless tease.” Kit stayed where he was, and to his ears the words sounded hollow and insincere. Given Flora’s normal refusal to even talk with him let alone anyone else, he had no doubt that she had meant every word she had written. It was a warning, or was it supposed to be a threat?

“ If I could leave,” she muttered, “then I would take great satisfaction in leaving, but that is not possible. To almost be stranded out on the moors the first night and drowned the next was not what I pictured doing. What is likely to happen on the third?”

Realising that he had to say a little more, Kit walked to the chair which was positioned closer to the fire. It had a low seat, so when he sank down onto the cushioned pillow, he was left gazing up at her. To his mind it felt rather confessional, and his previous decision vanished as he said. “I think it was my sister, rather than any of the servants.”

“She is frightened of leaving the manor?”

Everything seemed to scare Flora at the moment, Kit thought. He had not given due consideration to leaving the manor for fear that a wider diagnosis would see him lose his one remaining family member, with the doctors insisting on carting poor Flora away to a madhouse. Although he was supposedly a peer of the realm now, so he would now have the power to stop such actions. Finally, he nodded, although he was not sure if it was true, he had no real insight into his sister, not anymore.

“I can help you,” Elsie said. “I would like to. ”

Despite all his intentions and efforts to be different from his ancestors and uncles, Elsie’s offer, the look of kindness on her face, and the expression in her eyes, made vivid, craven images play wantonly through his mind. Yes, yes, she could help him there, ease his body as he pounded into hers, give into the craving, the sought-after release for the lust that beat through his blood, drag Kit most willingly into the sweet black surrender after fucking… Yes, Elsie Keating, with her innocent wide eyes and perfect pout of a mouth, could certainly do that.

“What I mean is perhaps I could speak to Lady Flora?”

Kit found his face had formed a frown as she spoke, but Elsie had no idea that this scowl was far more directed towards himself and his own previous thoughts than it was towards her and her generous offer.

Her little nose wrinkled. “You think it a terrible idea?”

The truth was far more complicated than that, but the sweetness of Elsie’s desire to help, moved him. After all, Kit reasoned, surely it couldn’t hurt?

“No,” he said. “It was most kind of you. Especially given her actions towards you. But,” he added when he saw the brightness glimmer on her upturned face, “I have tried numerous activities, suggestions… She is quite trapped in her own mind.”

Elsie was nodding, her hands twisting as she moved closer, taking the seat on the armrest next to him as she considered his words. There was a small line between her brows and her teeth came out to chew on the rounded curve of her bottom lip. He wondered what it would taste like if he tried the same—strawberries his mind whispered, not the ones shipped down from London that were large and often watery, but fresh from the summer gardens, full of dappled sunlight and sharp tang. She would taste like the promise of summer.

“When is her birthday?” Elsie asked.

“In five weeks,” Kit answered. It would be Flora’s eighteenth, the first she had spent without either of her parents, and Kit had not ordered her a thing. Guilt roiled through him.

“We should throw her a party,” Elsie said, a dimple appearing in her left cheek as she grinned at him, pleased with her idea.

It was a wild, silly idea, Kit immediately thought—Flora never spoke, ran around the manor house and gardens as if she were untamed and loathed all forms of company. Surely doing such a thing would simply be a disaster. He was about to say this when Elsie held up her hand.

“I’m sure it sounds quite mad, but if we—I mean to say your household—were to demonstrate what faith we had in her, if Lady Flora could see the benefits of learning to be in society… perhaps it might prove a motivation.”

Leaning back in his seat, Kit eyed Elsie sceptically. It was a highly risky move, which might involve his sister’s humiliation, but that did not seem to be what was motivating Elsie in the slightest, she earnestly seemed to wish to help. Kit simply had so little faith in it working out that he was certain the doubts played across his face.

“If I was to say yes,” Kit spoke slowly. He did not wish to promise too much or even agree to the party yet. First, he needed some kind of guarantee of his sister’s protection. Despite how eager and bright-eyed Elsie appeared to be at his cautious words. “My family is hardly popular in the area. It would seem highly unlikely that anyone of interest would arrive…”

“We’re hardly intending to marry your sister off,” Elsie said. “If anything, the promise of music, of a new gown, of different people—even if those people are merely the vicar, his wife and say a dozen local citizens…”

“You would wish to arrange such a thing for a family you barely know and a young woman who writes you threatening notes?”

Elsie paused her breath, halting whatever she had been about to say, and looked down at him. “I do think it might help. Isolation certainly hasn’t.”

“But?” Kit asked. There was a hesitation in her last few words.

“I will help, but in return I want your word. Once her birthday is done, marked, and hopefully celebrated with a lovely party, we will leave for London. My sister needs us in Town, and whilst the roads and Lady Flora may be a good reason for deferment, after the party, we must leave.”

In an effort to hide his smirk at her demands, Kit raised a hand and covered his mouth. Whilst he might forget he was a newly made duke, it seemed his companion did too. The truth was that Kit rather liked how bitingly direct Elsie could be. There was a cutthroat brusqueness to her character, which was at odds with her dainty elfin persona, that he found admirable. Or certainly different from the other ladies he had interacted with while briefly in Town years ago, at university, or even in this remote neighbourhood. She had authority and made no bones about claiming it when it was needed.

“Do we have a deal?” Elsie’s question cut into his meandering thoughts. She stretched out her hand towards him, and all that strength of will he’d been priding himself on, diminished as he looked down at her small hand, outstretched as if they were embarking on a business arrangement rather than a man and woman huddled close to a fire in a secluded library, when it had gone midnight. The idea of taking her narrow fingers into his hand, holding her, touching her again caused a strange tightness in Kit’s chest, one which was not comfortable but not entirely unpleasant—his very blood and muscles seemed to be tightening at the idea, and there was a dryness in his mouth which prevented him from immediately replying or even coming up with a response to her.

It was silliness, he had held her in his arms this afternoon, they had been entangled together and fallen asleep—surely that was far more intimate than simply shaking her hand. Her thumb was visible, jutting out from the lace trim of her nightdress, and he gazed down at the shell-like sheen of the nail, he could only focus on how delicately shaped it was. Everything about Elsie struck him as perfectly formed, petite and very her.

Raising his eyes away from her hand, Kit met her gaze before he leant forward and grasped her fingers. Awareness shot through him, burning and bright, stronger now he could look her in the face, than it had been in the cave, where the fear of death had lurked. Now it was just the two of them in this snug library, enclosed together away from everything. The contact of his hand encasing hers, garnered a reaction from her, just a little one around her eyes, which widened at the touch as if she too was aware of what passed between them, then her lips parted ever so slightly letting out a breath. It seemed to his mind that she was conscious of the connection but unwilling to accept it. Or perhaps too innocent to know what it meant.

“We have a deal, but if at any point Flora expresses doubts,” Kit said, whilst also acknowledging to himself, that if Flora were to say anything uncertain, at least this would be a reaction.

“Of course, in that case a new plan would need to be made.” Elsie released his fingers and jumped to her feet, an awkwardness to her movements as she moved around the library.

Kit too got to his feet. for his own sanity, and to get him away from the alluring temptation of continuing to luxuriate in Elsie’s presence, he stretched a small bow. “I will bid goodnight in that case, Miss Keating.”

“Your Grace,” she muttered, but he was already at the door, and Kit continued to walk through it despite the strange pain in his chest at Elsie returning to his formal title.