Page 15 of Hawthorne

The duke lets out this deep and strong laughter and doubles over his stomach.

I’m rooted to the spot, in shock, watching as his amusement over the situation fills the silence around us. This is not the reaction I was expecting from him. I anticipated annoyance, even anger or some kind of dismissive behaviour, but instead, he’s laughing.

Why the hell is he laughing?

“Of course, you had to have a cute dog,” he wheezes between laughter.

“I’m sorry. She just loves to give kisses.” I blush, embarrassed when he finally looks back at me with a side smile, popping outa dimple on his left cheek. “I will make sure she doesn’t bother you, sir, I’ll keep her outside and in my room only.”

“It’s okay,” he tells me. “Is she yours now?”

“Yes,” I mumble, the nostalgia hitting me from the memory of holding her with me the whole night after Mrs Elizabeth passed away.

“She’s cute. What breed is it?”

“A cocker spaniel, Your Grace.”

“I see…Looks like she likes cuddles, though,” he comments, petting her a little.

Her lashes move as her eyes slowly start to droop. She’s getting sleepy.

“She does,” I tell him excitedly. “But on top of that, she is so smart. I barely had to teach her that the walks are for necessities. She no longer gets anything dirty and asks to be taken outside! And the cuddles are the best part,” I finish with a shy smile and blush on my cheeks.

Sensing his eyes still on me, I bring my attention back to him with a gulp. This man’s eyes are too intense, too powerful for me not to look away.

“Will I have to get rid of her?” I dare ask after an uncomfortable silence.

Looking back up from a sleepy Primrose already resting her head on my arm, I notice a frown forming on his handsome face.

“Why would you have to get rid of her?”

My mouth falls agape at his confusion. “I thought Your Grace wouldn’t…” I stop myself, searching for words. “Wouldn’t want her around.”

“I don’t mind, as long as she doesn’t destroy anything that is mine.” He shrugs.

“Are you sure, Y-your Grace?” I can’t help but stutter.

“Yes,Camilla,” he concludes, but I can still note a husky tone in his voice.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” I bow my head, bringing Primrose even closer to me and kissing her head softly.

She squirms but doesn’t wake up, and I can’t help the content smile that widens on my face. After a few cuddles and kisses, I realise I forgot I had company. The duke has his hand tucked in the pockets of a pair of grey sweatpants, and I gulp upon the sinful view.

I would never think a duke would wear sweatpants.

My eyes rake his body, from the bottom to the top, lingering on his shirtless torso, a marvellous sight that I’ve been purposely ignoring until now. When our eyes meet once again, something in my chest flutters. It is always intense and piercing, but this time, they’re conveying something more.

Something I can’t quite place, but that I am sure I am no stranger to. It’s soft and rooted deep inside of us, searching for space to grow. Before I can explore it some more, the duke clears his throat, breaking the moment and making me blush furiously.

“It’s late,” he comments. “We probably should go to bed.”

His body pushes itself from its current position, leaning against the island counter, and turning towards the long hall that connects the kitchen to the entrance hall and the big staircase.

I do the same and turn in the direction of the staff's corridor, where my bedroom is located. Just before we both leave the kitchen, I say, “Good night, Your Grace.”

My voice comes out shaky, showing just how much he affects me. The sound of his footsteps halts, making me inhale sharply, but he doesn’t speak. At least, not until I cross the corridor and hear a barely audible mumble, “Goodnight, Little Milla.”

6

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