Page 13 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

“Yes,” she took in a breath, “Yes, my lord.”

“He is the Duke of Blackridge, my dear,” the lady said kindly. “You are in his house.”

Her mouth parted. “I am so sorry, Your Grace…” she made to get off the bed to curtsy, but he stopped her.

“You are injured. Stay where you are,” he said, his left hand held up. “How did you get here? We are many miles away from that horrid place.”

Looking at her lap, she said. “A cart with goods came into the convent and I took the chance to sneak inside. I…I cannot abide that place, Your Grace. It is—it is not… a place one could ever call a home.”

The Duke folded his arms and rested his back against the wall, his face set in stone, and the muscles of his neck corded with tension. The proximity of his tall, muscled form set loose a swarm of butterflies in her belly… of another kind. The thin line of the watch chain’s gold links contrasted with the indigo color of his waistcoat but matched the gold buttons going down to his buff trousers.

“Doctor Somerson made sure to give me a detailed report of your injuries,” he said. “You are hurt. Now that you have told me where you came from, the hounds of hell would have to drag me away before I let you return to that wretched hellhole. You may remain here longer, Miss…”

His pause was noted. “Gemma. My name is Gemma Bradford, Your Grace.”

“You are welcome to stay, Miss Bradford,” he said, combing his hair from his eyes, “As a matter of fact, you may have given me more than you realize.”

Her brows knitted in the middle. “What do you mean?”

Instead of looking at her, he looked to the lady, “Stay with her. I need to reopen that file and now, after all these years, I finally have good reason.” This time he did look at her, “Miss Bradford, the punishments you suffered. Are they commonplace at that convent?”

She nodded. “Yes, but they are primarily inflicted upon the girls who do not align themselves to the ideology they force downour throats. They brand us rebellious, and the nuns do not like anyone who questions their authority.”

“Frederick,” the Dowager said in a warning tone.

He looked at Vivian and his shoulders slumped an inch. Gemma marveled as she watched the two of them engage in a wordless conversation, at the end of which the Duke sighed.

“I am getting ahead of myself. This can wait.”

“I must admit,” his grandmother said, “it is refreshingnothaving someone bend over backward to curry favor with a lady whose grandson is one of the most powerful people in the land. If I asked, he would have ten thousand men storming Normandy for their Calvados.”

The Duke’s lips twitched, “You would not.”

“I would,” she said. “I would like some for dinner tonight, as a matter of fact. Please send for your men.”

Despite her present circumstances, Gemma giggled, humored by the light-hearted banter between the two.

“Luckily, we have some in the winery,” Frederick replied, before turning to Gemma. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet, Your Grace,” she told him.

“I will have something light sent up,” he said. “Grandmother?”

Vivian sighed and rose to stand. “Fine, fine, I will take my leave. Take care my dear and get some rest. You certainly deserve it.”

Frederick had to temper his step to stop him from running to his study and yanking out the old file that stated, to the letter, the injuries his sister Helen had suffered. He wanted—needed to—compare the two reports from both doctors and see where they overlapped.

If this was his chance to get those nuns and have that horrid priory shut down, he would take it.

He poured himself a glass of Tobermory whiskey, then opened both folios; the old one about his sister that he had memorized, and the new folio that detailed Doctor Somerson’s findings in respect of Gemma’s injuries. Frederick grimaced at the seamless similarities in their injuries.

The timing is right. I can feel it. She did not end up here by accident.

Frederick was not a man who believed in fate, but he could not deny that Gemma’s sudden appearance felt like it had been a deliberate nudge to advance his pursuit and obtain justice for Helen, and now Gemma. He would not let this go unpunished.

His grandmother pushed the door open gently and entered the room.

“I know that face,” she said as she closed the door behind her. He thought she had retired to her room after such a draining morning. “You have convinced yourself that she is your push to get that place reduced to rubble, but I ask you to wait a while before you send your missive off to the archbishop.”

---