Page 29 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

Frederick set his cup down a bit too firmly, causing it to rattle in its saucer. “She will never come by here again. If she tries, I will physically show her the door myself.” He clenched his fist at the thought of that woman returning to his halls.

The Duke ate his coddled eggs, grilled kidney and cornmeal cakes, tender rounds brushed with a buttered rum sauce and dotted with currants. Gemma nibbled on a cold collation of pickled meats, cheeses and sweet apricot buns.

“This is delicious,” Gemma said, then promptly bit her lip before taking a bite out of the bun. “We certainly did not get anything like this at the convent aside from Christmastide or Michaelmas. If the nuns saw me now, they would certainly accuse me of indulgence, greed, and a host of other unsavory things.”

“Indulgence is good for the soul,” the Dowager replied. “Speaking of indulgence, what do you like to do, Gemma dear?”

“Well, I do like to read,” she replied. “It was the one thing that took away the mundane drudgery of life at St. Catherine’s. A few months ago the Duchess of Islington gifted the convent a lovely parcel of books for the girls, but the nuns took them away, saying they were secular material.

The day I escaped I accidentally left behind my precious book,A Thousand and One Nights, which I had tucked underneath my mattress for safekeeping.”

“Oh, dear me.” The Duchess selected a juicy blackberry tart and took a bite. “Then you should take full advantage of Frederick’s library. His mother was a voracious reader herself. I am sure you can find a copy of that book in there.”

Her head snapped to the Duke, her eyes widening in hope. Frederick snorted over his cup. “You have free rein of the library, Miss Bradford.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “That is… quite generous of you, to be sure.”

Frederick, seated at the head of the table, gave her a curt nod. “You may stay until I have arranged better circumstances for you.”

Gemma blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Better circumstances?”

He met her gaze, his expression firm. “You are unmarried. Staying here indefinitely would be inappropriate and would invite speculation. I shall see to it that you have a more suitable place to live.”

Her heart sank a little at his words, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. She understood the reality of her situation, but somehow the idea of leaving Blackridge Hall—of leavinghim—left her unsettled.

She nodded, forcing a smile. “I understand. Thank you, Your Grace. I… appreciate your kindness.”

His sharp blue eyes softened for the briefest moment before his usual aloof mask fell back into place. “I shall ensure that your transition is handled discreetly.”

Vivian watched their exchange from across the table with her usual keen eyes and smiled warmly. “You need not worry, dear. Everything will be taken care of.”

She then reached into her small handbag and pulled out a finely embossed card, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Speaking of discretion,” she said, placing the card delicately in front of Gemma, “I think this might be of interest to you.”

Gemma stared at the elegant card, her curiosity piqued.

The Dowager Duchess slid the card over to Frederick. “Out of the many invitations you have received today, I think you might wish to attend this one.”

Rubbing his forehead, Frederick asked. “Another invitation to have insipid conversations about the weather over dry cucumber sandwiches?”

“It is a rendezvous of businessmen about upcoming investment opportunities at the Marquess of Treston’s estate,” the Duchess said. “I believe his wife is hosting as well.

Upon hearing the name of the host, Gemma stiffened with shock and recognition. Shaking fiercely from a rush of adrenaline brought on by her alarm, she knocked over her teacup and leapt from her chair in shame.

“Oh, oh, I am—I am sorry. Gemma’s head snapped rapidly from left to right. She was distressed and momentarily at a loss for words. “I will clean it up right away. Please forgive my clumsiness, I?—”

A warm hand grabbed her left wrist and instantly, her worries and fright vanished, “Miss Bradford,” Frederick said firmly, his tone low, powerful and even. “Take a breath. Calm down.”

Her chest was heaving with anxiety but his hold on her was firm.

I cannot tell him. He—they cannot find out that she is my mother.

“Is your dress stained?” he asked.

She numbly shook her head.

“Sit,” he ordered, and his tone had never held more authority. “We will have someone take care of it. Sit and breathe.”

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