Page 60 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

Gemma felt her cheeks grow warm again and took another sip of whiskey, feeling a pleasant glow starting to settle over her.

She hoped the slight tremble of her hand wasn’t noticeable. “You give me far too much credit. I was only trying to help where I could.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, his gaze steady on her. “But your innate kindness is not something you can or should downplay.”

They fell silent, sipping their drinks, and Gemma found herself taking a larger gulp to calm her nerves than she had intended. The electricity she had felt when they were together last had returned. She wondered if he also felt it, or if she was simply imagining it in her own racing thoughts.

After a few more moments the door opened and the butler stepped in, offering a slight bow. “My apologies, Your Grace, Miss Bradford. The Dowager Duchess is not feeling well and has requested a tray in her rooms. She bids you both enjoy dinner without her.”

“Of course she did,” Frederick muttered with a shake of his head, and then he nodded. “Thank you, Jennings. Please tell her we hope she feels better soon.”

As the butler closed the door, Frederick turned to Gemma, offering his arm. “Shall we, then?”

She smiled, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you. I suppose it would be silly to let a wonderful meal go to waste.”

The warmth of his sinewy forearm beneath her hand and the quiet strength of his presence sent an electric thrill throughout her body. She was both anxious and exhilarated, and realized with a sudden jolt that she wanted him to be as affected by this moment as she was.

They entered the dining room together, and Frederick pulled her chair out for her. She sank into it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her pulse quickening as he took the seat beside her rather than across, a subtle choice that made the space between them feel pleasantly close.

Frederick poured them each a fresh glass of wine. Just as she took her first sip he leaned forward, his voice low and casual.

“So, tell me, how did you come to be so adept at solving problems like these? I cannot imagine convent life provided much opportunity for managing farms or orphaned children.”

Gemma laughed softly, surprised by the gentle teasing in his tone. “Oh, you would be surprised. The convent seemed to believe that keeping me busy with hard labor would eventually tame me into submission, so I was quite often assigned to tasks in the field or tending to livestock. Eventually, I learned to enjoy it.”

Frederick’s eyebrows raised slightly and a shine of admiration entered his eyes. “I would not have expected you’d develop such a skill to that extend from convent training.”

She shrugged, taking a modest sip of her wine. “I suppose I have learned to make the best of situations. That, and the fact that the sheep were often far better conversationalists than the nuns.”

Frederick laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made Gemma’s heart flutter.

“I cannot argue with that,” he said.

Their first course arrived, and as they picked at their meals, Gemma glanced up at Frederick, watching the way he placed each morsel into his mouth and how his tongue brushed over his lips after each bite. Her mind wandered back to how that same tongue had felt on her skin as it coursed over the hollows of her neck and shoulder.

“Is something the matter?” Frederick asked, snapping her out of her brief fantasy.

“No, no. I am fine,” she mumbled, and decided to cover up her staring by asking a question, “So… have you ever left Blackridge, Your Grace?”

Frederick arched an eyebrow at Gemma to let her know he had indeed noticed her gawking at him, then leaned back in hischair, his gaze drifting to the candles on the table as though they brought back memories from distant lands.

“I was young when I left Blackridge,” he began, his voice quieter than before, as though he was speaking less to her and more to himself. “Barely twenty, eager to see something beyond these familiar lands. I traveled to Edinburgh first, then farther north, into the Highlands of Scotland. It is wild country up there, rugged and unyielding.” He gave a slight, wry smile. “Beautiful, but not easy to live in.”

Gemma watched him, fascinated by the way his face softened with the memory.

“What drew you to Scotland?” she asked.

He considered her question, his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass thoughtfully.

“I suppose it was the mystery of it. It seemed untouched, unconquered. And the people there, well…” he chuckled, “they are as fierce as the land. I spent months there, listening to old tales from villagers as I explored their towns. I even climbed the hills to ruins of castles no one has cared for in centuries. At the time I thought I might find some kind of calling in it all.”

“And… did you?” Gemma asked, genuinely curious.

Frederick shook his head as a measure of self-deprecation occupied his thoughts. “No. But it taught me somethingimportant, all the same. Home is less about a place than about a sense of belonging.”

HaveI ever belonged anywhere?

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