Page 88 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

A familiar face—a half-drunk noble whose name escaped him—overheard his inquiries and stumbled over with a broad, hazy grin.

“Oh, you are looking for the Treston estate, are you?” the man asked, slurring his words as he swayed unsteadily. “I know the place, went to a soirée there just last week, though not much of a party, if you ask me. The place is close to Salisbury, if you are that keen.”

Frederick offered a smile, hiding his relief.

“Thank you,” he said, signaling to the barkeep. “A drink for my friend here.”

The man’s eyes sparkled as he accepted. Frederick made polite conversation, watching his companion drift off into his drink before thanking him and leaving.

Back at Grosvenor Square he barely touched his supper, his mind filled with anticipation.

He retired early, though sleep was elusive, every creak and shift in the silent house a reminder of how close he was to her.

CHAPTER 34

The next morning dawned grey and damp, yet the chill didn’t bother Frederick as he saddled his horse. Hours slipped by as they traveled narrow roads, passed through villages and over rain-washed hills, the scenery blurring past him, every mile drawing him closer.

Frederick’s thoughts were fixed on her face, her voice, the soft light in her eyes as she had looked at him that last evening before they had parted ways. He clung to those memories, to the hope that she might forgive him, that she might still be waiting for him.

The long day passed in a blur, and by the time Frederick finally arrived, the late afternoon light cast long shadows across the grounds.

The estate was vast but austere, a grand but imposing structure that reminded him more of a monastery than a family home. It felt cold, almost unwelcoming, the surrounding gardens tangled with weeds and left to go to seed.

Frederick dismounted, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His heart quickened with the knowledge that she was here, just within these walls. He approached the large front door and knocked firmly.

After a long pause, the door opened to reveal a tall, elderly butler. The man’s expression was impeccably neutral, although he took in Frederick’s presence with a quick, assessing glance, his gaze lingering on the Duke’s travel-worn attire.

Frederick inclined his head. “I am here to see Lady Gemma. Please inform her that the Duke of Blackridge has arrived and wishes to speak with her.”

The butler’s face remained unreadable, though he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, do step inside.”

Frederick crossed the threshold into the dimly lit foyer, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as he took in the bare stone walls and cold marble floors. The air felt thick and stagnant, as if the house itself was reluctant to let in light or warmth. He noted the starkness of the space, its oppressive silence settling over him with a chill.

The butler shut the door and gestured toward a nearby hallway. “If you would please follow me, Your Grace, I shall inform the lady of the house of your arrival.”

Frederick nodded, holding back the impatience that clawed at him. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice betraying none of the urgency he felt.

The butler led him through a series of hallways, each more dimly lit and somber than the last, until they reached a large, sparsely furnished sitting room. A faint musty scent lingered in the air, and the few paintings on the walls seemed dark and foreboding.

“Please make yourself comfortable, Your Grace,” the butler said, gesturing toward an armchair near the cold, empty fireplace. “I shall return shortly.”

Frederick nodded, though he couldn’t resist a quick glance around the room, hoping to catch sight of Gemma’s familiar figure. But the space remained empty and silent as the butler disappeared into the dimly lit corridor.

Left alone, Frederick found himself pacing the length of the room, his thoughts racing.

He wondered how Gemma had fared in the days since their separation. Did she resent him, he wondered? Would she even agree to see him? He had prepared himself for the possibility that she might refuse, that she might send him away before he had a chance to speak to her.

He knew he couldn’t leave without trying. He needed to see her, to offer her an explanation for his actions and, if she would allow it, to bring her back with him. He needed her back to Blackridge with him, for his home was empty without her, its halls cold andsilent in a way they hadn’t been after she had entered his life. He had spent enough time resisting his feelings, hiding behind his pride and his duty, but he could no longer deny the truth.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, interrupting his reverie. Frederick straightened, his heart soaring with anticipation as he turned toward the doorway.

The door to the sitting room opened again, this time with a quiet creak that echoed in the tense silence.

Lady Anna Clarke, better known as Lady Treston, entered the room first, her posture rigid and her expression one of controlled disdain. She was impeccably dressed, her gown a mirror of the latest fashion, but there was something about her that felt stiff and unwelcoming, like a carefully crafted facade without warmth or substance to it.

Elizabeth dawdled behind Lady Treston, her hesitant steps betraying her discomfort with the situation. She glanced around the room, her eyes briefly meeting Frederick’s before she quickly looked away, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Frederick stood as they entered, his greeting courteous but lacking any enthusiasm. “Lady Treston, Elizabeth, it is lovely to see you again.”

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