Page 38 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

“Goodnight, Grace,” he whispered then retracted his hand.

Grace trembled, looking at the door of the carriage as it was opened by the footman. She picked up the shawl which he had discarded on the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders and neck, hiding the fact that the Duke had torn her gown so much. When she knew their actions were masked, she stepped down from the carriage.

She glanced back at him from the front stoop to her house, but she could not see him in the darkness of the carriage. The butler was still up and let her in. She slipped inside, insisting that she would like to keep her shawl with her tonight, even when the butler offered to take it for her.

“Lady Grace, your father is in his study,” the butler said as she reached for the staircase. “He was hoping to speak to you before you retire for the night.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.” Grace forced a smile for the butler. Once the butler was gone, her smile dropped away. She breathed deeply, trying her best to steady herself and forget what the Duke had just done to her, how much he had tempted and toyed with her, only to thrust her away again.

As soon as she could breathe easily, she headed down the corridor toward her father’s study. “Father?” she whispered, knocking on the door and opening it a little.

John was seated in an armchair beside the fire. He looked weaker than when she had last seen him, nursing a cup of tea in his hand as he raised his gaze from the fire.

“Father, how are you?” She hastened into the room, tucking the shawl tightly around her neck, so she could sit on the footstool in front of him, and she reached toward him.

“I’m not too bad,” he assured her gently, managing a small smile.

“You need a new physician, Father,” she said, returning to an argument they’d had many times before. “I know my mother is keen for you to keep seeing this healer, but he is doing you no good. You need someone new to look at you.”

“I will consider it.” He rested his teacup in one hand and reached to take her palm with his other. “Now, let’s talk for a minute about something other than my sickness.”

Her gut knotted hard. Not talking about her father’s sickness felt wrong. It was only right to speak of it, especially when she knew how much Althea wished not to speak of it, to brush it under the carpet and pretend it was not happening at all.

I am not ready to lose you, Father.

“This betrothal.” His expression turned very sad. “If it is not what you want, tell me, dear Grace. Tell me and I will find another way out for you.”

“What?”

“I do not want to see you married to a man you cannot stand, Grace. Do not let me have that pain before I die.”

“Father, no speaking of death, I beg of you. We will not lose you so soon. Not if you go to another physician,” she pleaded with him.

“Very well, I shall do so, but in the meantime, answer my question.” He placed his teacup down beside her on the table, giving her his full fixed attention. “I wish to see you settled and happy. If the Duke of Berkley cannot make you so, then tell me now. I will find another resolution to this scandal.”

“There is no other resolution,” she said softly as comfortingly as she possibly could. “I’m quite sensible to that, Father.” She squeezed his hand tight. “And as for whether the Duke can make me happy or not, well, he has vowed to give me freedom.”

“Freedom?” her father repeated, his brows furrowing together in surprise.

“He has said that I can live the life I want, that I can change the house if I wish to. Personally, I’m already planning to take my horse with me. I intend to make the most of riding through the estate and exploring my own home. Now, does that not sound like a happy future?”

“It does.” Her father softened in his seat, looking infinitely more at ease. “I am glad he will give you your freedom. You deserve it, Grace. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, Father. Do not worry about me. I shall make the most of things.”

“You always do.” He looked very sleepy indeed.

Grace reached for a blanket nearby and tucked it around his legs. He thanked her gently as she stood, wishing him a goodnight.

As she parted from the room, leaving her father to a much more comfortable sleep than before, she hesitated on the other side of the door, thinking through what she had said.

She was not as confident about her happiness as she had claimed to be to her father, but after that night in the carriage with the Duke of Berkley, there was something she could not deny. She had so badly wanted to be touched by him, to continue that kiss until she was completely lost in that fiery passion which she had only glimpsed twice now beneath his icy reserve.

“Damn you,” she muttered, thinking only of the Duke as she stormed up to her room. She hid in her chamber, shutting the door tight, then pulled off her shawl and turned to face the mirror. She gasped when she saw the state she was in.

The frilly high neckline of the gown was not the only thing marred though it now hung in tatters around her chest where he had pulled restlessly at it. There was also a pink mark at the base of her throat where he had marked her with his nibbling kisses.

She drew her fingers over it, stunned at the sensitivity of it.

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