Page 48 of My Dark Duke

A known rake and a secret murderess were not guaranteed a happy ending, no matter how much she willed it.

As she stretched in the bed, a knock came upon the door, and Polly poked her head in.

“Shall I send Maude up with a tray?” she queried.

“Please,” Lillian nodded, no longer ashamed of the luxury of being served tea in bed.

Maude arrived a few minutes later, bearing a tray laden with tea and bread, and a copy of the morning’s paper.

Lillian poured herself a steaming cup of tea and settled in to read the news-sheet. It was a habit she had developed over the last while, scouring each column to see if there was a mention of Lord Bailey, or her, or the murder of Mr. Hope in Linton.

She never found a mention of it, which left her puzzled. The papers usually thrived on lurid tales of murder, even more-so when the culprit was still on the loose. It was possible Lord Bailey had managed to keep the scandal confined to Kent, but still she wondered…

Lillian paused at the gossip column, where she had last read her name, and scanned it for any mention of either herself or Thorncastle. After reading about several predicted engagements, and a thinly veiled reference to a countess who was conducting an affair with a marquess, she sighted a reference to Thorncastle.

The lesser spotted D of T was sighted for the first time in weeks last night, supping brandy in his club. Given he later engaged in a bout of fisticuffs with another club member, this columnist is left to wonder if it is better if he simply remains unseen.

Lillian frowned; had Sebastian been involved in a fight at White’s? He had not said anything, nor had he shown any signs of a scuffle, but surging male emotion might explain the ferocity with which he had made love to her last night.

She flushed, as she recalled his uncontrollable passion. She had not expected him to take her upon the desk, but she had thoroughly enjoyed it. The only worry was he had lost control so much he had spent himself inside her.

She wriggled her legs together, aroused by the idea the duke was so drawn to her his usual control was lost. It was a foolish femininity to feel so satisfied by having him spill his seed inside her, yet she was.

It’s dangerous, a voice in her head cautioned. Her lovemaking with Thorncastle was so deeply passionate, she sometimes forgot it was only she who was making love. Thorncastle did not want children; she could not wish a child into a union where it was unwanted. She, who had grown up in a home where she had been doted on by both parents, could not wish for a child whose father resented him. Nor should she allow herself to fall in love with a man incapable of loving her back - though she feared it was too late for that.

Maude arrived, to take the tray away, pulling Lillian from her confused thoughts.

“Water for a bath ma’am?” Maude queried, cheerfully, as she lifted the heavy tray with ease.

“Please,” Lillian nodded, “and send Polly up after, to help me dress.”

It took a half hour for Maude to fill the tub, which Lillian then soaked in for another hour. She remained, soaping her skin until the water was stone cold, glad for the distraction of it.

Her days were measured in time which either went too fast or too slow. When Thorncastle left in the morning, she had hours to fill until his return. Hours in which she dared not leave the house, in case Lord Bailey might spot her. She kept herself occupied with her morning toilet, then another hour might be whiled away eating lunch. The afternoons and early evenings were the longest - though, if she had a good book, it was not so bad.

The duke would arrive mid-evening, bearing little trinkets and tales of his day. They would eat together, sip on wine, or he would have her play for him on the pianoforte in the library. Inevitably, they would retire early to bed and spend the remainder of their time together in a state of bliss. Limbs entwined, skin touching, the seconds melted away to nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like she was living half a life, though she did not wish to complain. If it wasn’t for Thorncastle, she might be locked up in Newgate, or swinging from Tyburn’s Tree…

“Knock knock,” Polly called, as she bustled into the room.

She held a stack of freshly laundered bath sheets in her hands, which she set down upon the dresser. She then picked one from the pile and stretched it out wide, so as to screen Lillian when she stepped from the bath.

“Thank you,” Lillian said, as she wrapped the towel around her. “I fear you are spoiling me, Polly. I shall forget how to brush my hair, soon enough; then where shall I be, if Thorncastle decides he is tired of me?”

“I don’t think His Grace will tire of you anytime soon,” Polly answered, knowingly.

Lillian blushed, as she wondered if Polly had heard their lovemaking in the library? They had not attempted to stay quiet, nor had Lillian tried to hide her gown, which had been ripped in the midst of their passion.

“Still, I must not forget myself,” Lillian said, mostly to remind herself. “The future can change in the blink of an eye.”

Polly remained silent, as she folded away the linens. Lillian’s words had obviously had some impact on her, however, for a few moments later she gave a great sigh.

“I have been meaning to ask you, Mary,” she said, as Lillian turned to her in question. “If you have any need for napkins, or a belt? You’ve so many pretty dresses, it would be a shame to go without a guard and see them stained.”

It took Lillian a few seconds to understand the meaning of Polly’s question. She had never discussed her courses openly with anyone, barring an aunt, who had taken on the task of informing her about such matters. The conversation had been quick and cold, leaving Lillian to discover the finer details alone.

“Yes, I expect I shall need some, Polly,” she said, keeping her voice steady so the older woman would not guess how flustered she was.

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