Page 32 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“She mentioned feeling under the weather, Your Grace,” his butler said. “And requested a light dinner of soup.”

Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. “Have dinner sent to the dining hall instead; I’d like to check in on our guest.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

* * *

Sure enough, as Gabriel entered the dining hall, he immediately spotted Thalia near the front of the table. She sat in the same seat as the night before, delicately sipping a cup of tea with a small book in hand, half a bowl’s worth of soup and a slice of crusted bread seemingly abandoned before her.

Much to his surprise, she had changed out of her olive dress and into a nightgown, a robe tucked under her chin while her hair laid flowing well past her waist.

Gracious, but it really was as majestic as he hoped it would be, still damp and curled from the bath she must have taken upon arriving home. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, intermingling with the light smell of smoke from the crackling fireplace nearby.

“A touch early to be preparing for sleep, don’t you think?” Gabriel asked.

Thalia gasped, quickly setting the book against the table as she rose to curtsy. “Y-Your Grace! I’m terribly sorry; I didn’t hear you come in.”

Gabriel allowed himself a soft chuckle, approaching Thalia’s seat with a curious glance towards the book. “Poems of John Donne...” He leaned over her shoulder, giving her a sidelong glance. “Looks like my personal copy, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the maids offered it to me,” Thalia quickly explained. “I wasn’t entirely sure where the library was, and she mentioned she knew where…” She shook her head, offering the book Gabriel’s way. “Forgive her, won’t you? If anything, it’s my fault she felt the need to rummage in your personal collection.”

“Are you enjoying it so far?”

Thalia paused, then nodded gently. “I haven’t… quite reachedThe Fleajust yet.”

“Then you must hold onto it. Make it worth the maid’s bold act.”

Gabriel pressed the book against Thalia’s chest, fully insistent on the matter. It was hard to ignore the firmness of her bosom, how a mere collection of pages were all that separated them, and… he quickly distracted himself with a new topic of conversation. “I heard you managed to free yourself from my sister’s grasp? Quite a feat, if I do say so myself.”

Thalia offered a nervous smile in reply. “She seemed awfully upset, but ever the gracious hostess. And,” she added quickly. “Miss Louise was very insistent on her purchasing a gown for the Season.”

He nodded, noting the pallid look of her face. “And… you’re feeling better, now?”

Thalia blinked, clearly confused.

“The butler mentioned your early return was due to poor health.”

“O-oh.” Thalia’s gaze tilted towards the soup, hands wringing in her lap. “Yes, I… I felt a bit overwhelmed, being in public for so long. I suppose I’ve forgotten how much it takes out of me.”

The desire to gather her in his arms, to push the rest of the world out and protect her fragile heart, intensely thrummed in Gabriel’s chest. Little rabbit indeed; she was in desperate need of a distraction, it seemed. “So you don’t get my staff in any further trouble, little rabbit,” Gabriel offered his hand, “Shall I show you where the library is?”

“A-are you sure?” Thalia asked, attention fixated on Gabriel completely. “I would hate to intrude on your evening, Your Grace.”

“I’ll decide what—or who—is intruding on my evening. Besides,” he added with a smirk. “You have yet the pleasure to witness my sister’s sculpting era.”

Thalia’s eyes widened, a bright smile crossing her face. “You actually kept her works, then?”

“Suppose you’ll have to come and see for yourself, little rabbit.”

* * *

True to his word, the duke had, in fact, kept many of his sister’s attempts. Thalia wandered the halls of Stonewell at his side, marveling at the many lopsided vases filled with freshly-cut flowers, or small sculpts of beasts she rightly couldn’t put names to.

All the while, Gabriel fed her interesting tidbits about not just Charlotte’s art, but the framed pictures or crown moldings along the corners of the hallway. There was so much character in each room he took her to; Thalia could feel pride radiating off the duke with each new discovery.

That wasn’t all she could feel, of course; every so often, his hand might find hers and direct her through a doorway, and that brief connection caused her heart to flutter. His scent was ever-present, even after they’d separated and kept a polite distance from each other. Smoke and wood; the outdoors in its rawest state.

“Did you really keep that frog-faced bust?” Thalia suddenly asked. “Or is that something you simply like to torture your sweet sister with?”

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