Page 37 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“I understand that feeling, though,” he finally said. “That… desire, to put your own needs aside for the sake of your sibling. Bearing the weight of all the world’s horrors, and yet somehow, it still finds a way to sink its claws into them. That agony once they’re grown, once they learn for themselves…”

Thalia paused mid-stroke, shoulders stiffening. “It’s awful.”

Gabriel glanced toward his own sister, still in a frenzy of brush strokes. “You can appreciate why I’m concerned for my own sister’s well-being right now.”

“Then… you should talk to her, Your Grace. “

Infuriating. She knew very well what ailed Charlotte and refused to speak. Gabriel wished dearly he could take her to his office, sit her down, and interrogate her into submission.

He paused, his imagination briefly spiraling into thoughts of his hands pinning hers to the desk, their faces close enough to feel the hitch of her breath, and her neck fully exposed, pristine, eager for a claiming bite.

“I mean no disrespect, Your Grace,” Thalia added hastily afterward, breaking Gabriel free from his machinations. “Nor to heighten any anxieties you may have for your sister. It’s simply not my place to speak Charlotte’s mind.”

She gently added a stippling of color to the rookery’s walls, rinsing the paint in a small cup of water before utilizing a mixture of oranges and whites to paint more detail across Robin’s face. “She is feeling vulnerable right now, Your Grace. I admit, I had a hand stirring these feelings free from her, but more than anything…”

Gabriel found himself leaning on her every word. Even more infuriating.

“More than anything…” Thalia sighed lightly, giving him a pleading glance once more. “I think she would like you to listen to her.”

Her words stung briefly, hardier than any slap to the face he’d ever received from a woman. For a moment, Gabriel considered the request quite insolent, entirely unaware of the relationship he’d fostered so carefully with his sister. Charlotte had as many freedoms as he could allow her—she need not find a husband so desperately.

She could fill her days with horseback and running barefoot instead of more ladylike tasks—and yet this practical stranger claimed to know better? Prey indeed; this little rabbit deserved more than a bite to the neck. She deserved far worse for her presumptions.

But, no. There was no malice in Thalia’s eyes, no self-righteous lilt to her tone or a posture that suggested her to be holier-than-thou. The way she spoke, the way she practically begged; Gabriel realized she truly wished for nothing but the best for his sister.

Perhaps this was her way of repaying Charlotte for all her kindness shown, or perhaps this was simply the sort of person Thalia Sutton was. A little rabbit in a world filled with wolves, undaunted from changing her morals in the face of complete annihilation. And he would not join the scavengers who hoped to take advantage of, or misread, her intent.

He rested a hand gently against her shoulder before walking off, directly focused ahead on his sister. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Charlotte interrupted him.

“Don’t be cross with Thalia on my account, dear brother.”

Deflective. Audibly agitated. Somewhat truly was wrong. “Miss Sutton has done something to upset you,” Gabriel began.

Charlotte snorted, another flick of her brush creating a jagged line across her backdrop. Her shoulders remained still, her posture rigid, and she spoke with an increasing bite in her tone. “She was quite helpful, as a matter of fact. Once more, your taste in women has proved impeccable.”

Gabriel frowned, drawing closer to his sister’s side. “Charlotte.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling my own emotions, thank you.” A slight break in her voice, hastily covered by a flurry of movement. Charlotte attempted to dip her paintbrush in water, find a new brush to mix her paints with, catch the last sight of a monarch before it vanished into the brush—and instead, she found her wrist gently grasped by Gabirel’s hand, stopping her in mid-motion. “Let go.”

Gabriel remained still.

“Gabriel Harding, I’m not afraid to kick you where it hurts!” As if to prove a point, his sister’s leg struck out, though a step to the side easily kept him from harm. Her body was trembling now, her voice catching in what had to be the largest lump growing in the back of her throat.

“Charlotte.”

“Leave me alone, Gabriel!”

He shook his head, gently beginning to hum under his breath.

“What, do you think me a child having a tantrum?” Charlotte angrily spat, wrenching her arm free from his grasp. “That some stupid lullaby will magically make everything better?” She crossed her arms and stood before him, scowl deepening as the song persisted;

Hop, Little Rabbit, hurry home.

Through the tangling briars and nighttime’s gloam.

For a moment, her expression softened, a twitch of her brow betraying the hurt beneath her dark expression. “S-Stop.”

To your little rabbit’s burrow, deep in the ground

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