Page 33 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

The duke gave her a faint, if not mischievous grin, and led Thalia down the closest corridor. After a few more twists and turns, the pair ended up standing before a massive oak door, carved in beautiful detail and stained a brilliant dark shade.

The duke grasped the knob and pushed inward, revealing a dimly lit room filled wall-to-wall in shelved books. Thalia’s gaze tilted upward, catching the night sky through a glimmering glass dome.

“Oh, my… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this.”

“You’ll never see something like this, either.”

Her attention turned, suddenly aware that the duke had left her side. He moved across the library briskly, approaching what seemed to be a writing desk propped against the wall; there was barely any space for the chair to fit. With a quick and easy shove, he turned the desk sideways and slipped beneath, producing a small bust cradled in his arms.

Thalia blinked, laughter bubbling out from her chest. It really did look like a frog—his eyes bulged out from the squashed features of his head, and his lips were stretched entirely too long across his face.

“It’s uncanny, isn’t it?” the duke asked.

“It truly is!” Thalia laughed. “How on earth has she not found it yet?”

The duke returned the bust beneath the writing desk, pushing it back into place. “My dear sister is interested in a great number of things, but books are entirely too stationary of a task.” He leaned against the desk, the faintest traces of a smile crossing his face. “She’d always tell me that living the adventure was far more interesting than reading about it.”

“That certainly sounds like her,” Thalia said. “Whomever manages to catch her eye will be a lucky man, indeed.”

“Luckwill have nothing to do with it,” the duke insisted. “It shall be she who pursues him, mark my words. Whomever the man is, she will hunt him down to the ends of the earth, regardless of the obstacles.”

“Just like her brother would?”

Another mischievous glint passed his eye, and Thalia felt her core positively melt. “She had to have learned it somewhere.”

Thalia chuckled lightly, glancing back toward the bookshelf with feigned interest. There were certainly a number of titles that caught her eye—The Mysteries of Udolpho, Mansfield Park—though she was surprised to spot a particular book partially pulled from its place. “Pride and Prejudice, Your Grace?”

The duke offered a light shrug. “I’d hardly be considered a proper connoisseur of literature without Jane Austen’s works among my collection.”

“I mean no disrespect—I quite enjoyed her work myself, back in Oslay Hall.” Thalia eased the book back into its place, offering the duke a sincere smile. “I’m just… surprised to see it looking so well loved. Romance didn’t strike me as an interest that took you.”

“Truth be told…” It was the first time Thalia saw the duke hesitate in anything he did, let alone during conversation. He exhaled loudly, crossing the room before slipping the book back out from its place. “It’s my mother’s favorite. This is likely her personal copy.”

As if to prove his point, he opened the book and flipped through a few dog-eared pages; Thalia immediately took note of the hand-written annotations along the page’s borders.

Immediately, it became strange to her that such a cherished memento would be put in such a public place. Not stored away safely to reminisce, but be fully exposed to whatever damage other hands may have wrought on it. Thalia frowned, wanting to ask about it, but the duke seemed lost in his conversation; she hardly wished to interrupt.

“She often enjoyed telling me stories around this book,” the duke continued, his expression clearly in a place of reminiscence. “How she often carried it like a security blanket during schooling, how she tried to emulate the titular heroine herself.”

He flipped through a few more pages, pressed flowers tucked between little snippets of writing. Thalia noted the stark difference in penmanship, the flirtatious language used.

“Are these notes…?” she dared to ask.

The duke closed the book, gently returning it to its place. “My father’s handwriting. Yes, it is.”

Thalia recalled the horrid tension after Charlotte dared to mention their paternal figurehead. And yet, the atmosphere now only seemed heavy with regret, a bitter sadness she could practically taste on her tongue. The duke looked at the book with equal parts disgust and longing, as if some good memory still lodged itself within its painful existence. “Your Grace,”

“But the past is the past,” the duke spoke curtly, ending whatever conversation they might have had in its place.

“My mother ensured it stayed as such.” He glanced to Thalia, stone walls once more built between them. “I must excuse myself, Miss Sutton. There’s business I need to attend to this evening, and I hardly wish to impede on yours.”

Thalia bit her tongue, a coppery tang of disappointment coating it as she watched the duke leave. Briefly, she outstretched her arm, splint catching against the moonlight from the skyline above, and she grasped hopelessly at the air where he once stood.

“I should decide that for myself,” she murmured softly as the library door swung shut. “Shouldn’t I?”

CHAPTER16

True to her word, Thalia woke up early the next morning, ready to partake in whatever antics Charlotte chose to get the pair into. Anything to try and get last night’s encounter out of her mind; the duke had a habit of digging into her thoughts and holding fast.

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