Page 12 of Good Duke Gone Hard

“Sometimes.”

“And others?”

He paused. She knew she was pushing him. Why was she pushing him? Did she want to punch him in the gut just to see if he still felt pain? But she couldn’t help her curiosity.

“Other times it feels more nightmarish.”

Margaret ignored all of her wildly exploding impulses to reach out to him physically and ease his emotional pain. When ignorance failed, like a sergeant, she commanded her arms to hang casually at her sides, her feet to remain planted in their current footprints, and her torso not to sway forward deceitfully forcing her feet and arms to follow.

With nonchalance foreign to her, she asked, “Which familiar trails have you ambled down?”

“That’s the problem. Nothing is familiar.” He threw up his hands and exhaled. “I know things are supposed to be familiar. But they aren’t. So I thought, mayhap if I started at the root, or the tree I suppose, my family, something might be triggered. Even if I just find one trail, it could be the answer.” He pushed his hands into and up his cheeks, and then leaned back in his chair.

“Let’s go then.”

JONATHAN WATCHED AS MARGARET swiveled on her heel and strolled out of the room. He could have said no. Or no thank you. He could have asked why. He could have even ignored the entire scene, saying nothing. He could have sat all morning, or at least a few more minutes, studying Debrett’s.

Instead, he snatched his coat and followed her sashaying hips draped in a murderously tight aquamarine morning dress out the door.

“To the theater,” he heard her call.

As they entered the opulent room, he noticed the garnet red drapes flowing across what looked like a pristine wooden stage.

“The theater? I didn’t pay for a show.”

Margaret’s cheeks flushed to match the drapes. He strode past her into the room to explore what appeared to be recent work on the stage.

With his hands running roughly over the improvements, he heard her say something about Gregory redoing the stage to save Mary’s life. Sounded dramatic. Fitting.

“Why are we in the theater?”

Margaret sighed. “We all used to put on these silly plays together.”

“We?”

“You. Me. My brother, Gregory, and his now-wife, Mary. She used to write the most nonsensical, but whimsical tales. Now she has started quite the name for herself, but that’s a story for another time.” She paused, looking up at him. “Do you…remember?”

He felt that familiar sensation again, his essence, when he looked at her. Her eyes. That was all he heard. Eyes didn’t speak, but hers did just now. And he heard them clearly. Her large, chocolate, almond shaped eyes, tucked away, spoke softly. He heard her asking him if it was okay that she probed. He heard her saying that she couldn’t imagine his pain, and that she suffered too. He heard her saying that it was all going to be okay, that everything was fine right now, and that if at some point it wasn’t fine in the future, they would manage that then.

Hearing too much, he shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of the fact that he could hear her thoughts when he hardly knew her.

“What kind of plays?”

“Mermaids and pirates, of course!”

He raised a suspicious brow.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“That does seem to be our norm.”

“Come.” She threw her arms out to the sides as if to embrace the air and energy of the room, twirled once, clapped, and pranced through the doors.

His body followed, usurping his permission. Ostensibly, without the twirl, clap, and prance.

They made their way to the gardens. The autumn air held a refreshing chill, and the sun, when peeking from behind the clouds, offered a warm touch.

He watched her achingly round bottom take full shape as she bent to smell the few flowers left in bloom during the autumn season. The swift tightness in his pants caught him unexpectedly. Thoughts leaked into his mind of how it would feel for that apple-shaped bottom to rest between his thighs.

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