Page 49 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"Do you reckon he's here to apologise?" Mary asked in a whisper.
"Most likely," Ava replied, trying not to recall the hurt that she had felt the night before. That Kilbride had chosen Lady Emily to be his bride based on her fine lineage should not have come as a shock to Ava, but it had deeply pierced her soul to hear him say those words, and she knew why.
A part of her, a part that she had been trying valiantly to repress, had secretly hoped that if the duke had ever discovered her true identity, that he would be able to see past it, to the woman she was. Now she knew that Kilbride desired sons who had the blood of generations of aristocrats coursing through their veins, more than he desired a simple girl who recognised the pain within his soul. She could have cursed herself for being so stupid, for thinking that a duke might love a poor orphan.
"I suppose we'd best get this over with," Ava said with a sigh, as she squared her shoulders and strode resolutely out the garden gate and toward Fairfax House. She had just reached the front steps, when the door of Kilbride's carriage opened and the duke appeared.
"Lady Emily," he called, his voice croakier than usual, "What a coincidence, I have just arrived."
"Do come in," Ava said in response, wishing that the hurt she felt would magically transform itself into anger, but it did not. The very sight of Kilbride made her ache—even if he did look rather more dishevelled than usual. His handsome face wore a look of pain and despite her anger, Ava felt a stab of pity for the man. He was not the only one who had transgressed, she thought with a guilty conscience, for she had been lying to him since the first day they had met.
Her sister's plan, which had seemed so exciting when Emily had first proposed it, had now completely lost its allure. Kilbride was not a lump of granite, whom one could trifle with, but a man with feelings—feelings which could be hurt as easily as her own.
Ava kept this thought at the forefront of her mind, as she led Kilbride inside the house and into the drawing room.
"I must call for tea," she said vaguely, as they both settled down into their seats. As much as she did not want to, Ava knew that she needed to end things with him now, for she could not bear to string Kilbride along for any longer—it was too cruel.
"I'll fetch it, my Lady," Mary offered, disappearing from the room in a flash, leaving Ava and the duke completely alone.
There was a moment of awkward silence, before Kilbride launched into his apology.
"I wish to say sorry for what I said to you last night," he said, standing from his chair and pacing the room. Even in her abject misery, Ava could appreciate the duke's fine physique; his power and musculature were in sharp contrast to the feminine decor of the drawing room, which was decorated exclusively in pastels and lace.
"There is no need to apologise, Your Grace," Ava replied quietly, "I am glad to know why you wish to marry me, for it makes what I am about to say much easier."
"Don't," Kilbride spun on the heel of his Hessian, turning an imploring face toward her, "Please don't say it, not just yet. Last night, I was so panicked that I could not think straight. Of course, your lineage is important, but that's not why I wish to have you as my bride, Emily. I desire you, body and soul. Your sweetness, your grace, your kindness, your enthusiasm for life; all of this has bewitched me, and—"
"And?" Ava asked, as Kilbride broke off in a hoarse croak.
"And I have never had a woman look at me like you do," he admitted quietly, as though he was ashamed of his feelings, "When I look into your eyes, I feel as though you see into my soul, and all my feelings of loneliness disappear.
Loneliness; Ava closed her eyes against that word, for it was something she knew well. There was, she knew, no greater poverty than feeling unwanted, and she too had spent many years of her life feeling invisible, just waiting to be found. Before her now stood a man, who saw her, who understood her, whowantedher, and it tore at Ava's soul that none of it was real.
"Gracious," she said in a light voice, as she attempted to break the heady, intoxicating tension between the two of them; "Did Mary go all the way to China to fetch that tea?"
"I don't care about the blasted tea," Kilbride interjected, striding across the room to her and hauling her to her feet; "I care about you Emily; I have never cared about a person as much in my entire life."
"I am not the person you think me to be," Ava protested, her own voice now throaty with emotion, "Please, believe me, Your Grace."
"Raff," Kilbride replied, as he hauled her against him, "For goodness' sake woman, let me hear my name upon your lips."
"Raff," Ava whispered, and the moment she had said it, the duke's mouth came crashing down upon hers.
Their kiss last night had begun softly, before it had grown in passion, but today there was nothing soft about the way Kilbride kissed her. He held her against his chest in a crushing grip as his lips claimed hers possessively. He was more man than duke now, his polished manners slipping away to reveal a base need, that both excited and frightened Ava.
Even if she had wanted to, she could not have pulled herself from his embrace, for her treacherous body was too in thrall to the man who held her.
We must stop, Ava thought hazily, as she melted against Kilbride's chest, though her resolve quickly slipped away. They could have stayed like that for hours, but luckily a startled voice, interrupted the pair.
"Tea," Mary called from the open door, her voice so high-pitched it was a wonder that anyone bar a dog could hear it, "I've brought the tea."
Mary bustled into the room, her face beet red and set the tray down upon the table, as Ava and Kilbride broke apart. The Irish woman cast Ava a rather knowing look, before she glanced down at the tray and let out a loud theatrical sigh.
"I forgot the milk," she said, turning back to the door, "I'll be back in a minute."
"There's a jug on the tray," Ava called after her, but Mary ignored her and disappeared into the hallway.
"Forgive me," Kilbride said, once they were alone again, "I should not have done that; I just needed to make you see..."
