Page 2 of Anastasia and the Duke
"I knew you wouldn't stay vexed at me for too long," Hannah's captor chuckled, as he noted the change in her breathing, "Do you forgive old Hawkfield, my love?"
Hannah gave a squeak as she was crushed against his chest, the noise inspired by both his sheer strength and the realisation that the man who held her was the Duke of Hawkfield--one of England's most powerful men.
Her first instinct was to flee, but it was impossible given that he held her so tightly. Thus, there was little else that Hannah could do except admit defeat and allow herself to be swept into an embrace by the duke.
His lips caught hers, warm and demanding, and, despite her innocence, as well as her fear of being caught, Hannah found herself responding to him. He was strong, his embrace was warm, his lips upon hers were like fire, and she wanted to melt against him. It was a strange, intoxicating feeling, which gave Hannah the sensation of floating.
"Constance," the duke groaned, his words bringing Hannah back down to earth to a thud.
This man was not her lover, she reminded herself sternly, and he was likely to personally see she was hung on Tyburn's Tree once he realised the truth. For in his eyes, Hannah's crimes would be double; theft and thinking herself good enough to kiss a duke.
"My love," the duke continued, his hands now roving up from Hannah's back to her neck, up to her head, where he had expected to meet luscious locks but instead found...
"Are you wearing a mob cap?"
The duke stilled, his hold on her momentarily weakened. Never one to miss an opportunity, Hannah slipped from his grasp and began to back away towards the door.
"Who are you?" Hawkfield questioned, his voice curious and amused, rather than annoyed.
"No one," Hannah answered quickly, adopting an Estuary lilt, "Just a maid, your Grace. I came in to place a warming pan in her ladyship's bed and turn down the sheets."
"A warming pan at eleven o'clock?" the reply was delivered in a lazy drawl, "Is Lady Jersey intending to retire early?"
"I am not aware, your Grace," Hannah answered, innocently, "I was just told by the housekeeper to bring it upstairs."
"Is that so? And did the housekeeper also tell you to skulk around her ladyships' rooms in the dark like a thief?"
She was doomed, Hannah thought, as panic flared in her chest. The duke was no fool, though, he was also no innocent either, she reasoned angrily.
"And what isyourexcuse for being in my lady's bedroom, your Grace?" Hannah answered, her tone far more indignant than any servants' would even think to be.
"I would have thought that it was quite obvious."
There it was again, the amused, laconic drawl which sent shivers down Hannah's spine. Even without seeing him, Hannah knew instinctively that the duke was devilishly handsome, and he knew it too, judging by the self-assurance with which he spoke.
"Then we are both where we should not be, your Grace," Hannah answered, surprised that her voice sounded so calm when, within her chest, her heart was racing, "I won't tell if you don't."
There was a silence, as the duke digested Hannah's remark. The air was heavy, loaded with tension, and, too late, Hannah realised that her words had not been wise.
"Is that a threat?"
"No," Hannah gulped, taking one step back towards the door.
"It sounded like one," the duke observed, softly.
Hannah could not see his face in the dimness of the room, but she could see the outline of his figure. Before, his posture had been relaxed, almost lazy, now he stood ready to pounce.
"I swear, it was not," Hannah pleaded, using the sound of her voice to disguise her steps, as she tried to make her way unobserved to the door.
"I, my dear," Hawkfield drawled, "Am a duke, and as such have permission to be anywhere. You, on the other hand, are a servant--or so you claim to be--who very much doesnothave permission to be here. Now, tell me what it is that you are about, skulking in Lady Jersey's rooms?"
"I--" Hannah opened her mouth to reply, but every excuse that entered her head seemed pallid. This was it, she thought nervously, she had finally been caught.
Fear was a funny thing, it rooted some people to the spot like a startled doe, while in others it inspired a surge of energy--Hannah fell into the latter category. She turned on her heel and sprinted for the door, but her wild plan of making a quick escape was dashed as the duke sprang into action.
He crossed the room, quick as lightning, and reached out to grab her by the wrist. As he jerked her towards him, some of the jewels fell from her pockets to the floor with a tell-tale clunk.
"I see that I have caught a thief," Hawkfield whispered, pulling her against him.
