Page 78 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
Jake could not stop thinking about the expression of Rose’s face when he had left her last evening.
Flushed, sated, seductive. Words of love barely discernible above their pounding heartbeats and ragged breathing. He wasn’t sure she’d realised what she’d said. But the words had carved a path through his heart to his very soul.
He had tried to convince himself that the words meant nothing, that she had spoken them in the heat of passion. After all, other women had said similar things in the same circumstances, but he knew deep within him that Rose wasn’t like other women. She did not say things that were not true.
She’d given him everything and he had been so stunned, he’d been unable to think, let alone speak what was in his own heart.
Thank God he had not.
In bringing her into his home, he’d made a grave mistake. The sort of mistake he might have made as a green boy new upon the town. Feeling more than he should for a lover. Wanting to keep her, when all he could do was keep her safe. Not only that, he’d stolen her innocence. Stolen her lack of worldliness which had made her so attractive to him in the first place.
His heart twisted. He did not deserve a woman like Rose. He could not allow his own feeling to colour his decisions. His life was not his own.
If things had been different—He squashed a thought that kept intruding where Rose was concerned.
Things,he thought bitterly, would have been different had he been a little less selfish. A little less headstrong. A little more willing to do his father’s bidding instead of leaving it to Ralph to fill the breach. As he always had.
On the other hand, had he done as he’d been asked that day six months ago, he might never have met Rose. Anger balled in his chest. A hot, hard lump. At himself. At whatever fate had decided his world should be turned on its head.
The stupidest part of all of it? He’d never been happier than he had been these past few weeks. A happiness he did not deserve.
Last night, seeing her waiting for him in her nightgown, her skin golden in the glow of the candles, he’d been unable to resist her allure.
She loved him.The wonder of it had shaken him to his core. Left him speechless and wanting what he could not have.
Today, in the cold light of day, he would lay out the future. The best he could offer, given his circumstances. Acarte blanche.
A house of her own across the river, where they could be together whenever they wished. A house where he could entertain his friends and they could be themselves, instead of sneaking around late at night. She’d have a carriage and clothes as befitted her beauty. He’d settle her financial affairs so when it was over, perhaps when he married, she would be comfortable for the rest of her life. Able to do just as she pleased. Perhaps find herself a husband.
Icy fingers clutched at his heart.
He fought off their chill. It was only fair. Because the one thing she wanted, the one thing he could not give her, were children. No child of his would suffer the taint of bastardy, though as a duke he could likely get away with it more easily than Oliver’s father had.
He steeled himself for the coming interview. Fortunately, his grandmother and sister had taken Lucy shopping for clothes. It was the perfect opportunity for him to talk to Rose without the fear of interruption.
He entered the drawing room with a smile and a yawning pit of dread in his gut.
Rose had her back to him, concentrating on—
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was loud, harsh, in the silence. He kept his gaze fixed on her, not on the portrait above the mantel.
She spun around. Put a hand to her heart. ‘Jake. You startled me.’ She turned back to the painting, denuded of crepe, which she must have pulled down and now held in her hand.
‘In this painting, you look more like your sister than your father or your brother,’ she mused with a smile in her voice. ‘They seem quite stern, the way you do most of the time, whereas here you look ready for any kind of adventure. A right proper rascal. You can’t hide it, though. Sometimes that rascal peeks out and you seem more like this boy.’ She turned back to face him, her face alight with interest in the truth she’d instantly seen.
Her words struck a blow at his heart. At the essence of everything he’d tried to be these past few months. A flash of unreasoning rage raced along his veins. ‘How dare you remove that without permission.’
Her face blanched. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder and winced. ‘I wanted to see the other members of your family. This is the only likeness of them in the house.’
Unable to stop himself, he glanced up. The faces of his brother and father gazed down on him with their usual self-assured gravity.
The Duke in his regalia and his heir, squaring his shoulders beneath the weight of the father’s hand and the responsibilities he would bear with dignity when his turn came around. And Eleanor, little more than a baby, holding her father’s hand. A hand that had been ripped from her grasp.
And then there was himself. Looking out with the expression of devil-may-care that had always been an irritant to his brother. After all, he was the younger son with all the privilege and none of the duty. A careless attitude that had destroyed everything he and Eleanor had held dear. A stark reminder of his failings.
He snatched the crepe from her hand, intending to replace it, but could not reach the top of the frame. Cursing under his breath, he went for a chair.
‘Why do you hide it?’ Rose asked from behind him, her voice full of puzzlement. ‘It is a beautiful portrait. Your father’s obvious pride in his children is heart-warming. Surely—?’
