Page 10 of Healing the Duke's Desires
“May I?” he asked, feeling as if something, or better yet, someone else had taken over his body.
He took the handkerchief from her hand and tried to help her wipe the stain off of her sleeve. His touch was gentle, but he couldn’t help but notice the way her body reacted to his presence, to his closeness. He knew, because her presence and her closeness were having the same effect on him. A shiver ran through him, and at that moment, his emotions turned to a violent storm.
He had not expected to feel such a connection with anyone after Amelia’s death. He had closed himself off, convincing himself that he would never love again. But now, as much as he was trying to banish those thoughts, they persisted. The sheer intensity of the moment was too much.
“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, trying to regain his composure. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Before he allowed her to say anything to his apology, he turned away and quickly disappeared back inside, still trying to make sense of this unexpected encounter. He was racked with guilt, and he knew it would keep gnawing at him until there was nothing left.
Chapter 6
The crackling of the fire filled the room with warmth and comfort, but Alexander couldn’t find solace in its dancing flames. Instead, he felt consumed by guilt and turmoil, with the images of two women interchanging in his mind. He took a sip of his whiskey, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but the smooth liquid did little to calm the storm raging inside of him.
His mind kept replaying the moments he had shared with Emily, how her touch had sent shivers down his spine and how her laughter had brought a smile to his lips. It was a dangerous path he was treading, one he knew he should avoid at all costs.
But try as he might to push her from his thoughts, her image remained imprinted in his mind. He couldn’t escape the pull he felt toward her, the way she had awakened something within him that he had thought was long dormant.
He felt horribly guilty, as if he had done the unspeakable. In a way, he had. He entertained the thought of being with another woman, a woman who was not Amelia, a woman he had promised to always keep in his heart. It felt like an utter betrayal of the vows he had made to her, promises to love and hold her.
Until death do us part.
No. He had promised to love her forever. Death held no dominion over his emotions, and yet here he was, trying to clear his mind, to find some semblance of peace amidst this turmoil.
But every time he closed his eyes, his mind betrayed him. It did not show him the image of his dear, late wife, but rather the woman he had just met, her kind-looking face, her eyes sparkling with life, the sound of her voice and the tender touch of her skin. Much to his horror, he felt his resolve waver.
He needed to be strong, to resist the pull he felt toward her. He couldn’t afford to give in to his desires, not when it meant betraying his past and the love he had lost. With a heavy sigh, Alexander set down his glass and leaned back in his chair, staring into the depths of the fire. He needed to find a way to distance himself from Emily, to protect them both from the pain that would surely follow if they allowed their connection to grow.
As the clock chimed, signaling the late hour, Alexander heard a gentle knock on his study door.
“Yes?” he called out, wondering if it was Helen or Rose, as they had decided to stay with him during the Season.
Much to his surprise, it was neither. “Your Grace,” Mr. Stirling peered through the door, carrying a silver tray in his hands, “I thought you might need something to settle your nerves.”
Alexander didn’t say anything at first. He merely watched as his faithful butler brought over a tray with a steaming cup of milk and a plate of his favorite biscuits. He set the tray on Alexander’s mahogany writing table and took a step back.
“How did you know, Stirling?” he wondered, amused by the sight.
“I could see light from underneath the door, Your Grace,” Mr. Stirling said politely. “And knowing you just recently returned from a ball, I doubted you were working, which meant something must be keeping you up. And usually, only trouble keeps us up late at night. Happiness lulls us to sleep.”
Alexander had to agree. “You always know everything, Stirling.”
“Some people look, but they do not see, Your Grace. I am fortunate to say that my dear mother, God rest her soul, taught me how to actually see.”
“Your mother must have been a wise woman,” Alexander replied, feeling that old familiar sting of not having known his own mother, who tragically died in childbirth.
But that was not the worst thing. Even worse was the fact that he was left alone, in the care of a cold, detached father who did not seem to care one bit about him, while the only person who had actually wanted him in this world wasn’t there to welcome him. Alexander had always felt a gaping hole in his heart, a place that should have been filled with a mother’s love. It was a hole that was always to remain as it was, and he had eventually come to terms with it.
He was fortunate enough to have had servants in his home, who had taken on the role of not only a servant but also a guardian. Mr. Stirling, for example, had always been like a father figure to him, next to of course, Alexander’s uncle.
He had proven himself to be loyal and trustworthy, and there had been numerous times when Stirling’s calm and well-thought advice had proven to be invaluable to Alexander. He had found in him much more than just a butler, but also a friend and a confidant.
Another such person was the cook, Mrs. Willoughby, who at seven and seventy years of age could barely fry eggs anymore, but Alexander would rather cut off one of his own fingers than choose to terminate her employment at the castle.
What he had done instead was take on a new cook, with Mrs. Willoughby being the recipe-maker and instructor to the pair of young, new hands. The results were, for instance, these very biscuits, which Alexander knew no one else would be able to make without Mrs. Willoughby’s help.
That was only one of the reasons why Alexander was so adamant to defend that poor man who had spilled wine on Emily’s gown. Just remembering how the marquess had berated the servant made Alexander’s blood boil. He could not stand by and let such injustice take place. Not on his watch.
Yet now, it seemed that one thing led to another, and because he saved that poor man, Alexander had dug his own hole, in which he was now squirming, unable to see a way out.
