Page 33 of A Wicked Duke's Redemption
Mrs. Gunderson gazed at him as if she could not believe that Leo had not already arrived at that answer himself. If anyone else looked at him like that, Leo would have dismissed them at once. “But Idon’tlike literature.”
“And yet you managed to converse with her about it at the Harvest Dance! Will it vex you so greatly to return her interest?” Mrs. Gunderson asked. “Learn what other interests she has.”
“She has made that difficult.”
“Maybe so, butyouhave not made it any easier!”
Leo sipped his brandy and shook his head. “Ihave made it more difficult?”
He could not decide if he was more taken aback by Mrs. Gunderson’s brazenness or more disturbed that she echoed some small aspect of his own thoughts. If Leo had not resolved to become the monster everyone believed him to be precisely a year ago, it was entirely possible that Violet would be less frightened of him.
“You must be patient with her,” Mrs. Gunderson said. “Think about what I have said.”
She rose without his leave, and Leo stared silently at her retreating back. Mrs. Gunderson closed the door behind her. Leo tossed his head back and finished his brandy. “I am quite sure, Mrs. Gunderson, thatyouare supposed to be doing whatIsay,” he muttered. “Some duke I am, being ordered about by my own housekeeper.”
He did not mean that, of course. Leo was simply frustrated and not even really with either Violet or Mrs. Gunderson, but himself. Mrs. Gunderson was a woman, though, and as hesitant as Leo might be to accept her advice, it was very likely that she knew more about women’s hearts than he did.
Chapter 16
The days stretched into weeks, and Violet quickly lost count of them all. There was much involved in becoming the Duchess of Farnham, particularly when she still knew so little about His Grace. Violet spent most of her days with Mrs. Gunderson, learning how to manage the village affairs and the household.
The dressmaker arrived with an army of assistants and bolts of fabric, piled so high that they were nearly as tall as Violet herself was. Dresses were made, jewels given, and even a few tentative congratulations on her new position, missives sent from London by ladies of the ton who she did not know.
She fell into the familiar routine easily, aside from the dreaded dinners with His Grace. Those meetings remained cold and quiet, if not silent. Violet found herself burning with need, that place between her thighs aching in the night. She found herself conflicted. Violet scarcely knew the Duke of Farnham, and he seemed to take efforts not to know her. It was nevertheless distressing that he would not touch her. He would scarcely come into her bedchamber.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” said the butler, bowing to her. “I hope your trip to visit your parents was satisfactory.”
“It was,” Violet replied, surrendering her hat and cloak.
Her mother’s health seemed much the same, but her father seemed to be in higher spirits. They were struggling less, something which Violet reminded herself frequently. She only went to visit her parents on the days when she felt as though she had made the wrong choice.
Violet never shared her worries with her parents, unwilling to burden them with her concerns, but seeing them reminded her that some good came of her choice. Sometimes, she just needed that reassurance.
Her thoughts turned, as always, to the strange at the dance. Violet tingled just thinking of his hands on her and his lips pressed against hers. If onlyhehad been the man to seek her out and ask for her hand in marriage! Violet wandered into her private parlor, where she knew that tea would soon be ready.
A small fissure of pleasure traced the arch of her spine, and her toes curled when she thought of her stranger. She imagined him taking great handfuls of her skirts and lifting them up above her thighs. Her heartbeat quickened as she entered the parlor. Emma waited for her, curtseying as she entered. “I shall see that tea is brought at once, Your Grace.”
Violet sat. “Thank you, Emma.”
Once Emma was gone, Violet pressed her legs tightly together. She swallowed hard, imagining the mysterious gentleman’s hands caressing her bare thighs. He had worn gloves that night, but she dared to imagine that he had not. Glancing furtively at the room’s entrance, Violet traced a finger over her thigh, carefully working up the pale white fabric of her gown. It wasn’t the same.
She sighed and shook her head, suddenly warm and frustrated. As a married woman, Violet did not need to think such thoughts about a man who she could never have.
Even Sir Gawain himself would not steal a married man’s wife. She tipped her head back, gazing mournfully above her. When Violet agreed to marry the duke, she had also agreed to abandon all the fantasies of her girlhood. This was her life now, and she had to make the best of it whether she wanted to or not.
Emma returned with a tray laden with food and three leather-bound volumes. Violet straightened a little, her attention fixed upon the volumes. “What is that?” she asked.
“His Grace asked that it be given to you,” Emma said, “with his apologies that he could not join you for either breakfast or tea.”
It seemed strange for him to apologize. His Grace never joined her for any meal save dinner. Violet hummed, tilting her head to read the title as Emma placed the tray on the table.Pride and Prejudice.
Violet furrowed her brow. It seemed stranger still that the Duke of Farnham had given her a novel. She had never mentioned that she loved reading to him. “Did he say why he thought I would want a novel?” she asked, lifting the first volume almost reverently.
“Oh, I did not speak to him,” Emma said. “Mrs. Gunderson told me that he asked for the novel to be given to you at tea. Perhaps, His Grace merely wished to give you something to occupy your time with.”
Violet sat at the table and reached for the tea. She took a small sip and furrowed her brow at the book. A warm rush of excitement surged through her. She had not read this novel before. Indeed, Violet had not read anything since marrying the Duke of Farnham.
She had seen his grand library, but Violet felt as though it were not her place to take his books for her own usage without permission. Thus far, her efforts toaskfor permission were fruitless. She could barely speak to him, much less make a request of him.
