Page 1 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
Chapter 1
She walked to the window, staring out at the unfamiliar garden. This was supposed to be her home. And now, there was no telling what was going to happen.
Breathe, Hetty, she told herself, as panic began to rise in her breast, once again.Just breathe.
But it was becoming increasingly difficult to know how to do that most basic of functions. Ever since she had awoken this morning to find that her husband of less than twenty-four hours had abandoned her.
She walked back to the desk, where the hastily scrawled note was still lying. She had found it this morning when she had awoken. Frank had insisted last night when they had retired, that they stay in separate rooms. Just for the night, he had told her, his blue eyes creased with concern. She was tired after their wedding and would appreciate a good night’s sleep by herself. She had not argued with him, being nervous about her wedding night and all that it would entail. She had felt as if she were being given a reprieve that she had never expected.
She picked up the note, staring down at it, her eyes skimming over it without taking in a word. He must have stolen into her chambers, either last night after she was asleep, or early this morning, and left it there. She had not heard him.
I am supposed to be a newly married woman, she thought, in wonder. The start of her married life, as Mrs Henrietta Blackmore. A new woman. She had thought that she was leaving Miss Henrietta Arnold behind, forever. And now, everything had been turned upside down, and she was reeling.
Focus, she told herself fiercely.Read it again. Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.
Taking a deep, ragged breath, she focused on the black ink, trying to turn it into words, rather than meaningless hieroglyphics. Frank’s hand was not easy to read at the best of times, and this was the worst of them.
My Dear Hetty,
Sorry that I wasn’t able to tell you this in person. I have discovered that I have changed my mind about being married. I simply cannot do it. I have grappled with a growing unease about our nuptials for months now but felt I was in too deep to back out of the arrangements.
Now, the reality of what we have done has sunk in, and I cannot keep on this path. I wish you the very best for the future. I truly do.
Frank
Her eyes blurred with tears as a fresh surge of pain stabbed at her heart. In fury, she screwed up the note, throwing it into the fire. She watched the parchment curling, blackening until it disappeared into ashes. She sank to the floor, the skirt of her gown spilling out around her, putting her face into her hands, as a low moan of pain forced its way out of her throat.
How could he have done this to me?
Desperately, she grappled to make sense of the situation. Frank Blackmore had given no indication of cold feet, despite what he said in the note. He had been an attentive, polite suitor. There had been no passion between them, but Hetty had not been raised to expect that, anyway. All that she had wanted was a good husband who would take care of her.
Frank had seemed to tick every box in that regard. He was moderately wealthy, charming, and pragmatic. He had purchased a new townhouse for them, in the village of Derrington, in her home county of Wiltshire. It wasn’t that far from the country estate where she had been raised.
Hetty shuddered, her hands slowly falling away from her face, as she gazed around the room. The furniture, all newly purchased, for their life together. This was not a room she was familiar with at all. She had only been through the house once, before her wedding day, and Frank had dragged her quickly through it. It wasn’t her home. Not yet. And now, she was all alone here amongst strangers. She wasn’t even familiar with the servants, yet.
I am abandoned. I am an abandoned wife. What is to become of me? The shame of it. The scandal.
Hetty jumped at a sharp rap on the chamber door. Hastily wiping away the tears with the back of her hand, she quickly stood up, taking a deep breath. Her mother had taught her that no matter the situation, no matter how heavy the heart, one must never show it, especially not to the servants.
The door opened, and Dickinson, the butler, stood there, gazing at her impassively.
“Mrs Blackmore,” he said, in a slightly gravelly voice. “There is a gentleman at the door, who says that he must speak with you urgently.” The butler handed over a white card, stepping back.
Hetty stared down at the card.Mr Joseph Baldwin, it read.Solicitor.
Her heart clenched. Why was a solicitor at her door, asking to speak to her urgently? As she followed Dickinson down the stairs, her heart thumping painfully in her chest, she had a premonition that it wasn’t about anything good.
***
Mr Joseph Baldwin was a portly man with a florid complexion and wiry white hair. Sitting on the edge of the green chaise longue in the drawing room, he balanced a cup of tea in one hand, staring at her with eagle sharp eyes.
“You are very silent, Mrs Blackmore,” he said slowly. “Have you quite understood what I have just told you?”
Hetty felt as if she were going to faint. Desperately, she dug her nails into her forearm. She simply could not believe what he had just said.
Frank had sold the townhouse. Their newly purchased house that she had only spent one night in as its mistress was no longer her home. Not that it had ever been given a chance to be one. The speed of the events – Frank’s abandonment of her, and now selling the house, without her knowledge or consent – was simply too much to take in.
She sat there, stunned, staring at the man who had just delivered the news.
