Page 22 of Lusting for the Duke's Kiss
The castle was three storeys high, almost like a long box, on thehillside. There were windows, long arches. They went inside. Cobwebs hung like necklaces from the corners, so thick that the Duke stepped ahead, clearing some so that she could walk unhindered.
“It is truly wondrous,” she said, gazing around. “To think that once, this castle would have been full of people going about their daily business, and now, it is just a shell of its former self.”
“Itiswondrous,” said the Duke, slowly walking through the debris that was scattered along the ground. “Do you know much about the history of the castle?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No. I do not.”
He nodded. “I have a book about castles of Wiltshire, in my library, that I read once, many years ago,” he said. “Wardour Castle was built in the early medieval time. In the 1390s, if I recall correctly.”
“Who built it?” she asked, turning to him.
“A man called Baron Lovell,” he said. “It remained in the Lovell family for many years, before they fell from grace, during the War of the Roses. It was confiscated by the crown because the Lovells supported the Lancastrians.” He paused. “And then, it had several owners, through the years. One notable point was when it was owned by Sir Thomas Arundell. He was executed for treason in 1552, as he was a staunch Roman Catholic, at a time when it was not popular tobe so, and the castle was taken away from his family.”
Hetty nodded. “A fate that befell many a noble family.”
He smiled. “Sir Thomas’s son repurchased it in 1570, but it was sacked during the civil war,” he continued. “And so it remains, now, a permanent reminder of times long past.”
Hetty blinked, wandering slowly around the room. She touched one grey stone. It was cold. “I can almost feel it,” she whispered, shivering slightly. “The people who once lived here. Do you believe in ghosts, Your Grace?”
He smiled. “I do not know if I believe in ghosts, as such, but I believe that an energy lingers in certain places, especially when much has happened within its walls.” He gazed at her curiously. “Do you believe in the supernatural, Hetty?”
She shrugged. “I have never seen evidence of it, but that does not mean it does not exist, of course.” She smiled slightly. “I try to keep as open a mind as possible. There is more to this life than we can ever know. I am sure of it.”
He walked towards her, slowly, so that they were merely metres apart. “Your father told me that you were contemplating joining a convent, after your husband’s desertion,” he said, in a quiet voice. “Are you very religious, then?”
Her heart started to thud at his close proximity. “I am not especially pious,” she replied. Her eyes filled with sudden tears. “But my faith was a rock that helped me through that awful time. It still helps me.”
He was silent for a moment, gazing down at her, almost searchingly.
“It is good to have faith,” he said in the same quiet voice. “But there are many ways to show devotion. I cannot imagine you as a nun at all. I cannot think of it as anything but a waste …”
“How so?” she asked, turning away from him, almost clawing the wall. “How can it be a waste to serve God?”
He took a deep breath. “There are many who have a true vocation for the religious life,” he said slowly. “But there are many who retreat behind its walls because they are running from something. Either themselves or someone else. It is not a true calling.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think that of me?”
He took another deep breath. “I think that you are hurt and angry. I do not blame you for seeing the allure of such a life.” He blinked rapidly. “There have been times in my life, where it would have been nice if I could have run away. I understand the lure of it. But it is not the answer, Hetty. Surely, you see that now?”
The tears stung behind her eyes. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. She would not cry. She had done enough crying to last her a lifetime.
“It would be a waste, for a woman such as yourself,” he whispered, reaching out to trail a hand down the side of her face. “You are so very beautiful. Any man would be privileged to say that he was your husband. Do not blame yourself, Hetty. That rake would have done what he did to anyone. It ishischaracter that should be judged, not yours.”
She bit her lip, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. “He shamed me,” she whispered. “We had only been married for a day. What kind of man does that to his wife? What had I done that was so wrong that he could not bear to stay married to me?”
The words were painful as they left her mouth. She felt the heaviness of them. They were like rocks, hitting the ground with a thump.
He kept stroking her face gently, his eyes never leaving hers. “You do not know what his motivation was,” he said in a steady voice. “There could be a multitude of reasons why he did what he did, and none of them involving you. It is not your fault, Hetty. You must stop wearing this hairshirt.”
“How can I?” she cried. “I am the one tainted by his actions. He is free to do whatever he pleases, whereas I must bear the brunt of it all. It is not fair!”
“No, it is not,” he said quietly. “But it is what it is.” He took a deep breath. “And I am glad that Frank Blackmore deserted you, Hetty.”
She gasped. “Why?”
“Because I would not be standing with you, now, if he had not,” he said. “I have a chance to make you my wife that I would never have had.” He paused. “And if Icanmarry you, Hetty, I promise that I will never hurt you like he did. I promise that I will be a good and faithful husband to you …”
“Why?” she whispered, staring at him entreatingly. “For the love of God, why do you want me as your wife so much? I am ruined …”
