Page 15 of A Wounded Duke's Passion
He needed something to calm the fire in his blood. His trousers were uncomfortably tight, and try as he might, he kept thinking about how her soft breasts might have felt. They had been alone together, very close to one another. If Anthony had wanted, it would have been so easy to reach forward and slip his fingers beneath the fabric of that find gown.
Worse than his attraction to Lady Bridget was the guilt he felt at betraying the memory of Anastasia. He had once thought of her in the same intimate way. He had fantasized about their wedding and their first night together, both of which had never come.
With a grimace, Anthony poured another glass of brandy and downed it, savoring the burn against the back of his throat. He idly wondered how much he would need to drink to driveaway the thoughts of Lady Bridget, but he suspected it would be far more alcohol than any man ought to consume on a single night.
There was a knock at his study door. “Enter,” he said.
James, his valet, was the only man awake at such a late hour, and he was only awake because Anthony was restless. He entered with tea and biscuits, placing both near Anthony’s elbow.
Anthony watched idly as James poured the tea, preparing it just as Anthony liked. The valet was a dark-haired man with brown eyes and a permanently amused expression, as if he thought existence itself was something endlessly amusing. Anthony had never seen the man angry or upset.
“If I may offer some advice, Your Grace?”
Anthony hummed. “It is not your place to offer me advice, as you well know.”
James glanced fleetingly at him. They both knew that sometimes Anthony was difficult simply because he could be.
“I know. That would be why I asked a question, Your Grace, rather than simply sharing my advice outright.”
“How clever.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you know how fortunate you are to be secure in your position, James?” Anthony asked.
“I am quite aware.”
Anthony’s lips twitched. He took a sip of the tea. It was mint, his favorite. “Sit and tell me your advice.”
“I am unsure if the advice is such that it requires me to sit,” James replied. Nevertheless, he did as Anthony had requested. “I wanted to say that you ought not let your worries keep you awake throughout the night.”
Anthony sighed. “It is not precisely worries that keep me awake, James.”
“What is it, then? May I ask?”
“You already have,” Anthony replied, “but I shall give you an answer. I was thinking of Anastasia.”
“Ah.” James’s face softened. “A worthy subject, if ever there was one.”
“Indeed.”
James said nothing, instead simply waiting in silence. Anthony wondered if he had grown too predictable. James knew Anthony seldom wanted anyone to offer advice or solutions to his plight. Anthony much preferred to solve his own problems, but he did enjoy talking about his predicaments, usually with James. His valet was as loyal as they came and abhorred gossip.
“I am not as young as I once was,” Anthony said.
“You are not exactly Merlin,” James replied, “Your Grace.”
“Nevertheless,” Anthony said, “I am growing older. It is time that I turn my thoughts to the future of the dukedom, which means I will need an heir. Perhaps that is why I am having such uncomfortable feelings of late.”
“Uncomfortable feelings?” James asked.
“For a certain lady,” Anthony clarified. “I find myself unable to think of anything save for her, and I suspect these emotions are tied to my desire for an heir.”
“Only an heir,” James said.
“What else would it be?” Anthony asked, taking a biscuit.
He chewed on it while James gazed at him with a thoughtful expression. There were certain disadvantages to staff who knew one too well.
