Page 49 of The Duke of Desire
Lady Dunn waved her hand. “Bah.You’retoo modest. You’re an exceptional young woman. I wish your lot had been different.” She adjusted her cap on her forehead, pushing it up a tad. “I wanted to ask you—and I know you’re very private, but I hope we’re forming a relationship that perhaps transcends employer and employee—is there a chance your expertise with how workhouses function comes from personal experience?”
Ivy’s body went rigid. Her mind froze. What could she possibly say to that? The truth. Or at least a portion of it. “Yes, because I’ve been associated with them for many years.” A decade, to be exact.
Lady Dunn rested her palm atop Ivy’s knuckles. Her flesh was warm and soft and reminded Ivy vaguely of the grandmother she’d known as a child. “I understand. Whatever your past, I’m quite pleased to have you as my companion. Now, I must off to sleep.” She yawned and lifted her hand from Ivy’s to cover her mouth. “I imagine you’ll be up reading for a while.”
“Yes.” She realized she’d left her book on the table in the library. “I left my book downstairs. I think I’ll go down and get it in a bit—after the hall empties out.”
Lady Dunn’s gaze dipped over Ivy’s morning gown. “Yes, although you could go down like that, I think.”
Ivy stood. “Good night.”
“Good night, dear.” Lady Dunn snuggled down into the bed and turned over onto her side.
Ivy extinguished the lamp and went back to the dressing chamber. She did have something to read while she waited—the book West had given her. She’d read it probably half a dozen times already. Even so, she found herself engrossed once more, and when she was finished, realized it was likely late enough to venture downstairs.
Taking her candlestick, she crept back into the main bedchamber to the sound of Lady Dunn’s soft snores. She went into the sitting room and gently closed the door behind her.
As she made her way to the stairs, she listened intently for any sounds coming from the hall or, indeed, from anywhere. Hearing nothing, she hesitated. Should she continue downstairs, or did she dare find her way to West’s bedchamber?
Before she could think better of it, her feet moved toward the southeast corner of the house. Her eye fell on the vase of yellow roses, and she hesitated.
But then she heard something and practically ran to the door. She didn’t even bother to knock, just turned the latch and pushed her way inside.
She closed the door and leaned back against the wood, clutching the candlestick in her left hand.
West came from a doorway at the back of the chamber, likely his dressing room. She suddenly realized his valet could be present.
But she didn’t turn to leave. What if the noise she’d heard was someone who would see her leaving the duke’s room? She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door.
“Miss Breckenridge?” His deep voice came from right in front of her.
Her eyes flew open. “Yes.”
“I was hoping you would come.”
She looked past him. “Are we alone?”
“Quite.”
He touched the candlestick. “May I take this?”
She stared at the flame, momentarily flustered. “Yes. Thank you.” She relinquished her light to him, and he carried it to the table where he set it down.
She watched him move, slow and stealthy, like a cat prowling for its prey. She felt like a bird trapped on the ground, scared and unable to fly.
But she didn’t really want to fly, did she? She’d come here quite specifically.
He turned and came back to her, his movements measured, almost spellbinding. “I trust no one saw you.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Her body pulsed with anticipation. With need. Her mind was empty of thought beyond how much she wanted him.
He still wore his pantaloons, but she noticed his feet were bare. She didn’t look too long on them, not when there was a patch of flesh visible at the base of his throat where his shirt lay open. The white linen was pulled free of his waistband, the fabric billowing about his hips.
She should be scandalized by his state of undress, but she was enthralled. And she wanted to see more. He’d said he wanted to change her life, but he already had.
She’d felt ashamed for so long and probably always would. But right now—tonight—she would feel nothing but what he gave her. Excitement. Anticipation. Pleasure.
So much pleasure.
