Page 22 of Taming a Beastly Duke
“Come to submerge yourself in poetry again, Miss Barrett?” the duke asked with a sly, knowing smile.
Adelaide felt weak with relief, realizing that he had not noticed her reaction. Her pulse quickened as he approached, forgetting the journal almost at once, even as she held it in her hand. She smiled, blushing as she understood the words he did not say.
“I suppose I did,” she said, giving him a heated smile.
The duke nodded, gazing up at the bookshelf idly. It appeared to be pretense as his lips twitched with another impish smile.
“I have been thinking about what you said, about redemption,” he said. “I do not judge your beliefs, but it will take a great deal more than a poem or two to persuade me.”
Adelaide bit her lip, unsure how to proceed. She wanted nothing more than for him to kiss her again. However, she still held a journal which would, no doubt, both pain him to see and anger him to know that she had tampered with it.
“Well, perhaps I can explain precisely how I view certain passages,” she said, more quickly than she intended. “In Lines Written in Early Spring, for example, Wordsworth speaks of having faith that every beautiful living creation relish life.”
The duke smirked, taking another step toward her.
“You refer to the line about flowers enjoying the air they breathe,” he said. “However, I see a terrible irony. Only the flowers which are untouched by the hands of man may thrive with true purity, and mankind has severed its connection to nature’s innocence with all its advancements and knowledge.”
Adelaide’s heart raced. There was the true passion of a man who believed in what he was saying as he spoke. However, there was a pain feeding that passion, one which showed Adelaide a heart that was certain it could never be mended.
“That is an intriguing notion,” she said with the utmost sincerity. “However, he also speaks of a ‘grieved heart,’ which he wishes to grant the gift of hope through the beauty and cycle of nature, despite the woes of what mankind is doing to itself.”
Marcus nodded slowly, but his expression remained unchanged, and his eyes still bore into her with a fire that threatened to consume her. One which she wished would do precisely that.
“There is truth in that, I admit,” he said. “Yet I believe that he is addressing the irredeemable moral decay of society, which juxtaposes the home one might gradually find in nature with the truth that humanity is too flawed to reasonably hope for redemption.”
Adelaide held her breath as the duke took another step, close enough now that she could feel his breath on her nose. The heat between them, despitethe grim words of the Duke, seemed to be building to a fiery peek, stealing her breath as her body began to tremble with the intensity of her desire.
She stood prepared to do what she had done the previous night, to participate in the act of which she had already been accused. She was not just prepared, however. She was ready, and she wished that the Duke would take her with all the savage yearning she had felt from him the night before.
The duke pressed his lips to hers before she could form another thought. She used the hand which was not holding the hidden book to run her fingers through his hair. She moaned softly against his lips, intending to show him her eagerness by taking one of his hands and showing him where she wanted to feel him touch her.
As she grabbed his hand, however, it began to tremble violently. In an instant, the tremors spread through his arms, torso and legs, wracking his powerful frame. He yanked himself away from her, holding his head and growling lowly. When he at last met her gaze, she saw fury and frustration, similar to that from the night before, warring in his expression.
He gripped the mantle for support, causing Adelaide to instinctively reach for him to offer aid. He saw her gesture, however, and pulled away once more.
“Curse this confounded weakness,” he muttered, giving his head a firm shake.
Before Adelaide could touch him, he stumbled back, turning and striding from the room. She stared after him feeling flustered and concerned. Should she tell someone about the episode? Had the passion been too overwhelming for him? She felt helpless, looking at the doorway long after it was vacant. Then, she re-placed Charlotte’s journal where and exactly as she had found it, hurrying from the room to prepare for the evening ahead.
Chapter Ten
Marcus rushed to his chambers, fighting his dimming vision all the way. The dizziness was so bad that he reconsidered calling the physician. It would guarantee that he would not be forced to attend Beatrice’s musical evening, and he might be able to request some laudanum from Mr. Morrison that would, at the very least, help him sleep.
However, the thought of yielding to his fear enough to summon the family physician stopped him. It would prove that he was weak, and it would cause his grandmother to fuss over him constantly. He would continue resisting the notion of calling for Mr. Morrison. And he would suffer through an evening at his aunt’s, no matter how miserable he felt.
He did, however, allow himself time to rest before he summoned his valet. He lay on his bed, thinking about the kisses he had shared with Miss Barrett. The taste of her lips was even more intoxicating than her lavender-scented skin, and more addictive than opium. Apart from just moments before, the desire he felt when she was in his arms with her body pressed against his was so overwhelming that it trumped all the effects of his illness.
Perhaps the cure for this sickness lies in lying with her, he thought, his dizziness forgotten at the mere thought. He had been firmer than ever as she moved against him and ran her hands through his hair. That firmness had yet to diminish, in fact, despite the waves of nausea he was combatting. If it had not been for the overwhelming feeling that he would faint, he was certain he would have taken her right then. Her moan was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. And he knew that if he ever heard it again, he would not be able to contain himself.
***
Adelaide looked nervously at Sophia in the looking glass as she finished helping her into her green satin evening gown. She bit her lip, uncertain of the question that was plaguing her.
“Do you truly believe that the Duke could murder someone?” she asked reluctantly. “Especially someone so close to him?”
Sophia froze, looking at her mistress with wide eyes.
“His demeanour does nothing to dissuade me of the possibility,” she said. “He has done nothing but snap at his grandmother and sister, and he has not managed a polite word to you and your mother.”
