Page 26 of A Virgin for the Beastly Duke

Bridget listened, thinking she had imagined the crash, but then a loud moan followed. Her head immediately turned toward the door to Harry’s bedchamber and she scrambled to her feet.

The moan continued as she entered, and it seemed to be coming from the bed. She hurried over and found him thrashing in his sleep. She could not see well in the dark but she thought his teeth were bared as if he was going to snarl. Her bare feet touched something on the floor when she moved, and upon squinting, she discovered it was a clock, broken from its fall from the nightstand. It must have been the source of the sound that woke her.

“Harry,” she whispered, touching his shoulder, which was damp with sweat. His head jerked to the side, away from her, and he groaned, the sound painful to hear. “Harry!” she called again, louder.

His arm came between them and shoved her, causing her to stumble backward. She returned to him, unafraid, and continued to call his name. At last, he bolted up, his breathing ragged.

“Harry,” she said gently, touching his arm. “You were having a nightmare.”

He turned to look at her, huffing for breath, and then paused a moment. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, you did not,” she replied quickly.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and the broken clock made a sound when his foot met it. Slowly, he looked from his feet to his nightstand, then up at her.

“Did I throw this at you?” There was a slight tremor in his voice.

“No, Harry. I am well. It fell.”

He stood, his breathing still labored. She could see his face better now in the dim light from the fire. It was not enough for her to see very well, but enough to know that his patch had been removed, and what was underneath hinted at an angry scar.

“Forgive me,” he said, brushing past her to retrieve a banyan that was slung over a chair. “Please return to your chambers now.”

Before she could say anything in response, he had reached the door and opened it. She watched him depart, feeling sad and reluctant to return to her chambers.

Sighing deeply, she climbed into his bed and drew the covers to her chin, hoping he would return, and wishing he would allow her to comfort him.

A hundred questions rushed through her mind, and she could ask him none of them. Were his nightmares about the war? Did he have them often? Would he ever allow her to see his wounded eye?

When she raised her hand to her face to brush her hair away, she found it trembling, and when she recalled his pained moans, her stomach tightened.

Bridget turned to lie on her back after a while, unable to sleep. One part of her wanted to seek Harry out and just be near him, while the other respected his need to be by himself.

Unable to bear the weight of her thoughts, she pushed the covers and stood, then began to pace the room.

Chapter 12

Bridget awoke in his bed, finding herself alone in the room. At some point the night before, she had returned to the bed and fallen into a fitful slumber. She leaned over and glanced down at the broken clock; it did not look like it could be repaired, for the wooden part had splintered. What force must he have used to knock it down so?

She rubbed her eyes and rose, holding her arms over her head to stretch. Something black caught her eye on the bureau, and she moved closer to see what it was. She sucked in her breath when she discovered it was Harry’s patch.

“Where are you?” she whispered to herself, her thumb stroking the leather surface.

Bridget left the chamber and rang for Sarah, who appeared with a concerned frown.

“What is the matter?” Bridget asked her.

“There is another rumor. You will not like it. The duke slept in his study, and the servants believe…” Sarah paused, her brows slanted with worry.

“Tell me,” Bridget urged.

“They believe he no longer wishes to lay with you.”

Bridget felt her jaw tighten.Do they know what horrors the duke faced the night before?Their assumptions were absurd, and they angered her. Beneath her anger on Harry’s behalf, she felt inadequate as a wife and duchess, and she had the notion that if she did not endeavor to have a proper marriage, she would never be respected in her household. Her plan to seduce her husband was resumed.

Belinda walked in as she was finishing dressing, and looked her over with a broad smile. “You look splendid, my dear.” Bridget did not feel splendid, and she must have noticed because she asked, “Your eyes tell me you are unhappy. What happened?”

Bridget shook her head, unwilling to burden Belinda with her troubles. Although she wanted to ask her if she knew about Harry’s nightmares, she did not want to bring it to her attention if she did not, and so she kept the question to herself.

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