Page 40 of The Duke's Pet

She reached for the soap again, washed her face, then stood from the water. It ran down her body in small streams then she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel.

Out of habit, after drying, Jemima glanced around for clothing. Then she remembered his words.

I will see you downstairs when you are ready. Naked.

Chapter Nine

Jemima peeked out ofthe bedroom door wearing only the collar he’d put on her the day before and her tiny cross necklace. The last thing she wanted was to bump into Mrs. Cook or James on her way to the duke’s study.

There was no one there. Dust motes danced in the light sharding in from the high window and an admiral butterfly, trapped in the house, fluttered near the chandelier. Other than that, all was still and silent.

She stepped out, the floorboards cool on her soles until she reached the long, dark green rug that ran around the landing.

Pressing her forearm over her breasts, and setting the other at the junction of her thighs, she ran on her tiptoes to the top of the stairs. Once there she hesitated, looked over her shoulder, then strained to see the front door and the vast hallway.

There was no one to see.

She gulped. She’d have to just run and hope for the best. Get to the relative safety of the duke’s study and pray that he’d protect her modesty.

Hardly protected from him though.

She’d spent nearly twenty-four hours with the duke, much of that half naked or naked. His gaze upon her didn’t have the same humiliating effect as one of his staff member’s would.

With her heart pounding, she raced down the flight of stairs. At the base she hesitated, in a momentary panic about which way she should go. The dining room was opposite and she regained her bearings. After darting past the dresser with the vase and the trinkets, a tall grandfather clock, and a row of portraits—stern elderly men—she came to the corridor that led to his study door.

She paused outside, glancing left and right, then knocked.

“Enter.”

She did, quickly, and shut the door behind herself.

“Ah, good, you’re here.” He looked up from his painting and set down his brush.

She was breathing fast as she leaned on the door, the wood cool on her shoulders.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked.

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