Her Duke of Secrets

by Christi Caldwell

  After two days of the same lessons together, he was very well imagining that she was that poor, breakfast meat carved into impossibly minute pieces.

  He speared a piece, but instead of forking it into his mouth, he held it over the side of his chair.

  Bear immediately sprinted over.

  “William,” she chided.

  “What manner of mistress do you have that she’d begrudge you a morning meal?” he asked Bear in gentler tones than he’d ever used with her.

  Warmth wound its way through her. Not even her late father had engaged Bear in discourse. Elsie’s lips pulled at the corners, and she repressed the smile. “Oh, come, you’re a duke, William. I trust you’re accustomed to people watching you.”

  “Not while I break my fast,” he clarified, dropping another piece of sausage over the side of the table.

  Bear snapped his head back and caught it in his mouth. He lingered a moment at William’s side, and when it became apparent that no more offerings were coming, he returned to a more neutral place between Elsie and William.

  William returned to mutilating that piece of meat. When he finished, he set his knife down but made no attempt to sample his breakfast. Instead, he glowered at the food on his porcelain plate.

  And mayhap she had more of her father’s goodness in her than she’d believed herself in possession of, for the evidence of the pain this man dealt with and the struggle he faced to complete a mundane task such as eating sent pangs to her heart.

  As if he felt her gaze, William looked over, and she swiftly smoothed her features. He’d mistake her response for pity, and proud as he was, that sentiment would only send the walls he’d built about himself all the way back into place.

  Elsie forced a smile. “Furthermore,” she went on, sitting back in her chair, “I’ve been assessing you for two days now. Three, if one includes the first morning meal we took together.” Though, in fairness, given the fact he’d stormed off without touching a bite, that day hardly counted.

  “Watching me,” he gritted and winced, swiftly stabilizing his jaw with his palm.

  Elsie picked up her glass and took a slow, casual drink. Among the earliest lessons her father had passed down was never, ever reveal to one’s patient a hint of sadness. Doing so left those men and women scared and oftentimes hesitant to reveal the true extent of their pain for fear of the respective diagnosis.

  She’d had all number of patients whom she’d tended over the years, most of the nonhuman sort, but a good number of the two-legged ones. Some had been morose, others angry with their circumstances.

  William Helling, Duke of Aubrey, however, was certainly the orneriest of all of them. He was proud, and hurt, and he hated that she, or anyone, would be privy to that. She’d known him only a short while and had ascertained as much about him.

  With a thunderous expression, he grabbed his fork and stabbed one of the prongs into a minuscule bit of sausage.

  She set her glass down with a firm thunk. “William?”

  He froze with the silver utensil halfway to his mouth and stared questioningly at her.

  “How have you eaten this past year?” How, when he should know such misery still nearly a year after his accident?

  “Slowly. Small bites.”

  Again, Elsie examined the contents of his dish.

  As he’d done yesterday when they’d first met for the agreed-upon morning meal, William set his fork down. “I did not begin with the child’s bites.”

  “The child’s bites?” she echoed.

  “That is what one of the”—his lips curled in a sneer—“doctors,” he said with an angry slash of his hand, “suggested would prevent me from overtaxing my damned mouth.” Splotches of color splashed along the ridge of high cheekbones. His aquiline features that had once been hidden were now pronounced and on full display. And he was splendorous in that masculine beauty better reserved for chiseled statues.

  She recognized this uncharacteristic volubility as a defensive mechanism. He was a man stretching out the moments before he had to commit an agonizing task. And she welcomed it for all he revealed in the rare exchanges.

  “Has it helped you?” she put to him.

  William reclined in his chair and rested his palms along the arms of his seat, settling in for their exchange just as he had yesterday. “It was a different strategy that was originally presented to me at a point when I would have tried anything.”

  “And what were some of the original plans of treatment?” She both needed to know and loathed the answers that he’d provide.

  “Eat but once a day. Stabilize the bones with my hand as I chewed.” He grimaced. “Chew larger pieces of food so that the muscles received greater use.”

  Elsie gasped. “No. That was incorrect.” Absolutely wrong. It would have been torture.

  “I discovered that early on, but not”—he lifted a single finger—“soon enough.”

  “Speech has been less difficult than eating,” she noted.

  “It has. I can control the movements of my lips enough in discourse, far more than I can while trying to eat or drink.”

  And yet, that had been a misconception on his part. “It is all connected,” she said, sitting forward in her seat. “All of the muscles and bones impact the others.” Elsie trailed her fingers along the edge of her jawbone, down to her chin and lips.

  His gaze caught and held on her mouth.

  Fire flashed in William’s eyes. This was not the familiar sentiment of anger he cloaked himself so well in, but rather, the heat of desire that burned unexpectedly between them.

  Warmth fanned low in her belly.

  “You were saying?” he asked in a husky murmur that whispered of seduction and marked him as a rogue.

  What was I saying? Focus. You are not a young girl in the first blush of youth. You were ordered here and came for the sole purpose of helping him as you’re able…

  Elsie swept to her feet. “I’ll show you.”

  From his position between their seats, Bear picked his head up, eyed his mistress with lazy eyes, and then fell back into his usual morning slumber.

  Positioning herself behind William, Elsie placed the tips of her forefingers and middle fingers along the opposite sides of his cleanly shaven face, framing him. “Try to take a bite,” she gently encouraged.

  The muscles of his face tightened under that request.

  “Shh,” she urged, lightly working her fingertips in soothing circles until some of the tension left him. “Tension in your body will cause strain and discomfort. Just take one bite for now, so that I might show you.”

  “Are you attempting to”—he angled his head, bringing their gazes into contact once more—“torture me?” he finished in hoarse tones. His eyes lingered on her mouth.

  She swallowed hard. “Hush. Look forward as you chew,” she ordered in shaky tones. Coward… you go weak-kneed with nothing more than a glance from this man. “Otherwise, it will distort your bite,” she finished lamely. The fact that it was true mattered not. What mattered was that in this instance, his unwavering focus took precedence over her evaluation.

  William hesitated a moment and then returned his stare forward.

  Elsie waited, composing herself and collecting her thoughts until he picked up his fork and slid a piece of diced sausage into his mouth.

  Instantly, all her energies shifted.

  She lightened the grip she had upon his face. Closing her eyes, she felt the movement of his jaw and muscles. Uneven, with a slight slide of his jaw.

  “Feel this,” she murmured, gliding her fingertips up and down the tense muscles that moved. His head fell back slightly so that it rested against her chest. Attend your task. Focus on what you said you’d be evaluating. Even with those glaring reminders rolling accusatorily around her mind, Elsie slipped her gaze away from the source of his discomfort and to his closed eyes. That softening implied trust. She forced herself to speak. “Each movement elicits a like response.” Elsie drifted her fingers c
loser to his lips.

  And a memory blared to life of his mouth as it had covered hers, awakening a passion she’d never thought to know.

  And that you desperately wish to know again… with this man.

  Elsie abruptly released William. She tripped over herself in her haste to get away, stepping on Bear’s long tail along the way.

  Her dog let out a high-pitched cry.

  William wheeled in his seat, a question in his stare.

  Oh, blast.

  Besieged by equal parts guilt and shame, Elsie fell to a knee alongside Bear and made soothing sounds.

  What was happening to her? Surely she was not enamored of… William Helling, Duke of Aubrey. It would be folly and defied logic. And—

  “Elsie?” he asked, narrowing his eyes upon her.

  She shoved to her feet. “I’d like to conduct a complete evaluation.” As she spoke, all the words rolled together, tumbling from her lips jumbled. “Later. Soon.” His eyes narrowed even more.

  Elsie curled her toes so tight, her arches ached. William’s was a spy’s stare, one that said he could surely see within a person’s soul to every last secret they carried. “Or… or as soon as you’ve finished your morning meal,” she finished lamely. Leave now. “We should adjourn to your chambers.” The final syllable of that word hadn’t even fully left her lips when a mortified blush blazed across her cheeks. The husky suggestion rang in her own ears.

  William drew his shoulders back, and the rogue’s grin was firmly in place once more, far more devastating and dangerous than the sneer he’d worn at their first meetings. “Very well, Elsie.”

  What?

  At the protracted silence, he sent a black brow arcing up.

  “I shall… see you then,” she said, breathless. Bowing her head slightly, Elsie took her leave, with Bear following along.

  When she reached the hall, she didn’t break stride, continuing a brisk clip through the corridors until she reached the end.

  Ducking around the corner, Elsie leaned against the wall and borrowed support.

  William had simply agreed. And what was more, he’d done so without so much as a trace of hesitation or thread of condescension in his voice. When, for years, every patient who’d entered her cottage had balked when her father included her in their medical treatment. Those men had chafed at a woman having any role in their care.

  And this mark of how William was so very different from those others, how it set him apart, was even more dangerous than the hungering he stirred within her.

  She forced her eyes open and stared blankly at the gilded frame opposite her.

  Since Lord Edward had invaded her cottage, and she’d allowed herself to be brought to London to oversee William’s care, she’d believed the greatest peril she faced was from her dealings with the Brethren.

  Only to find that there was something even more dangerous. Something even more terrifying that put her at even greater risk: this undeniable awareness of William.

  For he wasn’t the monster she’d made him in her mind, ruthless, cold, and wholly unfeeling.

  He was a man who so deeply mourned his wife that he’d shuttered off the lady’s gardens and preserved the rosebush he’d gifted her. He was also a man who’d spent the year buried in drink and other wicked pursuits to try to forget the pain. Because he’d still not gleaned what Elsie had long ago—nothing in the world could ever truly drive away the memories that haunted one.

  Except, you’ve not been haunted by your past and that dark night when everything changed.

  Since she’d entered William’s household, she’d remembered how very wonderful it had been to tease and engage in a quick repartee.

  “Enough,” she mouthed into the quiet. You’re just enamored of a man who respects you and trusts your capabilities. No, it was nothing more than that. Just because he’d kissed her, and she’d dreamed of it since, and had butterflies dancing in her belly whenever he was near, didn’t mean anything. Not really.

  Giving her head a shake, she pushed herself away from the wall and resumed a more sedate walk through the ducal residence.

  Except, why, as she found her way to her temporary chambers, did it feel as though she had merely told herself a lie she so very badly needed to believe?

  Chapter 15

  Since the injury he’d sustained had resulted in doctors coming in to assess his condition, William had been humiliated.

  He’d been outraged.

  He’d been annoyed.

  In fact, he’d thought he’d felt everything there was to feel about his injury.

  Until this morning.

  Until Elsie Allenby.

  More precisely, until Elsie had placed her delicate fingertips upon his face and gently traced the contours. And this time, there had been no pain accompanying the human touch. Rather, her touch. She’d glided her hands over his face in a caress that had been fleeting.

  Standing at the window overlooking the gardens below, William stared out at Elsie as she worked. Her hands flew quickly, tugging weeds free and tossing them into a sizable pile alongside the faithful dog who was never far from her side.

  Those hands held him riveted.

  Hers were capable and determined hands, and they were not like the satiny-soft ones of the late wife he’d buried or of the whores who’d filled his bed in the long, lonely year after her passing.

  Elsie had callused palms and slightly rough fingertips that marked her real in ways that no other woman before had been.

  She was one who reveled in all the work she carried out, and God help him, there was a sensuality to that self-assuredness and strength that was far more entrancing than the overt sexuality of the women he’d bedded this past year.

  Just then, Elsie sat back on her heels. The fabric of her faded violet dress stretched, highlighting the graceful expanse of her back.

  William swallowed hard. His pulse kicked up a beat. What in hell had become of him? The women he desired were blonde, statuesque beauties, as his late wife had been. He wasn’t a man enthralled by a small slip of a woman such as Elsie. Or he hadn’t been.

  But then, you’ve never known a woman such as her.

  This fascination came not from what she looked like, or a mere physical hungering, but from something that ran far deeper.

  His palms went moist, and he dusted them against the sides of his trousers.

  It was madness. Madness that came from the state of isolation he’d embraced. For… he enjoyed her company. He enjoyed the banter he’d not known he’d missed. A banter that wasn’t at all deferential and didn’t take into consideration his title. She spoke to him as though… he was a man.

  Not a duke.

  Not the Sovereign.

  But a man.

  That was an unfamiliar state he’d never known, even as a child. The world saw in him his title, and that had resulted in a boundary going up between him and the rest of the world. As such, he’d never known what it was to be challenged, and at every turn, as Elsie did. There was a brutal honestly to every word that left her lips, and that only added to this dangerous fascination with the lady.

  Don’t be a bloody fool. She speaks to you as though you are nothing more than her patient.

  William flexed his fingers at the taunting reminder at the back of his head. Insecurity in his own worth, once foreign but now all too familiar, dwelled within him, and this time, he thrust it aside.

  He might have become a recluse. He might have forgotten how to be and function and exist among polite company… or any company, really, but he well knew the faintest inhalation of a woman’s desire, the heated glimmer that lit her eyes.

  Nay, theirs was a shared passion. That was a certainty. It was a sentiment that she fought. It had sent her racing from the breakfast room. And that flight… also set her apart.

  Elsie shifted, and he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, as drawn to her as those blooms she’d recently allowed their desperately craved sunlight.

  Except…
/>   She jammed the hideous ancient bonnet back atop her head, grabbed her scissors, and set to work pruning the next bush.

  The crystal pane reflected his scowling visage, and William fell back on his heels. Yanking out his watch fob, he checked the time.

  It had been nearly two hours since she’d taken her leave and advised they should meet in his chambers, a delicious prospect made all the more enticing by her crimson blush and breathlessness as she’d fled his company. And when he’d sought out his chambers after his morning meal, it had not been an eagerness to be alone that had fueled his quickened strides, but rather, the prospect of again being alone with her, of listening to the singsong quality of her voice that was a balm upon his blackened soul as she spoke with skill and confidence of the human body and pain.

  She was an enigma, this woman.

  Nothing short of a siren who stirred a potent desire within him, not only because of the curve of her hips and the taste of her lips, but because of the words of wisdom she breathed at their every meeting.

  Elsie shifted, and William’s muscles went on alert once more as she stood. His heart knocked around in anticipation as she gathered up her things and carried them—

  His brow dipped.

  —over to a row of once expertly sculpted English boxwoods?

  Dropping the items onto the thick grass, Elsie retained her hold on a gingham blanket. She snapped the fabric open, and a light gust of wind caught the edges, toying with them before they settled onto the earth. She spoke, her voice muffled by the distance and glass between them, but still light and entrancing.

  Elsie snapped her fingers, calling Bear over.

  Dutifully, that loyal creature came to his feet and joined her on the blanket. It was a pull William himself well understood, an inexplicable draw that she possessed. She favored the dog with a loving caress that William would gladly sell the rest of his dark soul for.

  And with that, Elsie began clipping the tree closest to her.

  Bloody hell.

  Why, she was settling in once more. It was as though she’d forgotten their agreed-upon meeting. He gnashed his teeth before he realized what he was doing. An involuntary groan ripped from his chest, and he squinted, all his muscles tightening to ward off the pain.