by Amelia Grey
He let go of the neckcloth and took the wine from her. “You must be feeling very brave tonight,” he said.
Slowly, she untied the knot, carefully unwound the three-foot-long piece of starched cloth from around his neck, and dropped it on the desk behind her. She then detached the stiff, stand-up collar and deposited it on top of the neckcloth.
A few raindrops glistened on top of his head. They sparkled and twinkled as they caught light from the lamp. She smoothed her hand across his light-brown hair, melting the droplets of water with her palm. Once, twice, three times. Each instance, she deliberately let her fingertips caress his forehead before she brushed down the length of his hair. With the pads of her fingers, she gently massaged the area just above his ears in a circular motion, using a tiny bit of pressure. She wanted to erase every line of pain from his brow.
The duke closed his eyes, settled his head against the chair back, and breathed deeply. “Your hands are gentle and your touch is soothing, Henrietta. You are caring for me with the tenderness of a glorious angel. Somehow you knew just what I needed tonight.”
She smiled happily to herself. She was the one who needed this. It was heavenly to be able to touch him all she desired.
The rain beat a steady cadence against the window and the side of the house. The oil lamp bathed the room in a soft glow and gave a hint of warmth to the chilled air. Henrietta continued massaging his temples, dipping behind his ears and trailing down the side of his neck with the slightest of pressure.
Blakewell sighed contentedly. “You have done much more to ease my pain than the wine could ever do.”
His praise pleased her. “Your shoulder probably pains you because you haven’t rested it since you were hurt.”
“There is no rest when I am with Morgan and Race. They constantly have something going on.”
“Perhaps I should keep them away from you tomorrow and for the next few days to give you time to heal.”
“I won’t see them tomorrow anyway. I made arrangements tonight to meet with Gibby late in the afternoon at the Harbor Lights Club. He and I need to have a serious talk.”
“About Mrs. Simple and her balloons?”
“Yes.”
“Do you expect the conversation to go well?”
“That depends on how deeply Mrs. Simple has sunk her claws into him.”
“They seemed quite comfortable with each other to me.”
“I agree with you.”
Without asking, she picked up his injured arm from where it lay by his side and carefully laid it across his chest. “That looks like it would be more comfortable. Is it?”
“I find that, wherever you touch me, it feels better. You can come to my rescue any time you want to. I believe there are healing powers in your touch, Henrietta.”
Her chest swelled with tenderness and she smiled gratefully.
“You should know by now that your welfare is very important to me.”
“I do know that, and your welfare is of utmost importance to me.”
“I have to admit that I have never done this for a man before,” she whispered to him.
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s not something you really should be doing for anyone save your husband.”
“But tonight, it seems the natural thing to do under the circumstances.”
He chuckled softly, and some of the pain dissolved from the corners of his wide mouth and heavy-lidded eyes. It made her feel exceptionally wonderful to know she was helping him, but it also gave her a strange kind of pleasure to be touching him so intimately. She was feeling things she had never experienced before, tightness between her legs and a yearning in her breasts.
She massaged his temples and neck for a little longer before moving to the front of the chair and stepping between his parted legs.
His eyes popped open. “What are you doing, Henrietta?”
She didn’t answer him or look at him. Instead, she started humming softly, and as casually as if she had done it a thousand times, rather than for the first time, she deftly started unfastening the shiny brass buttons on his waistcoat one by one.
She felt his hot gaze on her, but she was careful to keep her attention on the buttons, not on him. She was giving him an inappropriate view down the front of her low-cut dress, but instead of it shaming or embarrassing her, it excited her. She wanted him to look at her and find favor with her. If she looked into his eyes, the mood of the evening would change from comforter to seducer, and while there was nothing she would like better at the moment, she knew it wasn’t what His Grace wanted.
When the last button was undone, she stopped humming and said, “Rise a little and I’ll help you take off your coat.”
His Grace complied and gave her the glass of wine to put on the desk. Henrietta helped him slip his good arm out of his evening coat. He winced silently and moved stiffly as she gently pulled the sleeve off the injured arm. With the same care to move his arm as little as possible, she removed his brocade waistcoat.
It seemed decidedly intimate to be touching him and helping him come out of his coats, but she had never done anything in her life that made her feel as special or as needed as helping Blakewell tonight.
When the clothing was off, he settled back against the chair again. She gave him the glass of wine and studied him while he took a sip.
He looked comfortable and yet still so handsome and powerful in his collarless shirt and buff-colored trousers. Her gaze settled on his neck. She had never seen it before because it was always hidden beneath his high collar and expertly tied neckcloth. He had a strong, masculine neck and, for reasons she didn’t understand, she wanted to kiss him there.
The cut of his shirt showed how broad his chest was and how narrow and lean his hips were. The fabric of his trousers stretched tightly over impressive, muscular thighs and lower legs.
Henrietta had an overwhelming urge to crawl up in his lap and snuggle against his chest. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and drink in the heady scent of him. Never, since her father had died, had she wanted to be cuddled in a man’s strong arms, but right now she wanted that more than anything. She wanted to melt against his chest and be cradled in his arms so desperately that her heart drummed in her chest.
“Do you think perhaps you should take off your shirt and let me look at your injury to see if it is healing properly?”
Blakewell looked up at her and smiled so disarmingly that her heartbeat slowed and she relaxed.
“Do I amuse you?” she asked, still standing between his powerful legs and looking down at him with curiosity.
He let out a half chuckle. “Yes. I wouldn’t take my shirt off in front of you even if I was bleeding to death. You are already on dangerous ground by standing between my legs. Henrietta, I’m straining to keep from compromising you further than I already have with my kisses and caresses. But just so you know, there is nothing to see but a few bruises. My injury is in the joint of my shoulder. It’s going to hurt like the bloody devil until it heals, but heal it will.”
“All right, if you are sure.”
“I am.”
He continued to grin at her, a handsome, breathtaking grin that made her want to throw her arms around him, hug him close, and kiss him solidly on the lips.
“You don’t really want to see my injury. You just want to see me without my shirt, don’t you?”
Henrietta blinked rapidly. Had he been able to read her thoughts?
“No, no. Of course not, I thought you might have an open wound that needed a clean bandage.”
“Henrietta.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, with a light stamp of her stockinged foot on the floor. She clasped her hands together in front of herself for fear she would reach down and touch him. It was impossible to hide the truth from him. “I admit I am curious about how you look without your shirt.”
With a satisfied smile, he drank from his wine again and then whispered, “You tempt me, Henrietta, but I must resist.”
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br /> She took a deep, steadying breath and looked into his intriguing eyes. “I truly don’t mean to, Your Grace. I swear I have never wanted to see any other man without his shirt.”
His gaze held fast to hers. “I believe you, but as it is, it’s taking all I have not to take advantage of your generous help tonight.”
Henrietta took a step away from him and away from the chair, thankful he wasn’t throwing her out of the room for speaking what she felt deep inside. In truth, she not only wanted to see his chest, she wanted to touch him and feel the firmness of the muscles beneath his taut skin. And God help her, for some reason she didn’t understand, she wanted to kiss his strong neck and broad chest.
But she couldn’t tell him any of that. She shouldn’t even be thinking it. Her guardians had raised her to be a lady of quality.
She should leave him now. She had done all she could to make him comfortable. But how could she force herself to leave him, when she wanted nothing more than to be with him, in this cozy room with golden light and rain gently tapping the windowpanes?
Henrietta looked around the room and saw a small brocade footstool. She retrieved it and brought it over to his chair, set it down at his legs, and then sat on the stool.
“What are you doing? You don’t have to sit on a stool at my feet, Henrietta. Please sit in a chair.”
I want to be closer to you than the chair will allow me to be.
“I’m all right here,” she said, looking up at him with all the passion she was feeling for him.
He seemed more relaxed with his head against the back of the upholstered chair. It pleased her that the pain that had been etched in his features when they arrived had lessened.
“The wine must be making you feel better. The strain is gone from your face, and you are looking more comfortable.”
“It’s not just the drink that has me feeling better. It is you, too.”
She smiled at him. “I am glad.”
“I love the low-cut neckline of your dress tonight, Henrietta. I’ve only seen you in your very prim clothing. You look very womanly. Constance knew exactly what design to pick for you to show just enough to make every man’s mouth water tonight. Your skin is beautiful, tempting, and the swell of your breasts beneath your gown has me thinking things that I should not think.”
Henrietta’s breaths quickened at his words.
“Only you have control over your thoughts.”
“Point taken. We must talk about something else.” He cleared his throat. “It appears you stayed busy in the evenings while I was at Valleydale. No doubt I owe my organized desk to your ministrations.”
“It was such a small thing to do for you. It took no time at all to come in here in the evenings and organize your mail and documents. I hope you don’t mind that I did.”
“I don’t. I’m glad. That will help me immensely when I sit down to go over it.”
“Your solicitor certainly sends a lot of papers over for your signature. It’s no wonder you stay backed up on your correspondence.”
“It is hell being a duke and in charge of so many properties and accounts. Perhaps I will look over some of it tomorrow before I meet with Gibby. Right now, I feel too much like a bird with a broken wing.”
She laughed softly. “Not just any bird, Your Grace; you remind me of an eagle. An eagle with a bent feather, not one with a broken wing.”
He chuckled. “I like your analogy better than mine.”
“That is because mine is more exact. Tell me how your injury happened.”
“We were riding over the lands of Valleydale, an estate my grandmother left to Morgan. He keeps most of his thoroughbred horses there.”
“And you were riding one of those horses?”
“No, just one of his best mares. We were racing as we often do late in the afternoon before the sun sets and it gets too dark and cold to be out. My horse stepped in a hole, and we both went down.”
“The horse?”
A wrinkle of disquiet formed between his brows. “We had to put the mare out of her misery. She broke her leg, and there was nothing to be done.”
Henrietta leaned forward, almost touching his knees with her breasts. “I’m sorry about the horse. I’m sure it was dreadful for Lord Morgandale to have to put his horse down, but I’m more worried about you. You could have been killed.”
His gaze searched her face. “I was never in any danger of dying, Henrietta. What happened was an accident. That is all.” He rose and placed the wine on the desk by his clothing. He reached down and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I want you to hear me well on this. What happened to me had nothing to do with a curse. Not the mushroom, not the balloon, not the shoulder. All of them could just as easily have happened to someone else.”
She cupped his strong, warm hand in both of hers. “But it was you.”
“Yes, because I was the unlucky one. Tell me, who told you there was a curse on you or your guardians?”
It was such an abrupt departure from what they were talking about that, for a moment, Henrietta was stunned. She noticed his glass was almost empty, so she said, “Can I get you more wine?”
“No, not now, and don’t try to change the subject. I want to hear more about this curse that plagues you. Who told you about it?”
She let go of his hands and folded her own in her lap. “Her name was Mrs. Goolsby.”
“Somehow that name seems fitting. How and when did she tell you about the curse?”
Henrietta had been completely comfortable talking about his injury, and she had loved helping ease the pain in his shoulder, but just thinking about the time she spent with Mrs. Goolsby chilled her.
She lowered her head and hooded her eyes with her lids. “I don’t want to bother you with this when you are in such discomfort.”
“Thanks to you, I am feeling much better than when we arrived. I want to know everything about this woman and what she said to you.”
Henrietta remained quiet, refusing to look at him. She didn’t want to remember anything about that woman or the time she spent with her.
“Henrietta?”
His tone was soft and persuasive, yet she still wasn’t willing to respond to him.
He leaned forward and cupped her chin with his fingers, lifting her face toward his and holding her captive with the merest pressure. “Tell me,” he said softly. “Look at me and tell me everything this woman said to you.”
Henrietta lifted her lashes and stared into the duke’s calm, reassuring eyes. She loved this man with her whole being. She loved him, and she could trust him with her past.
Fourteen
My Devoted Grandson Lucien,
Here are a few sober and sensible words from Lord Chesterfield: “Do not be seduced by the fashionable word ‘spirit.’ A woman of spirit is mutatis mutandis; the duplicate of a man of spirit—a scold and a vixen.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
REALIZING THE DEPTH OF HER LOVE FOR HIM AND feeling his gentle strength gave Henrietta the courage she needed to confide in him. She wanted to turn and bury her face in the palm of his hand and slowly drink in the musky scent of him, but instead, she kept her sanity and managed to say, “All right, what do you want to know?”
“Everything. This woman, did she put the curse on you and your guardians, or did she just tell you that it was there?”
“I—I don’t know. I was only seven at the time. I remember her holding me by the shoulders and saying to me that I was cursed. I would have many guardians and they would all die.”
Blakewell moved his hand and let the backs of his fingers caress down her cheek and across the crest of her shoulder and then glide trippingly down her arm.
“All right, maybe you should start by telling me about your parents’ death. Do you mind?”
Yes. Don’t make me remember.
The concern in his eyes and the tender expression on his face were sincere and comforting, but still her throat tighte
ned, and she swallowed hard. “I haven’t talked about them in a long time.”
“I can imagine why. It’s not too painful for you to talk about them tonight, is it?”
Yes. Don’t make me, please!
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. For so long now, I’ve tried to forget the memories of that night. It serves no purpose to remember the accident. I found out a long time ago that I couldn’t change the past.”
He picked up her hand and covered it with his while his other hand stroked her arm softly, repetitively.
“I’d like to know what happened. Why don’t you start with the day of the accident?”
Suddenly, as if a curtain was slowly, dramatically rolled back, Henrietta allowed her memory to open and reveal the dark, stormy night many years ago that lay heavy with fog, and smelled of damp clothing and wet horse.
“My parents and I were on our way home from a visit with my father’s half-brother, Lord Phillip Bennett. Though the journey between our houses was a good day-and-a-half carriage ride, my father made the decision that we wouldn’t stop for the night, but continue home.” She paused, and moistened her lips. “We had two drivers and a footman with us, as well as my mother’s maid. My father said we were well protected from highwaymen, and we were safe from them, but not the weather. It had turned ghastly late in the afternoon. I remember that the driver stopped the coach twice and said he couldn’t see through the rain and fog. Papa ignored his warnings and told him to continue.”
“That was dangerous. Did he have good reason for such action?”
The duke’s warm hand continued to move up and down her arm, warming her with his touch. It was as if he knew that thinking about that night had always chilled her.
“He told my mother he had a horrible pain in his chest and was desperate to get home to his own bed.”
“Was the pain near his heart?”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Yes, I remember watching him throughout the evening. His hand constantly rubbed the area of his chest over his heart. We must have traveled for hours in the slashing rain, and I must have fallen asleep because I remember waking up and thinking someone had lifted me up and was throwing me from one side of the coach to the other and back again. I heard my mother’s screams, my father yelling for the driver.”