Read Online Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess by Daphne du Bois - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daphne du Bois
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skin.
Strathavon hated being chased out of his ow n house. But he had no choice – he knew without the least shred of doubt that it was her wide innocent eyes that would finish him off.
D espite the unpleasant edges of his temper, to which she had borne witness despite the distance which he had tried to keep between them, Strathavon had seen that one emotion in her eyes which had the power to undo him entirely.
Just then , in the study, while she explained the accounts to him, she had glanced up briefly with an achingly wistful expression painted across her lovely face.
She had looked at him with a sweet , trusting love – an affection he had neither wanted nor expected in the eyes of the woman he had married simply because of her exemplary domestic management. And she had been so close to him. He’d smelled her orange blossom scent, which would likely haunt him for days…
But , no. Alas that such a thing could never be. Love opened him up to possibilities of pointless pain which he could not in good conscience inflict on her, on himself – on anyone! It was a thing best lived without.
He had believed that keeping his every hour occupied with the estate would chase out any thoughts of the woman he had so carelessly married – but the opposite had happened instead.
He’d caught himself wondering what she would say to this, or think of that. And what she was doing up in the damnable attic, when he was miserably barricaded away in his own study.
Sylvester’s late father had considered idleness to be the source of every vice. He’d often said that those who have nothing to do always unfailingly endeavour to entangle themselves in folly merely to pass the time. That was why Sylvester had endeavoured to throw every effort into learning the running and repair of his holdings. That was why he had chosen to marry a woman who could be a helpmeet in his quest.
Yet, here he was, caught in a tangle of sheer folly all the same. He hated feeling uncertain.
But when she had looked at him, smiled her shy smile, and said his name, something inside him had broken or warped. It was as though his soul knew hers: a connection beyond mere human knowledge. He’d known in that moment that her trust and gentle kindness would be the undoing of him.
He ’d known that he could not touch her or look at her, no matter the desires that coursed through him at her nearness.
But most impo rtantly, he could not kiss her. Yet this was exactly the urge that had suddenly taken sway of him in the study: to taste her lips, and to pull her into his arms, to feel her softness against him.
It was as though he had been utterly possessed by her.
Undeniably , there were many women more beautiful, but it was not mere prettiness he admired in Holly. It was her manner, her liveliness, and her bright eyes that had first captured his attention. She had a spirit that was truly remarkable.
She was to him more lovely than any celebrated society beauty ever could be. This was not a turn he had ever expected, when picking himself a plain, practical bride.
He needed space and distance so that he might make sense of this unexpected new turmoil.
“ Your Grace, there has been an urgent letter,” Strathavon’s valet informed him, interrupting his reverie and the tortuous silence of the library.
“Ah, good. Give it here, Nichols.” The duke could not hide the relief in his voice. Whatever it was would doubtless prove a most welcome distraction.
Mr John Nichols, his lordship’s most esteemed valet , seemed to sense his master’s agitated spirits, because he had been only half as acerbic as usual that morning, when commenting on his lordship’s sorry-looking, crumpled coat.
He wondered what it was that had so agitated his usually unflappable master, and had even ventured a guess that it had aught to do with the young lady upstairs.
Sylvester found that the note was from his cousin Avonbury, scribbled in the man’s unmistakably frightful handwriting.
Strathavon hated being chased out of his ow n house. But he had no choice – he knew without the least shred of doubt that it was her wide innocent eyes that would finish him off.
D espite the unpleasant edges of his temper, to which she had borne witness despite the distance which he had tried to keep between them, Strathavon had seen that one emotion in her eyes which had the power to undo him entirely.
Just then , in the study, while she explained the accounts to him, she had glanced up briefly with an achingly wistful expression painted across her lovely face.
She had looked at him with a sweet , trusting love – an affection he had neither wanted nor expected in the eyes of the woman he had married simply because of her exemplary domestic management. And she had been so close to him. He’d smelled her orange blossom scent, which would likely haunt him for days…
But , no. Alas that such a thing could never be. Love opened him up to possibilities of pointless pain which he could not in good conscience inflict on her, on himself – on anyone! It was a thing best lived without.
He had believed that keeping his every hour occupied with the estate would chase out any thoughts of the woman he had so carelessly married – but the opposite had happened instead.
He’d caught himself wondering what she would say to this, or think of that. And what she was doing up in the damnable attic, when he was miserably barricaded away in his own study.
Sylvester’s late father had considered idleness to be the source of every vice. He’d often said that those who have nothing to do always unfailingly endeavour to entangle themselves in folly merely to pass the time. That was why Sylvester had endeavoured to throw every effort into learning the running and repair of his holdings. That was why he had chosen to marry a woman who could be a helpmeet in his quest.
Yet, here he was, caught in a tangle of sheer folly all the same. He hated feeling uncertain.
But when she had looked at him, smiled her shy smile, and said his name, something inside him had broken or warped. It was as though his soul knew hers: a connection beyond mere human knowledge. He’d known in that moment that her trust and gentle kindness would be the undoing of him.
He ’d known that he could not touch her or look at her, no matter the desires that coursed through him at her nearness.
But most impo rtantly, he could not kiss her. Yet this was exactly the urge that had suddenly taken sway of him in the study: to taste her lips, and to pull her into his arms, to feel her softness against him.
It was as though he had been utterly possessed by her.
Undeniably , there were many women more beautiful, but it was not mere prettiness he admired in Holly. It was her manner, her liveliness, and her bright eyes that had first captured his attention. She had a spirit that was truly remarkable.
She was to him more lovely than any celebrated society beauty ever could be. This was not a turn he had ever expected, when picking himself a plain, practical bride.
He needed space and distance so that he might make sense of this unexpected new turmoil.
“ Your Grace, there has been an urgent letter,” Strathavon’s valet informed him, interrupting his reverie and the tortuous silence of the library.
“Ah, good. Give it here, Nichols.” The duke could not hide the relief in his voice. Whatever it was would doubtless prove a most welcome distraction.
Mr John Nichols, his lordship’s most esteemed valet , seemed to sense his master’s agitated spirits, because he had been only half as acerbic as usual that morning, when commenting on his lordship’s sorry-looking, crumpled coat.
He wondered what it was that had so agitated his usually unflappable master, and had even ventured a guess that it had aught to do with the young lady upstairs.
Sylvester found that the note was from his cousin Avonbury, scribbled in the man’s unmistakably frightful handwriting.
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