Read Online When a Duke Says I Do by Jane Goodger - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Goodger
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have.”
“Then I suppose you wouldn’t have any objection to kissing your intended?” Part of her wanted to erase the memory of Alexander’s kiss, to prove that any kiss would send her head spinning and set her body afire.
He looked momentarily embarrassed but recovered nicely enough. “It would be my pleasure,” he said gallantly, then leaned forward, stopping abruptly, almost angrily. “Have you spoken to my father?” he demanded.
Elsie stepped back, startled by his sudden fierceness. “Do you mean privately?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Do I look as if I’ve been browbeaten by anyone other than you today?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.
Lord Hathwaite let out a small sigh, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had come. She hadn’t been aware of his temper until that moment. “I do apologize. My father has a way of getting beneath my skin and festering there.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made him look rather like a petulant boy. Elsie stood beneath the arbor, wishing she were back in the Wrights’ home with the others. Her fiancé was such a gloomy sort.
“Shall we go back?” she asked, after what seemed like an interminably long time. She’d never understood some women’s fascination with quiet, brooding men. Quiet was fine, she thought, thinking of Alexander, but brooding and quiet was simply tedious.
The first day without Elsie was blissfully quiet. Alexander got an enormous amount of work done and he could almost convince himself that he was glad she was gone. And then, the second night, he gave in and sat at the piano, not playing, but remembering her soft, warm body, the way she’d been so responsive, her smell, her sounds. He was filled with a sharp pang of loss. The loneliness of his days and all the days to come covered him like a shroud.
He missed her. He missed having someone to talk to, who would not judge, who would laugh at his humor such as it was, who would look at him without pity. Even Monsieur, for all his kindness, thought of Alexander as someone to pity. And he wanted things, desperately so, that he could never have. He wanted to love her, be in love with her, wake up next to her every day of his life. It could never be. He was unable to give her the life she deserved, for he was only half a man, one who humiliated himself in public even now.
He touched the middle C lightly, smiling at the sound. He tried not to think of his past, but for the first time in years, he felt its loss. First the lake and the boys, and now Elsie making him feel for a few days as if he could jump up and touch the moon. The fall was so, so far.
When Elsie returned, she would not find him, for he’d already told Monsieur he would work only during the daytime. It was critical to the mural, he’d told his master, that he be able to paint in daylight anyway, even though the painting had not suffered from working in lamplight. Monsieur’s ban had been obeyed by everyone in the household, including Elsie. She had enough honor, he knew, that she would never put Monsieur in danger of discovery.
He knew when she returned, for he heard the carriage’s arrival, and heard her voice through the door. That his entire body felt her presence with such intensity only validated his conviction that they must stay apart. Nothing good can come of seeing her , he told himself again and again. His heart, good God, his heart hurt so damned much.
That night as he lay in bed in the small cottage he and Monsieur shared, he pictured her entering the ballroom and finding it empty. He knew she would be disappointed and it took all his resolve not to go, not to wait for her. He could tell himself he could not touch her, that it was wrong, but he knew if they were together again he would not be able to resist.
He ached for her, his heart, his body, but he spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to Monsieur snoring in the next room.
Chapter 7
Elsie walked into the
“Then I suppose you wouldn’t have any objection to kissing your intended?” Part of her wanted to erase the memory of Alexander’s kiss, to prove that any kiss would send her head spinning and set her body afire.
He looked momentarily embarrassed but recovered nicely enough. “It would be my pleasure,” he said gallantly, then leaned forward, stopping abruptly, almost angrily. “Have you spoken to my father?” he demanded.
Elsie stepped back, startled by his sudden fierceness. “Do you mean privately?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Do I look as if I’ve been browbeaten by anyone other than you today?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.
Lord Hathwaite let out a small sigh, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had come. She hadn’t been aware of his temper until that moment. “I do apologize. My father has a way of getting beneath my skin and festering there.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made him look rather like a petulant boy. Elsie stood beneath the arbor, wishing she were back in the Wrights’ home with the others. Her fiancé was such a gloomy sort.
“Shall we go back?” she asked, after what seemed like an interminably long time. She’d never understood some women’s fascination with quiet, brooding men. Quiet was fine, she thought, thinking of Alexander, but brooding and quiet was simply tedious.
The first day without Elsie was blissfully quiet. Alexander got an enormous amount of work done and he could almost convince himself that he was glad she was gone. And then, the second night, he gave in and sat at the piano, not playing, but remembering her soft, warm body, the way she’d been so responsive, her smell, her sounds. He was filled with a sharp pang of loss. The loneliness of his days and all the days to come covered him like a shroud.
He missed her. He missed having someone to talk to, who would not judge, who would laugh at his humor such as it was, who would look at him without pity. Even Monsieur, for all his kindness, thought of Alexander as someone to pity. And he wanted things, desperately so, that he could never have. He wanted to love her, be in love with her, wake up next to her every day of his life. It could never be. He was unable to give her the life she deserved, for he was only half a man, one who humiliated himself in public even now.
He touched the middle C lightly, smiling at the sound. He tried not to think of his past, but for the first time in years, he felt its loss. First the lake and the boys, and now Elsie making him feel for a few days as if he could jump up and touch the moon. The fall was so, so far.
When Elsie returned, she would not find him, for he’d already told Monsieur he would work only during the daytime. It was critical to the mural, he’d told his master, that he be able to paint in daylight anyway, even though the painting had not suffered from working in lamplight. Monsieur’s ban had been obeyed by everyone in the household, including Elsie. She had enough honor, he knew, that she would never put Monsieur in danger of discovery.
He knew when she returned, for he heard the carriage’s arrival, and heard her voice through the door. That his entire body felt her presence with such intensity only validated his conviction that they must stay apart. Nothing good can come of seeing her , he told himself again and again. His heart, good God, his heart hurt so damned much.
That night as he lay in bed in the small cottage he and Monsieur shared, he pictured her entering the ballroom and finding it empty. He knew she would be disappointed and it took all his resolve not to go, not to wait for her. He could tell himself he could not touch her, that it was wrong, but he knew if they were together again he would not be able to resist.
He ached for her, his heart, his body, but he spent the night staring at the ceiling, listening to Monsieur snoring in the next room.
Chapter 7
Elsie walked into the
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