Page 43 of A Tale of Two Dukes

For me to tie us together with my bond would leave both of us vulnerable if he enacts any one of his possible schemes. I cannot bear the thought of her going through the agony of losing me, of shattering a bond. And in the same token, if she were to be killed, I would never survive.

CHAPTER 18

Kitty

One week later

As usual, I wake up to an empty bed. The sheets are so cold, it seems as if he’s been gone for hours. And yet, as I blink over at the sun, it doesn’t appear to be that late in the day. With a sigh, I drag myself out from under the covers and don my dressing gown.

If the routine still holds, my lady’s maid should be coming through the door with her tray. Right on cue, the door opens, and she walks in, laden with a silver breakfast tray. Settling down in a chair near the window, I glance out over the gardens, sipping on my chocolate as Alice makes up the bed.

Unease drips through my veins as the hot liquid slides down my throat. Something feels off. I cannot put my finger on it. Well, that’s not exactly true. It’s more the fact that Mr. Beaumont has yet to make an appearance.

After our meeting at the opera house, I was sure he’d come around, sniffing at my door in his desperation to find out information. It doesn’t matter if I’ve stayed home or gone out. The fear was always there and yet never waned with his sudden absence. In fact, it grows by the minute.

What is he waiting for? Setting the cup down, I rest my fingertips along the cool windowpane, yearning for relief from this torment. It would be so easy if I could just tell Birchleigh.

Oh, the relief to tell him I’m of a higher station, forced to my knees by complicated circumstances. It’s these secrets between us that cause my stomach to churn. However, Mr. Beaumont is an added complication. I’m sure the duke would forgive my lying, but he’s not the only person I’m worried about.

I touch the charm hanging from my neck, my mind drifting to my sister. It’s more than my humiliation. It’s the threat to her life, the knowledge that someone out there seeks my demise, and knowing that Mr. Beaumont is probably at the forefront of both.

As kind and generous as Birchleigh is, if he even thinks that I had a hand in the scandal that saw the former duke hang, he might think me in league with the traitor. I can’t chance that. If some nameless person can accuse me, what would my master think in light of all my lying? I’ll be cast to the side for sure, thrown back into The Rose and Thorne, where Mr. Beaumont will finally get his wish and come claim me.

I don’t like being subversive. It goes against every bit of my nature. More to the point, every time the duke and I have relations, it causes a slight wedge between us. Surely, he must feel it.

For me, it’s a gulf that expands with every breath, growing larger with the lock of our gazes. But then, men are different from women. Perhaps he doesn’t feel it at all.

I wish I could delude myself, but the evidence is there. It’s as if he pulls away from me, leaving as soon as his seed drips from my body. If not for Mr. Beaumont, the duke and I would be happy together, exploring our dangerous love and seeing where it takes us. But no, that odious monster somehow manages to ruin everything, even when he’s not here.

In truth, I wish none of this ever happened. I’m content being the duke’s mistress, and yet, I would prefer the more respectable title of being his wife. Since that can no longer happen, I’m forced to find pleasure in his illicit touch, dreaming that we’re properly wed.

I’m unfit for anyone else now, and the very idea of some other person driving into me, enacting so intimate an act, makes me ill. I can only ever think of the duke taking such liberties, but there’s still that very real chance he might tire of me or become angered enough to cast me out.

Blasted Mr. Beaumont. If not for his meddling ways, I could have been happy. If not for his blasted brother, I would have been married, none the wiser to the exquisite pleasure only Birchleigh can give me.

Since his accosting me outside the home, I’ve lived in fear of Birchleigh’s response. It doesn’t matter that I do not seek this loathsome toad out. He found me at the worst moments possible, forcing me to lie to the one man I wished to seek refuge in.

He’s a shadow over us, a pall that cannot be removed. It doesn’t matter that Birchleigh says he believes me when talking about the necklace or our interactions. The duke’s gaze is shuttered when he questions me, belying the veracity of his words.

Gripping the fabric over my stomach, I say a silent blessing that I cannot get pregnant outside of my heat. To carry a child now would be unthinkable. There’s far too much strife and discord, not to mention intrigue, to safely have a baby.

Besides, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’m no longer a proper lady. A child would shatter the mantle of delusion I’ve crafted around myself. Though I often used to think of being a mother, now, I cannot even allow myself that small reverie.

A loud clatter disrupts my thoughts, bringing another frisson of terror up my spine. Out the window, I spy a carriage pulling up. However, its location is where I cannot see a crest or any other markings. Has the very thought of the devil caused him to appear?

Turning to my breakfast, I eat as much as my stomach will allow, taking my time to stall. But no call ever comes for me. If it is indeed Mr. Beaumont, shouldn’t I have been given notice by now? Or has the staff sent him away?

Though I can order them about, I am not delusional enough to think they answer to me only and not Birchleigh. It could be he gave them a command to not allow any male visitors while he’s not in residence? Peeking back out the window, I frown as I stare at the back of the carriage.

It’s still here. What does this mean? Frantic, I motion for Alice to help me dress. If there’s something afoot, I wish to greet it in proper attire and not in my night clothing.

I opt for something simple, seeing as I do not plan to leave the house. Once my hair is as it should be, I open up the door and peer outside. Nothing seems amiss so far. Scenting the air, I only detect the duke.

Relief floods my veins, nearly forcing me to my knees. I had visions of Mr. Beaumont lurking outside my door. As if he’s able to get past scores of servants just to attack me.

Lighthearted, I descend the stairs, deciding on what to do with my day. Birchleigh seems none too happy with my cloistered existence, but it’s what’s safest. For now, at least.

Perhaps once I know Mr. Beaumont is no longer a threat, I’ll venture out into London, showing off ‘his precious pearl’ so others can see what the good duke’s coin has purchased. I don’t enjoy that prospect, but based on our conversations, it’s what’s expected of a mistress. He doesn’t understand my reticence, and I’m not in a position to explain it to him.