Page 64 of In Service to the Duke

“Someone fetch the physician,” he cries out as the sounds of fluttering footsteps flee before us.

No one questions what he’s saying. And why should they? He projects authority as he carries me into the house. Though I have no idea where he’s taking me, people seem to move and guide him as if they all share one thought.

Eventually, the sound of a door squeaking open rattles my brain. It sounds suspiciously like mine. Is that it then? Am I to be cast away after being used so deliciously?

Even now, my body burns as his arms cradle me. I wish to put away this pretense and announce to everyone the truth. It hurts that he carries on this way when the only thing stopping us from being truly happy is my mother.

Before I can bemoan my fate, another voice pricks my ears. It’s the dowager duchess. Why is she here? Even though I’m pretending to be indisposed, I can still feel the heat climbing my face as embarrassment floods my veins.

When Blackport places me on the bed, I resist the urge to cry out as his strong warmth leaves me. What am I supposed to do now? He’s left me with no instructions. I lie there, my ears burning as I wait for another word from his lips. But there’s nothing.

Another cramp hits me, and my fingers twitch as I try desperately not to move. This game is far more dangerous than I originally thought and it’s becoming much harder to keep my demeanor composed. What happens when I can no longer control myself?

“I shall keep watch over her until the doctor arrives. Since I am already ill, it will not hurt me to stand guard. Everyone else must leave.”

My breathing slows as I take in everything around me. I listen closely, looking for any clues as to what might be happening. But there’s nothing. Eventually, the door closes.

“You may open your eyes now, Miss Gillet,” the dowager duchess says, not a hint of acrimony in her voice. “The others are now gone. It is just you and me.”

Do I dare open them?

This time, when she speaks, there’s a hint of exasperation in her voice. “I know you’re in heat, and I know my son plans to help you through it. Now, open your eyes.”

I blink up at her, happy to be able to curl into myself for the first time since Blackport told me to pretend as if I’ve fainted. A soft moan slips past my lips as I bring my knees up to my chin and rock back and forth.

“Poor thing,” she murmurs, running her hand over the back of my head.

But it’s not her touch I want. It’s his. I need him. I want him. I must have him back.

In that instant, everything becomes too much. I shove off her touch as I leap off the bed and begin to pace. Too hot. Too tight. Too uncomfortable. Too much.

I glance over at the dowager duchess, noting the look of pity in her eyes. But I don’t want her pity. I want nothing more than to tear the clothes off my body and toss them to the floor.

Too hot.

Far too hot.

I flee toward the basin and grab a rag, dabbing my body to cool off. But it’s still not enough.

Too hot.

Too confining.

Too much.

I can hear her breathing. It’s a raspy, rattling sound which causes my insides to tremble. It’s the sound of mortality. A death knell if I’ve ever heard one. But I can’t think about that now. I cannot think about her when I too am nearing my end.

Gripping my hair, I pace back and forth, unable to be still. All the while, she still sits there, watching me. Does she not hear how loud she breathes? Does she not understand I can smell her skin? Smell the death clinging to her?

But no. It’s not that. It’s not death. Not exactly. There’s a familiarity to the scent, but I cannot place it. It’s cakey, dusty, and musty even. But I don’t dare embarrass myself further by going and sniffing Her Grace.

I’ve already caused enough irreparable damage. Blackport would never forgive me if I dishonored his mother. And so, I put my mind to something else. My gaze darts about the bed, noting the disarray.

Just looking at it causes my arms to itch. The dowager duchess resides at the foot of the bed. I cannot demand she move so I can put things to rights. What can I do?

Again I pace, feeling like a trapped animal. I see no correct course of action. Edging closer to the bed, I brush my hands against the blanket. It’s just like what happened in the barn. I cannot seem to keep myself from fixing it.

Try as I might, it’s this feral need to make it right, and it cannot be ignored. As if she understands what’s happening, the dowager duchess rises, a smirk teasing her lips. Soon, however, it dips down into a frown.