Page 65 of In Service to the Duke

“You cannot nest here, my dear. Though I do not know where Robert plans to keep you, I know it cannot be in this room. The servants will hear, and then they will know.” She makes her way over to me and grabs my wrists. “Come, dear, let us sit near the window for a moment. I can open it for you if you wish.”

Before I can answer, the tapestry moves, and Blackport’s scent floods the room. Without thinking, I rip myself away from his mother and fly toward him, falling to my knees as I rest my head against his Hessian boots.

I cannot fathom why I’m doing this. But somehow, it feels right. I’m far more content here than I have been anywhere else. For the first time in a while, I can finally breathe.

“Has she been a menace?” he growls out to his mother.

“Of course, not. Now take her away before others put the pieces together. I will deal with the physician. What shall I say if they inquire as to your whereabouts?”

“Simply tell them I cannot abide a house with two ailing women and will return anon.”

“Very well.” Though I’m not looking in her direction, I can hear the humor in her voice. “Such a male response. I must say, many won’t believe it of you. They know you to be far more rigid in your duties than to leave when you’re needed the most.”

Exasperation laces Blackport’s tone as he scoops me up into his arms. “Then tell them whatever you like. Just be sure to convey the tale to me when this is all over.”

“I shall tell them you felt ill as well. That can be believable. I’ll even have the physician check on you. Some malady of the stomach should work. Poor Miss Gillet’s delicate constitution couldn’t handle it as well as you, and thus fainted. You, being far stronger, need merely keep to your rooms until feeling better enough to be about.”

“I’ve said it before, Mother, your imagination astounds me. Such a devious mind you have to concoct these schemes. Rest yourself so you do not become more ill.”

He hoists me in his arms, holding me close. His heart thumps against my head in a rapid staccato. Fear and worry roll off of him like a wave as his fingers bite into my arms.

“You will be safe until I can come out of this. Right?”

“Son,” she sighs. “I must tell you-” A knock interrupts her words. “I will be well. The physician will stay with us to ensure it.”

“Please, Mother,” he nearly begs. “I need to know you’ll be alright.”

“Do not allow one more worry into that skull of yours,” she scolds. “You have another important duty to attend to.”

With a firm nod, he takes me into the secret passageway moments before the physician comes in. As the door closes behind us, their voices are extinguished, hiding the conversation from me. Not that it matters.

All of this is my fault. I don’t know how the pills failed, or what I did to make them stop working, but it has to be my fault. Burying my head in his chest, I drink in his potent scent as guilt surrounds me, dragging me under.

The dank, musty scent of the passageway envelops me, lacing every breath until it’s all I can smell. Even as we pass the spy area, I cannot detect anyone in the dancing hall. Granted, with both Blackport and I taking ill, there probably won’t be much practice or celebration.

He races forward, his tread heavy as he brings me to his dungeon. It’s where I’ve wanted to be most of all. How is it I’m going there like this? As much as I want to be tied up and at his mercy while he punishes me for my hand in all of this, I want his body even more.

Punishment can wait. At least, that’s what my body screams as I rub up against him with each jostling movement. Honestly, this journey should be considered retribution enough.

Frantic, I run my hands over the front of his shirt, tugging on his cravat. I need him to be just as desperate for me as I am for him, but he’s like a statue, cold and unfeeling. How can he be so frigid while I burn so hot?

Once he takes me into his lair, he places me on the bed and goes to bolt the door. The look in his eyes as he prowls forward makes me think I was wrong about his desires. And yet, he doesn’t touch me.

He simply stands there and crosses his arms, watching me as I recline on the bed. “Well then, omega,” he growls. “Will you not make your nest?”

Nest.

The word sounds foreign to my ears. His mother said the same thing, but I don’t know what it means. I am not a bird. I cannot fly. How can I make a nest?

Before I can ask him, he nods over to a pile of fabrics on the floor. The moment I see them, that urge hits me again. I must make them right. As they are, they are haphazard and… Well… wrong.

There’s no other word for it. I leave the bed to tackle them, but he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me back. I struggle against his strength, my vision blurring as whimpers pepper the air.

“Please,” I beg. “Can you really be so cruel?”

“Did I not tell you it would hurt far worse before it was all over?” he hisses, the sounds going straight to where he pleasured me before. “But do not worry, my pet. This is not part of your punishment. You will thank me when you are finally coherent.”

Taking me back over to the bed, he pins me down and stretches out my arm. With deft movements, he lashes it to the bed before going over and doing the other arm. Unable to move, I struggle, fighting against the bonds.