Page 21 of Duke in Darkness

“Exton is rather dashing,” said Joy. “He bowed to me in the entrance hall, and that cheek scar makes him look fierce. And wild. But he’s so huge.”

Heat scorched across Lilian’s cheeks, and she took a hasty sip of tea. “I…ah…”

“Very tall and broad shouldered. Rough. Not elegant like the previous duke. I think your husband could be used to prop up a house!”

She let out a slow breath. Of course Joy hadn’t been referring to Exton’s man part. Good heavens, the fact that her mind had darted straight to that was extremely troubling.

“Indeed he is.”

Leah leaned over and selected a cream cake from the tray between them. “It’s such a shame about Exton’s limp. I’m sure he would have been a marvelous dancer. All the soldiers are.”

“You shouldn’t tarry so long with them at balls,” Lilian replied, sharper than she’d intended. Her friend probably hadn’t meant any slight toward Exton, but she had no idea how bad his injuries were.

“Why ever not? They always look splendid in their regimentals. And far less likely to squeak because their belly is strapped into a corset. I swear, sometimes I think I’m being chased by a horde of mice when I’m in a country dance. Squeak squeak! Squeak squeak!”

Lilian grinned reluctantly. Her friend spoke a truth. Some men spent more time preparing for an evening out than the ladies did. And they could be a trifle silly when it came to accepting that an article of clothing simply did not fit. Her late fiancé had been such a—

Stunned at the disloyal thought, she blinked. How could she even think such a thing? He’d been the perfect duke, and gentleman.

“If I dream about an army of corset-wearing mice tonight, it will be your fault, Leah,” Lilian said swiftly.

“Yes! And who cares about old men anyway?” said Joy, lounging back on the chaise. “I want to hear about Exton. Is he an admirable kisser…a-ha! He is! Your cheeks give you away.”

Leah hooted with laughter. “Ruby red! I’d wager His Grace is more than admirable. Well, well. Then it stands to reason he might be more than admirable in other ways also. Do share.”

Snapping open her fan, Lilian attempted to cool her burning cheeks. Blast it all, her friends had only asked about kissing, and she wanted to crawl under the table. How could she discuss anything more intimate?

Especially as she remained so conflicted about the experience.

When Exton had prepared her with the scented oil, his gentle, sure touch had been so alarmingly pleasant she’d been forced to halt him lest she behave like a harlot. It had almost been a relief when he entered her, and the discomfort that Grandmother spoke of began. Then the sharp, awful pain when Exton took her maidenhead, and she’d failed at staying silent and still. But after the initial pain dulled to an ache and feeling of overwhelming fullness, each of her husband’s thrusts became even easier to bear. When he’d shifted slightly and rubbed against that tender spot at the top of her mound…horrifyingly, it had made her feel warm and tingly and restless. Like it might become sinfully good. Thankfully Exton had spilled his seed not long after, heaven knew what might have happened otherwise.

“Lilian! Helloooooo!”

She blinked, startled. “Do excuse me.”

Leah rolled her eyes as she selected a second cream cake from the tray. “Only if you share more information. Tell us the truth. Are the whispers correct? Is it awful the first time?”

Lilian hesitated. “It is certainly unpleasant when one’s, ah, barrier is breached. But if you have a considerate husband, he will do his best to minimize the pain.”

“I’m relieved to know Exton is such a man,” said Joy abruptly. “I know your family are delighted with the match, but it all happened so fast and he is your late fiancé’s cousin. I was worried about you.”

“Oh, dearest, do not,” said Lilian, reaching across to take her hand. “I admit there are…difficulties…being married to a near-stranger, but His Grace has shown me nothing but courtesy thus far. I think in time we could even develop a real friendship.”

“What about love?” asked Leah pointedly.

Joy scoffed. “Oh please. We are daughters of the aristocracy. We marry where we are told to, and if we are very fortunate, we don’t out and out hate our husbands. That is the price of a title.”

A strangely hollow sensation gripped Lilian’s chest, but she ruthlessly suppressed it. Joy was correct, loving marriages were rare in the ton. Her own parents had been the exception and her mother hadn’t survived it. “Exactly. Now, who would like more tea?”

THE ESTATE LEDGER in front of him might as well have been written in Egyptian hieroglyphics for all the sense it made, and Gabriel was so damned tired of striving to be a good duke and achieving precisely nothing because his body or mind failed him.

Rubbing a weary hand over his raw eyes, he sat back in his library chair. Last night had been yet another bad one, where not even all the beeswax candles in England were sufficiently bright. Where every creak and groan of a townhouse built nearly one hundred years ago reminded him of the torture room his captors had so enjoyed dragging him into each day. Where his wound sites ached and itched, and an unrelenting chill that no fire or heavy greatcoat could warm, steadily shoved him toward insanity. Where his hands trembled, chest tightened, and sweat dripped down his neck. On nights like that, the temptation to take his own life just to halt the waking nightmares grew far stronger.

Only Hobbs knew of the worst times. Never would Gabriel permit Lilian to see him like that, so he’d stayed far away from her chamber, instead remaining in this library until dawn. Then he’d gone upstairs, completed his limb-stretching exercises, bathed, changed clothes, had Hobbs shave him, and returned here for the first of several meetings. The stewards were impatient to meet him after being put off for several months, and eager to insist they were dedicated and competent in managing his various inherited properties.

“Your Grace? Would you like to take a breather? I am sorry, my wife warned me not to ramble, and here I am raving about wheat crops.”

Gabriel smiled faintly at the earnest, barrel-chested, salt-and-pepper haired man on the other side of his heavy oak desk, unable to even remember his name. He hailed from some estate up north in the county of Rutland and did seem both knowledgeable and hardworking. Damnation. If only his mind wasn’t so foggy from lack of sleep. “Not at all. But perhaps some tea?”