Page 73 of Duke in Darkness

Her gaze narrowed. “It’s just a foot, Hobbs. I’m sure my delicate sensibilities will survive.”

Gabriel stifled a smile. Indeed, sometimes his kitten had claws. “Brace yourself for the scent…of the balm, though. I don’t even want to know…what Hobbs puts in it.”

“I wouldn’t tell you anyway,” sniffed his valet as he pulled a small glass pot containing the mystery green concoction from his jacket pocket, and opened it. “Ancient family recipe.”

“Oh my word,” said Lilian, as she began to cough.

“I know,” said Gabriel sympathetically. “Once it has killed…your sense of smell, you’ll be fine.”

“It’s like…it’s like the Thames on a bad day met a quart of chamomile tea and had a camphor baby. Dare I ask what makes it that green color? Is it plantain?”

“Indeed, madam,” said Hobbs, resting Gabriel’s foot on his knee, then scooping out a little of the ointment with two fingertips. “Now, first I spread this on the bottom of His Grace’s foot. You don’t need to use a lot, it goes quite far. Then I begin to massage it in. Gently to start, always gently to start, just with my fingertips. When the skin feels warmer and softer, I press harder, but around the scarring, not directly on it. Like this, see?”

From her stool next to the bed, Lilian leaned in to watch Hobbs massage his damaged flesh, her expression not disgust, but a rather adorable frown of concentration. “Ah, yes. Ideally, how long should his foot be rubbed for?”

“It all depends on how it is behaving. On a good day, perhaps a quarter hour.”

Gabriel sucked in a pained breath as Hobbs dug his thumbs into a particularly sore spot. “On a bad day, a few minutes at most. Damned annoying thing. Shoes don’t help, either.”

“Then we must remedy that,” said Lilian, glancing up at him. “Today. Hobbs, after breakfast, would you see that the carriage is ready at ten o’clock? I am going to ensure Exton has shoes he can walk in more comfortably. I’m sure Mr. Hoby will know what to do.”

Hobbs bowed as he wiped his hands on a linen cloth. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall ready His Grace for an outing. He’ll be downstairs in an hour, fresh as a daisy.”

“Excellent,” said Lilian, and his wife and his valet nodded at each other in perfect understanding. “I shall have Dawn do the same. Thank you for the massage demonstration.”

Eyebrows raised, Gabriel stared at her as Hobbs departed the chamber. “Now you have planned my morning…and given my valet his orders…any other instructions, madam wife?”

Lilian blushed. “No more instructions, but a humble request. I would like my husband to kiss me.”

“Would you now?”

“Very much,” she whispered, batting her lashes. “Please?”

Gabriel’s lips twitched. “You are a minx.”

Then he leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, a light brush to start that soon deepened into a raw, brutal conquering of her mouth, one that made her moan and clutch at his hands to steady herself.

“Oh,” she said softly. “The way you kiss me. I like that just as much as waking up beside you in bed.”

“Then you should do so again. Tomorrow morning.”

Lili’s face lit up. “Are you sure? I won’t disturb you?”

“I seem…” Gabriel exhaled slowly. “To sleep better with you. Before…I didn’t sleep at all unless I passed out. Hobbs has scraped me from the floor…countless times.”

“Well then. It’s settled,” she replied happily. “I’ll go and get dressed.”

AFTER A RATHER CHILLY MORNING, it had turned into a bright, sunny day, the kind that teased Londoners into thinking summer might actually be around the corner.

Lilian was glad of it, as the ducal carriage came to a halt on the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, directly outside Hoby’s bootmakers. For the shopping, and more importantly, the being seen that she and Gabriel were about to do, it would be far easier without the added inconvenience of rain or blustery wind. They could stroll for a short while, take the air and enjoy the sunshine, rather than have to hurry and put further pressure on Gabriel’s foot. But if a clerk so much as looked at her husband sideways, he would rue the day. She was fully prepared to once again unleash her roar.

“We’re here,” said Gabriel, grimacing as he glanced out the window. “I hope George Hoby is in an amiable mood. He can be…eccentric.”

“Yes,” she replied, pursing her lips. “Xavier says the same. Although I suppose that is what happens when you are the best at what you do, and count all the royal dukes and Wellington among your loyal customers. If, however, he is rude to you, I will beat him with my reticule.”

He smiled. “Heaven help the man. Let’s be on our way, then.”

They climbed out of the carriage, and strolled into the large shop. Lilian was immediately struck by the scent of fine leather and polish—an infinitely more appealing smell than that dreadful balm—and sniffed appreciatively. Shop men bustled about, as fitting for London’s most sought-after bootmaker, taking measurements, writing up invoices, and showing customers their wares. From here she could see pairs of Hessian boots with their distinctive tassel, formal black leather shoes with silver buckles, and more casual black shoes with almost no heel at all.