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But he withdrew, his gaze wild and somewhat unhinged. He was panting as much as she was.
“Thank you, my dear girl,” he rasped. “You cannot imagine how grateful I am. Your touch—” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes I wonder what I did in this life to deserve someone as wondrous as you treating me so well.”
Patience blinked. As wondrous as she? Did he mean it?
She smiled, and this time there was nothing forced or fake in it.
18
The next morning, Dorian inhaled deeply of the damp earthy scents as Patience and he rattled along in the carriage through the countryside on the way to visit his tenants. Trees were dusted with new leaves. Primroses and daffodils dotted the low hedgerows. Birdsong filled the air.
He didn’t remember the last time he’d actually looked at the spring landscape and enjoyed it, but next to Patience, everything felt beautiful and full of life. Even the slight pain from his cuts didn’t bother him.
Patience’s delicate fingertips traced the bud of a bluebell he’d picked for her before they got into the carriage.
Lucky bluebell.
“This will be the one task of a duchess that I will truly enjoy,” she said with a tender smile as she stared dreamily at the countryside passing by. “Seeing the tenants, talking to them. Helping them.”
Dorian thought with a pang of the very first rule she’d broken and how surprisingly well she took the punishment. Feeling her bare bottom, her growing wetness under his hand was an unsurpassed pleasure…until now. Seeing her overjoyed like this was even sweeter.
“That is one thing we can agree on,” he said. “Papa never bothered with his duties to the tenants. Growing up, I always thought it was a shame. When I became duke, I did my best to make sure the steward was on top of repairs, solving problems, providing help whenever the tenants needed it. But I haven’t visited them for months now. I should have, as should any good landlord.”
She beamed at him, and he felt the urge to smile back. No one had made him feel like smiling in… God, he didn’t remember how long. No one but her.
“Well, now you have me to help you,” she said. “Do you usually organize the May Day?”
“No.”
“That’s what we should do! Would they enjoy it, do you think?”
“I’m sure they would.”
“Marvelous!” Her eyes glimmered with excitement. “With the mild weather, wildflowers will be in bloom—perfect for weaving into garlands. And we can set up outdoor games and… Oh! Wouldn’t it be great to have a maypole? Children would adore the ribbons!”
He watched sunlight play across her golden tresses. Such a generous spirit, so eager to bring joy to others.
I’d like to please you more.
Warmth swelled in his chest, cracking the ice encasing his heart.
He’d give her ten May Days if only it would bring a smile to her lips like that.
“Yes,” he said. “Maypole. Ribbons. Children.”
Yet dread clawed at his heart. Memories of Papa surged like a tidal wave—the sneer curling his lip as he berated a tenant short on rent, the whip cracking against a stable boy’s back… Dorian gritted his teeth.
He had wanted Dorian to become a duke in his own image.
He refused to become that image, to let his father win.
And yet, the rage living within him every day of his life was Papa’s creation.
Their carriage halted before a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the estate. An elderly woman, face lined and weathered, stepped out with two grandchildren ages roughly six and eight. Her eyes crinkled at the corners upon spotting them.
“Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy. “What an unexpected delight.”
“Mrs. Batten,” said Dorian as he helped Patience get down. “This is my wife, the Duchess of Rath.”
