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He looked at her softly. “Yes, indeed. Ecclesiastes. He hath made everything beautiful in its own time.”
“It is one of my favourite Bible verses,” she whispered softly. “I hope you have found your peace. Now that your time for war is finally done, your Grace.”
He simply gazed at her, not knowing what to say. He didn’t trust himself to speak at all. For he had not found his peace, even though his time at war was done. It was as if it lived inside him, every moment of every day. He carried it with him always. And it still haunted his dreams.
Was it even possible to find peace? And yet, as he stared into her bewitching amber eyes, he felt for the very first time that perhaps it just might. It was like a small tremor in his soul. A rumble that might one day grow into an earthquake. If he could only find the courage to let it.
It was as if light was shining through a dark cloud, for the very first time.
To his surprise, she slowly got to her feet, sitting down beside him. For a long moment, she simply gazed into his face, her honey brown eyes as deep as the ocean.
And then, he almost keeled over in shock, as she leaned forward and touched her lips upon his own.
* * *
Patricia knew that she was taking a huge risk, but she felt compelled to do it somehow. Compelled in a way that she simply did not understand.
Yes, it was calculation. She was still playing the game. She wanted to ensnare him, and she was not shy about admitting it to herself.
But it was also so much more than that. He had moved her with his words about fear and war. She had watched his face alter as he had spoken. This was something which meant a great deal to him. More, she suspected, than he even knew. It seemed very important for him to express it exactly the way he wanted to. That the words capture everything that was in his heart.
She liked him. She liked him very much. It was as simple as that.
The jagged raised scar on his face simply did not seem to matter any longer. When he spoke, she did not see it. All she saw was the man beneath the face who longed to get out. The man that he truly was, hidden beneath layers of bitter weariness at what he had seen and what he had endured.
Here was an honorable man.
He was as different from her previous caller than night was from day, and she knew which one she preferred.
The kiss was sweet and gentle, and his lips softer than she had expected. Not that she had known what to expect at all. She had never been kissed before. A part of her was wringing her hands in shame at what she was doing. A lady never did things like this.
But she didn’t care any longer. She liked him and she didn’t want to have to endure Lord Cardigan or any other who was not half the man the Duke of Merriweather was. She must find a wealthy suitor, and he was wealthy. Why wait for months of gentle courting to get to the same result anyway?
He was shocked by her wanton behaviour. She could tell by the way he instinctively stiffened. But after a moment of softly pressing her lips against his, it suddenly changed. He put his arms around her and pulled her towards him, his lips thirstily drinking her in, as if he could never hope to get enough of her.
She gasped, deep in her throat. His tongue had parted her lips and was darting into her mouth, in the most daring way. She was so taken aback she almost pulled away. But then something changed. A deep warmth abruptly filled her; a tingling of sensation, starting from the pit of her belly and radiating outwards.
It was the most delicious and scandalous thing she had ever experienced.
She rather liked it.A lot.
In the back of her mind, she heard the footsteps thudding down the hallway towards the drawing room. She knew that at any minute someone was going to walk through that door and catch them in this outrageous embrace. If she let that happen, she would be thoroughly compromised. There would be no turning back from it.
What was she going to do? Would she push him away and straighten her gown and pretend it had never happened? Or would she let that door open upon them?
She could tell that he had heard the footsteps too. He was hastily drawing away from her. Abruptly, she gripped his head, pulling him back towards her lips. He didn’t protest.
The die was cast.
The door opened. A shocked hiss.
“Lady Patricia!”
She pulled away from the Duke, pretending that she had been startled.
Yates, the butler, was standing there. His face was ashen. She was rather concerned he might keel over entirely, gripping his chest.
The Duke was scrambling away from her, looking shamefaced.
Within minutes, it was done. Her mother was called, her eyes wide with shock. Patricia didn’t have to pretend to cry. The tears were flowing freely. She was as shocked as anyone by what had happened, even though she had initiated the kiss. But now, it was as if another girl entirely had done what she had done. She could barely believe that it had been her.
She was compromised. The butler knew it. Her mother knew it. Soon the whole household would know it. From there, if it was not checked, it would spread into the neighborhood. Quite possibly by dinner time the whole of London’s good society would be whispering about it within their drawing rooms. She was a scandal in the making.
They all turned towards the Duke. What was he going to do?
