His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

“I’ve lost my appetite,” Burke muttered, sitting back in his chair, and pushing his plate away. He reached for the wine instead.

“Rose…are you alright?”

Rosalie glanced across the table at Renley. His concern was genuine as he took in her every expression, trying to determine how he might help. Was she alright? Since arriving at Alcott, all her carefully laid plans had unraveled. Was it any wonder she felt so wild and unconfined when no part of her life was going according to plan? She’d been free-falling for weeks, like a bird tumbling through the sky, caught on a sharp wind. One gust might blow her left, even while she beat helplessly with her wings to fly right.

Renley must have sensed her turmoil. “Tell us what you need, Rose. Are you hungry?”

Burke was watching her too, those stormy eyes settling back to a soft grey now that the excitement was over.

She let out a slow exhale, looking around at the splendor of the feast growing cold on all the plates. The idea of putting cold mutton with a pea mash in her mouth made her want to gag. “I…um…no,” she replied. “I think I will retire. A bath and some sleep will set me right.”

“Shall I show you to your room?” offered Burke.

“I know the way.” She glanced from Renley to Burke. She was sure Renley was desperate to say more, but she felt too fragile to handle more emotionality tonight. “I know how you all like to gossip about me…You have my permission to ask Burke anything.”

“I wasn’t going to gossip,” Renley replied. “I just want to know you’re alright. I want…last night with Marianne—”

She raised a hand. “Please, don’t. I believe you that it was not as she said, that you made her no promises. I just…I need a little time. Let me sleep on it?”

Renley was all man; broad and strong, with that sharply chiseled jaw. But in this moment, he looked almost boyish with his tousled curls and wide blue eyes, all full of hope and fear. He was anxious for her acceptance, anxious to say everything now and have it out in the open. She fought the urge to run her hand through those curls. She longed for the comfort of his arms around her, like they were in the storage room, her cheek pressed against the anchor tattooed on his chest.

That was never in the plan either. These men were never in her plan. Now look at her, longing for them both. Renley was her safe harbor and Burke was her storm. Home and freedom. Peace and passion.

Not in the plan…but plans change.

And thank God for that.

She moved around the table, the satin of her dress whispering across the polished wooden floor. Renley was closer, so it was him she went to first, her arms wrapping around his waist as she pressed herself against him, her face buried in his cravat. His arms were around her in an instant as he sighed into her embrace. She breathed in his intoxicating scent of sea and salt and sun. How could a person smell like bottled sunshine, even in the dead of night?

He kissed the top of her head, resting his face there and breathing her in. He wasn’t quite so tall as Burke, but he was broader, thicker at the waist and more muscled. He tipped her chin up. “Did I ruin this before I even had the chance to try for it?” he murmured, searching her eyes.

Smiling, she pulled him down to her, meeting her lips with his, tasting the sweet notes of red wine on his mouth. His hands moved to her face as he angled her exactly how he wanted her, teasing with his tongue until she opened for him. They kissed soft and slow, reassuring each other that the comfort and friendship they both felt still thrummed strongly between them.

She broke the kiss, smoothing down his cravat with her hands. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Goodnight, Renley.”

He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Goodnight, Rose.”

She turned away to find Burke waiting for her. His arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders as he peppered her forehead and temple with soft kisses. “I love you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “You are safe here. Safe with me—with us.”

She turned her face into the hand that cupped her cheek, kissing his palm. She raised her own hand to hold his there, letting his warmth soak into her skin. “Goodnight.”

He kissed her lips once, twice, letting her go. “Goodnight, love.”

Rosalie found her way upstairs through the dark house back to her room. She opened the door and let out a little gasp. The maids had certainly been busy. The sheets were turned down, the curtains closed, and a cozy fire crackled in the hearth. Not to mention the new feminine touches everywhere—bouquets of fresh flowers large and small sat on each surface, lace doilies dotted the side and end tables, and there was now a stocked dressing table with glass bottles of perfume and hair powder in the corner, blocking access to the shelved linen closet.

Paulette had also followed through with her promise. Stylish dress and hat boxes sat stacked in the opposite corner. Rosalie went to the armoire and pulled open both doors. It was full of all her new clothes. She recognized most of them as things she’d tried on earlier…but there were a few new selections too.

She pulled open each drawer, noting the carefully folded petticoats and chemises, new stockings and garters, stays—both half and full, and a pile of colored, silky underthings that Rosalie was positive James had not ordered. She shut that drawer with a snap, stifling a giggle as she imagined him standing at the counter in Paulette’s shop asking to see samples.

She fished a chemise out of the top drawer and moved over to the mantle, tugging the servant’s cord. She only had to wait a few minutes before Fanny arrived. Rosalie was pleased to discover a sleek, modern bathing chamber was situated directly across the hall from her room. Soaking in the deep, copper tub did wonders for her aching muscles. She gave her hair a thorough wash with a fancy French tonic that smelled strongly of rose oil.

Within the hour, Fanny had Rosalie sitting at the dressing table back in her room. She meticulously brushed and set Rosalie’s hair. The dark curls around her face were wound up tight with bits of pink ribbon.

Fanny soon left, and Rosalie sank onto the bed, sighing with relief to be stretched out on the soft surface. She slipped her legs under the coverlet. She’d barely let herself settle when her doorknob rattled. She looked up, expecting it to be Fanny.

Of course, it wasn’t.