His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two
His Grace, The Duke: Chapter 41

The last time Rosalie and James spoke, he was shouting at her in the drawing room. In the past two days, she’d only seen him at mealtimes, and even then he’d been missing both last night and this morning.

He looked haggard. Not at all his usual polished self. His coat was off, his cravat loose. Dark circles under his eyes belied the likely source of his current distress.

“Can I help, my lord?” she called, alerting him to her presence.

His eyes shot up as his shoulders stiffened. He took her in from head to toe. “Where is everyone? Even the bloody footmen have deserted me.”

“Her Grace is at the Queen’s tea,” Rosalie replied. “The young ladies are shopping, the Lieutenant is with Captain Hartington, and I couldn’t begin to guess at where His Grace might be,” she finished with a small smile.

James just grunted, his eye back on the papers in his hand. “Where is Burke?”

“I imagine he’s not back yet.”

“Back? Where did he go now?”

Concern twisted in her gut. “He…you sent him on an errand after breakfast, my lord…do you not remember?”

“That was hours ago.” He turned sharply and retreated into his study.

Taking a deep breath, Rosalie followed him into the lion’s den.

The study was a mess—stacks of papers on the desk, more on the floor, account books splayed open. Then there was the tray of cluttered tea things, another with an uneaten meal. This mess had accrued in two days? Had the man slept at all?

She leaned against the open doorway. “My lord…what time is it?”

“I haven’t had a moment—” He glanced at his clock, rubbing his eyes. “Christ, does that say ten?”

This confirmed her suspicions. “Can I help, sir?”

“No.” He slapped down the papers in his hand, snatching up a different set.

“Oh, I think I can,” she replied with a frown. “Put that down.”

He glanced up sharply. “What?”

“The paper in your hands, James. Whatever it is, put it down. It’s not what you need right now.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You presume to know what I need?”

“I do.” With more confidence than she felt, she shut and locked his door.

James went still as stone. “What are you doing?”

She pointed to the window. “Make yourself useful and close the curtains.”

“Miss Harrow—”

“Don’t ‘Miss Harrow’ me, James. The stairwell rule now applies to your study. I have decreed it.”

He raised a brow. “You decree it?”

“Yes, I do. Now close the curtains.”

He opened his mouth then shut it again, his brows lowered in confusion. “What happens when I do?”

She smiled. “Close them and replace out.”

With a frown, he turned away and went to the window.

“Not all the way,” she directed, wandering over to his bookshelves. “Do you have any novels in here?”

James stilled, one hand on the curtain. “Novels?”

“Yes, James. Novels. Works of fiction, often with fantastical settings. Perhaps a story with a windswept castle on a moor. I’m in the mood for something brooding. It seems fitting for this atmosphere.”

“To the left,” he muttered. “Are we going to read in the dark?”

“Oh, perfect.” She tugged loose a copy of The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne and tucked it under her arm. “I am going to read,” she corrected. “You are going to nap.”

“What?”

She sank onto the end of his sofa. “I’m starting to feel like you’re being obtuse on purpose. Is my English incorrect? A nap, James. It is the act of sleeping during the day. Hounds do it, children do it, and now so will you.”

“I can’t possibly nap,” he said with a huff of indignation.

“Of course, you can. Close the curtains and come here. Take off your boots.”

Grumbling, James pulled the curtain halfway closed. The effect was immediate, creating a darker, more intimate space. He tugged loose his cravat. She watched the flash of skin at his throat as he swallowed. He sat on the other end of the sofa and made quick work of his boots. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

She set her book on the arm of the sofa, propping her feet up on the little pouf. “Yes, I am ridiculous and impossible and full of deceit, James, I know.”

“Rosalie—”

“With any luck, we have two hours before the others return, if not three,” she said over him. “Either way, until I hear the sounds of return, you will lay here in my lap.” She put a pillow over her legs, patting it with a smile. “Sleep or don’t sleep, I don’t care. But you will rest, James. You’re not moving from this sofa until I say.”

His lips twitched. “You’re a tyrant, and this will not work.”

She gave him her best steely, determined look. “Put your head in my lap, James.”

He flopped down, his weight pressing into her. Feeling him so close had her heart pounding. She swallowed it down before it dared to fly away. Could he hear it? Could he feel it? Oh heavens, was this a mistake?

He lay there on his side, his legs half-curled up on the sofa. His body was stiff as a board.

“I can feel your eyes open,” she murmured. “Close them.”

He let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing a little. “God, you’re exhausting.”

She smirked. “I’m not exhausting, you’re exhausted. There’s a difference. Now, close your stubborn eyes.”

He relaxed a little more and she moved one hand to his hair. She liked the auburn color, how it went darker at the tips. It only curled around his ears. At the first stroke of her fingers, he let out a soft groan, sinking deeper into her. She petted his hair, humming a little tune under her breath. As he relaxed, his breathing slowing, she opened her book one-handed and began to read.

“What are you humming?” he murmured.

“A lullaby. I think it might be Italian. I only know the tune. My mother favored it.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Do you miss her?”

She buried the ache deep in her chest. “Yes.”

He shifted a little. “I miss my father…but I can’t say it without facing rebuke. The longer he’s dead, the more my mother tries to poison his memory…and I begin to doubt. He was cold and demanding, it’s true. But, while he lived, I never worried that Alcott was being managed.”

Her hand stilled in his hair. “It’s wrong of your mother to try and take what was good away. He can be imperfect and your father. You can mourn his loss.”

“Is it wrong that I mourn my ignorance more than his loss? I mourn my lack of worry…I never worried before.”

“And with George at the helm you worry,” she intuited.

“Constantly.”

She went back to smoothing her fingers through his hair. “Do you resent him? George?”

He sighed, shifting his head. “I resent the rules. I resent that he inherits based on the whims of nature. He was born first, he was born a man, so he gets everything.”

“Thus spoke every sister who ever lived,” Rosalie mused.

They were both quiet for a moment before she added, “I think he resents the rules too. One more thing you have in common.”

“We have nothing in common,” he muttered.

She just hmm’d, stroking his hair from brow to nape.

“What else in common?”

“Hush now. You’re meant to be sleeping.”

He turned his face to look up at her. “What else do we have in common?”

“You’re both pests determined to get your own way. A worse pair of horse flies, I’ve never known. Now rest, before I get cross.”

He rolled back on his side. “You barge into my study, order me around, force me on my belly like a dog…who is the bigger pest?”

She gave the hair at his nape a sharp tug.

“Ouch.” He slapped his hand over hers.

“Rest, James. Or I shall take my lap with me and replace a quieter corner of the house in which to read.” She made like she was going to get up.

“No.” His arm curled around her. “Stay.”

She smiled, settling back down, her hand going back to his hair.

They were quiet for a few more minutes.

“Where did you go?” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“With George the other night…where did you go?”

She smiled, setting her book aside. She wondered when one of them was going to ask. Burke and Tom were too preoccupied with comforting her. “He took me to a house party hosted by his friend. She was a lovely lady, very obliging and kind. We had dinner and played cards.”

James stilled. “Where was this house party?”

“Leicester Square, I believe.”

James groaned.

“James?”

“What was her name…the lovely lady who hosted you?”

“Helene Trudeau.”

Then he was laughing. It was a deep sound that vibrated through him into her.

“James—”

After a minute, he relaxed. “God damn George straight to hell,” he muttered.

She didn’t like this feeling of jealousy creeping up her spine. “Who is she to you?”

“To me?” He gave another dry laugh. “She is nothing to me. I’ve only met the woman once or twice in my life. She was my father’s mistress. She used to live here in this house until he died. Then my mother forced her out. George still provides for her.”

Rosalie wasn’t sure what she was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Oh…I…are you upset that I met her?”

Reaching up, he took her hand, entwining their fingers together. He rested their joined hands on the pillow by his face. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. “I’m not upset that you met Helene. I’m upset you needed comfort and turned to George instead of me.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

You are the one with high walls. Let him in.

She bit her lip before admitting the truth. “I want to turn to you, James.”

He pulled her hand closer, kissing the joint of her thumb. “I want to be the one who protects you.”

“You do,” she replied, curling towards him. “You make me feel safe.”

“Good,” he muttered, kissing her first finger, then her second. Suddenly, he stilled. “And stop fighting me about the bloody clothes. I’m not trying to own you, I’m trying to care for you.”

“I know. It’s forgotten,” she whispered. “Forgiven. I love the clothes.”

He kissed her palm, sucking in a breath with his face pressed to her skin. Oh god, he was scenting her. Such a simple act, but so sensual she fought the need to moan. She looked down at the man in her lap and made her own request. “Stop avoiding me. James, I can’t bear it. If you’re angry with me then scream, pull your hair, throw glass until it shatters…only don’t abandon me.”

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Rosalie, I’m right here.”

She put both hands on him, one in his hair and the other rubbing small circles on his shoulder. They relaxed into each other. Rosalie tipped her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes, letting herself feel every inch of him all around her.

It didn’t take long before his breathing finally slowed, and James was asleep.