Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“ G ood morning, Miss. Can I help you with anything?” a maid asked when she noticed Gemma lingering at the door of the breakfast hall.

Gemma glanced around. “Where is everyone?” she asked, her tone laced with uncertainty. “The Duke and the Dowager Duchess?”

The large room was silent, the long table set with an extravagant spread, yet there was not a soul in sight. She had stood in the entrance, unsure of whether she should sit and eat alone or wait for someone to join her.

The maid gave a polite smile. “His Grace always takes his breakfast in his study, miss. He prefers to dine in silence. As for the Dowager, she is not an early riser, and likes to take her tea in her chambers.”

“Oh,” Gemma muttered, nodding as the information sank in. “Thank you.”

The maid curtsied and continued on her way, leaving Gemma standing in the stillness of the grand hall.

She frowned as a knot tightened in her stomach. If she wanted to stay longer—if she needed to stay longer—Frederick would have to soften towards her.

Her mind was still racing from the quarrel with Frederick the night before. The tension between them had simmered to the point of near combustion, and she knew she couldn’t afford to antagonize him any further. If she was going to survive here, at least for now, she would need to tread carefully.

Last night’s argument, while invigorating in its own way, hadn’t done her any favors. She had to find a way to make amends, or, at the very least, get in his good graces for now.

A decision formed in her mind. Before she could second-guess herself she walked purposefully toward Frederick’s study.

The corridors of the house were quiet, except for the occasional sound of servants’ footsteps as they went about their morning duties. Gemma’s heart quickened as she approached the heavy oak door of the Duke’s domain at the end of the hall. She paused for a moment, gathering her courage.

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she knocked.

There was a brief silence before a low, steady voice beckoned from within, “Enter.”

Gemma turned the handle and stepped inside. The study was dimly lit by the morning light that streamed in through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the shelves of books and the large desk that dominated the room.

Frederick sat behind it, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned a document. His dark hair was slightly disheveled and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, giving him an air of casual authority.

He glanced up as she entered, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw her.

Gemma felt a self-conscious warmth spread across her cheeks as he scanned her from head to toe.

“Miss Bradford,” the Duke greeted her, his voice calm but cool. “What brings you to my study so early?”

Gemma straightened her back, determined not to let her nerves show. “I wanted to thank you, Your Grace,” she began, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “For allowing me to stay the night, despite… the circumstances.”

Frederick leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listened.

“I was not about to throw you out into the night,” he said, his tone guarded. “But that does not mean you are free to stay as long as you wish.”

“I understand,” Gemma replied quickly, her heart sinking a little at his words.

She wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but his bluntness stung more than she’d anticipated.

Unfazed, she continued. “I have no intention of overstaying my welcome.” She paused, then added, “I also wanted to apologize. I realize I may have come across as… difficult last night.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her choice of words. “Difficult is one way of putting it.”

Gemma felt a spark of irritation at his tone but repressed it.

“After the convent… I mean, well, I do not revel in being told what to do,” she admitted, a hint of defiance slipping into her voice. “But I am not here to cause trouble. I am only requesting safe and temporary shelter. I’m grateful for your kindness, truly.”

Frederick inclined his head slightly, accepting her words without comment. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Gemma took a deep breath, determined to take another step forward.

“There is something else I need to tell you,” she said, her voice quieter now. “The name I gave you—Miss Gemma Bradford—that was not entirely true.”

Frederick’s gaze sharpened. “Oh?”

“My father was an earl,” she explained quickly. “But I have not used my title in years. I have been away from society for so long that it feels foreign to me now.” She hesitated, then added, “I did not want you to think I was trying to deceive you.”

Frederick remained silent for a moment, considering her words. Finally, he nodded.

“If that is the case, then I must address you as Lady Gemma,” he said.

Gemma shook her head, “No. That is not needed. As I said, it feels foreign to me. Please continue to call me Miss Bradford, Your Grace.”

“Noted,” he said, though his expression remained inscrutable.

Gemma shifted her weight as the awkwardness of the moment settled over her. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the plate of food sitting on a side table. He had not touched his breakfast.

“You prefer to take your breakfast here?” she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

Frederick’s eyes flicked to the plate before returning to her.

“I do,” he said simply.

“Why not in the breakfast hall?” Gemma pressed, her curiosity getting the better of her. “My father always took breakfast in the breakfast hall, with the family. Is that not what most people do?”

Frederick’s mouth tightened slightly. “I am not most people,” he replied, his tone clipped.

Gemma could sense his irritation growing, but something in her wouldn’t let her drop the subject.

“Do you prefer avoiding your guests?” she asked, her voice light but her question pointed. “Or do you just dislike the formality?”

Frederick’s eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought she’d overstepped. He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on the desk.

“I dislike distractions,” he said evenly. “And breakfast with guests is often just that—a distraction.”

Gemma raised an eyebrow, feeling a small smile tug at her lips. “A distraction from what, exactly?”

Frederick’s gaze locked onto hers, and the intensity of his stare made her pulse quicken.

“From work,” he said softly. “From what matters.”

Gemma felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words. There was something about the way he spoke—so controlled, so focused—that made her wonder what truly lay beneath that cold exterior. She was curious, more than she cared to admit, about the man sitting in front of her.

“And what is it that matters to you, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice dropping to match his quiet tone.

Frederick leaned back in his chair, his fingers loosely intertwined as he observed Gemma standing in his study, her posture resolute, but he could see the fearlessness that shimmered in her eyes.

Her curiosity had caught him off guard, but instead of becoming irritated he found himself intrigued by her nerve.

“Distractions do not matter to me,” he mused, letting the words slowly roll off his tongue. “I prefer the peace and quiet of my study. Especially when compared to the tedious conversations that often accompany breakfast in the dining hall.”

His voice was dry, but there was a subtle glimmer in his eyes.

Gemma raised an eyebrow, her lips curving slightly as she replied, “Tedious conversations, you say? You mean you do not enjoy hearing about the weather or who married whom?”

Frederick’s mouth twitched into a half-smile. “I find it difficult to muster enthusiasm for idle gossip. Small talk has always been a tiresome endeavor, especially when it is usually only intended to curry favor or flatter me.”

“Well, I imagine being a duke invites all sorts of unnecessary flattery,” she teased lightly. “I suppose you are accustomed to everyone fawning over you, eager to gain your favor.”

Frederick’s smile deepened, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You would be surprised how often people mistake civility for sincerity. Their motives are usually transparent.”

“I see,” Gemma said, taking a small step forward, her gaze never wavering. “So, you hide away in your study to avoid all the sycophants?”

Frederick chuckled softly, the sound low and almost reluctant, as though he wasn’t used to such conversations. “Not exactly. I have little patience for inane chatter, especially from those who seek to manipulate me. And believe me, there are many who try.”

Gemma crossed her arms over her chest, an impish grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “And do you think I am here now in order to manipulate you? Is that it?”

Frederick’s eyes darkened slightly as he studied her. “You are certainly not here out of the goodness of your heart, Miss Bradford . But I will admit… I am intrigued to learn what your reasons are.”

Her defiance flickered again, but there was something vulnerable tucked underneath it, though she hid it well.

“If you must know, Your Grace, I am not interested in manipulating you.”

“Then what are you interested in?” His question came quickly, his tone sharper now.

He wanted to see if she would give him an honest answer, or if she would sidestep it as she had before.

Gemma didn’t flinch, though he noticed a brief hesitation in her eyes.

“Freedom,” she said softly, the word carrying more weight than he had expected. “That is all I want.”

Frederick felt something akin to a pang of understanding. He, too, had once sought freedom, though his circumstances had been vastly different. His freedom had been stolen by duty, by the expectations placed upon him as a duke. Hers had been taken by something else.

Someone else.

Frederick stood up slowly, rounding his desk and reducing the space between them. “So, you think staying here will give you what you are looking for?”

He was unsure why he continued to press her so hard, but her defiance, her vulnerability, and her desire to escape the chains that bound her struck a chord deep within him.

Gemma lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. “Not exactly. I do not plan to stay here forever, Your Grace. Only long enough to find a way forward. To get somewhere safe, on my own terms.”

Frederick’s eyes narrowed, a slow smirk forming on his lips. “You should be careful with that sharp tongue of yours,” he murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer. “It might get you into trouble.”

He stood before her now, close enough to see the tension in her shoulders, the way her chest rose and fell a little quicker than it had earlier. Frederick tilted his head slightly, intrigued by the fire that burned so brightly within her.

Gemma’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening as she looked up at him. They stood like that for a moment, the air crackling with an intensity that neither of them could deny. He felt the pull between them that hummed like a taut string ready to snap.

Her gaze didn’t falter, but there was now something softer in her eyes that made him wonder if, despite her bravado, she was as uncertain about this moment as he was.

Just as the tension reached its peak, a knock sounded at the door, shattering the stillness of the room.

Frederick blinked, the spell between them once again broken as he straightened, his expression hardening once more.

He turned his head sharply toward the door. “What is it?” he called gruffly.

The door creaked open and the butler stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Apologies, Your Grace, but there is a matter which requires your attention.”

Frederick clenched his jaw in frustration. He glanced at Gemma, her expression once again guarded, before turning to the butler. “Very well,” he said tersely.

The butler nodded and waited in the room, leaving the door ajar.

Frederick exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to Gemma. The moment between them had evaporated, replaced by the cold reality of his responsibilities and the reminder that she was still a guest in his home; an enigma, yes, but a complication he wasn’t sure he needed.

“We shall continue this conversation another time,” he said, his voice clipped but kind.

Gemma nodded, though the tension in her frame hadn’t fully eased. “Of course,” she replied in a measured tone.

Despite his dismissal of her she made no move to leave, which intrigued him all the more.

Frederick remained where he stood for a moment longer, feeling a lingering sense of unfinished business. He had thought she would be like the rest—easy to read, easy to predict—but Gemma Bradford was anything but. That, he realized, made her far more dangerous than he had originally anticipated.

“What is it?” Frederick finally replied, glancing at the butler standing across the room.

“Your Grace, you have a visitor who insists upon seeing you.”

“Who is it?”

“A nun from St. Catherine’s, Your Grace,” he said. “She said her name was Sister Agnes.”

Fredrick saw Gamma’s reaction immediately. The panic in her face indicated that Gemma’s first instinct was to turn tail and run, but she was frozen in place with fear. Her wide, terrified eyes flicked to the door and she looked like she was about to be devoured.

Frederick’s eyes latched onto hers as she stood deathly still, his gaze sharp like a physician’s scalpel.

When he spoke to the butler the command in his voice brooked no argument. “Simmonds, take Miss Bradford to her room. Now .”

The butler gently but firmly guided Gemma out of the study, her feet moving as though they had been fashioned from lead.

She shot Frederick a deeply worried look over her shoulder one second before she vanished around the corner.