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Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

T hat night was the first night they spent the entirety of it together in his bed. This time, he was the one to invite Evangeline to join him, opening up his space to her. Unlike when she had attempted to insert herself into his life, this felt like it was finally right.

He held her close as she slept, kissed her when she woke and made love to her in the soft light of dawn. And when she woke, it was to find him awake beside her, watching over her.

She rolled over to kiss his arm. "Aren't you usually up by now?"

"Usually," he said, bracing his hands behind his back. "This morning, I found I had something more compelling on my mind."

He reached out to brush her tangled hair back from her face. He had destroyed all the work her maid had done last night with his ravishing.

She didn't find she minded.

Was this what being in love was like? She hadn't thought she would find out, and certainly not with her brusque, difficult husband, but the past two days had been nothing short of magical.

If this was what she could expect from the rest of their life together, she would find a way of being happy.

"How did you find sharing a bed?" she asked shyly.

"Marginally better than the last time in the inn," he said and pinched her chin. "You wiggle a lot in your sleep, brat."

"And you snore!"

"False accusations." He stretched lazily, and she had every opportunity to examine his naked body.

So much skin. Yesterday, she had spent as much time as she could exploring it, but there was still so much to discover. All the things he liked. All the things, specifically, he liked for her to do to him.

She enjoyed them all.

"They are not." She pinched him, enjoying the level of familiarity they had with one another. Once, she would never have dared to treat him in such a way. "It was very disruptive."

"Then why did you not wake me up?"

"Because I enjoyed the sound of someone else sleeping near me." She lay back against the pillows with a small huff of contentment. "Sometimes, Clara and I would share a bed, especially if we could hear our parents arguing. There's something very reassuring about having someone's breathing so close. Like you're not alone."

He looked at her intently. "You should have said something before."

"When? When we were fighting, and you wanted nothing to do with me." She shrugged and stared at the ceiling. "I expected to be lonely in a new place."

"I… dislike the thought of you being lonely."

"Are you?"

He rolled over on his side, so he was facing her. "Am I lonely?"

"Yes. In your big castle, all alone."

He frowned and his gaze dropped from hers. "I am a duke, Evangeline. My responsibilities necessitate that I am in my castle."

"That doesn't preclude you from being lonely."

"Perhaps not. And… perhaps I was. Am. It's difficult to say, in truth. This is how I've always been."

Her heart ached for him. Made the duke at so young an age, and the sole provider for his poor sister at the tender age of two-and-twenty. Losing her must have been an incredible blow; even now, she could hardly imagine it.

"Tell me about your sister," she said softly. "What was she like?"

"Lily—" His throat bobbed. "She's—she was the sweetest girl to have ever lived. Truly. Our father largely left her in the care of our mother, who was always kind and giving, and Lily learned that from her. She wanted to believe the best of people, and always thought that there was good in everyone."

"She sounds wonderful," Evangeline murmured. "I wish I could have met her."

"Yes, I…" His voice trailed away. "I think she would have liked you."

That made it worse. Another connection she had missed out on.

All because of George.

"I'm so sorry it was my friend who caused all this to happen to you and her," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "I know it must have been difficult to see him again that day, in the church. Was that the first time you had seen him since he abandoned your sister?"

His jaw clenched. "It was."

"I'm so sorry. I never knew. We were friends—I could never have imagined he could be so cruel."

"Some people are deceivers," Hugh hesitated, then reached forward, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I failed Lily. In forcing her seducer to marry her, I sealed her fate. Had she not believed he could be in some way hers—if he had not abandoned her at the worst possible moment with the intention of marrying another, perhaps the babe might have survived. It's my belief the stress of it made her go into labor early."

"It's not your fault," Evangeline said earnestly, taking his face into her hands. "Truly, Hugh. It's not."

"I failed to protect her in the way my mother made me promise I would."

"Some people are deceivers," Evangeline said, quoting his words back at him. "You did your best."

"I couldn't expect you to understand when you have not been the sole provider of another." His voice was gentle, and his fingers lingered on her collarbones with more of that affection he had hidden from her for so long. "But be that as it may, I won't fail in my duties again. I can't lose someone I love to another's clutches in that way."

It wasn't a declaration, but it was close to one.

"Oh, Hugh," Evangeline said and held him close to her. "I'm safe. You know there is nothing to fear about me and my safety. I promise."

"My sweet Evangeline," he said, wryly, kissing the top of her head. "If there is one thing you should learn, it's to never make promises you cannot keep."

* * *

"Do you know," Margaret said as they strolled arm-in-arm through the rose bushes of the garden. "It feels as though you're finally starting to settle in and find your place here."

Evangeline plucked a bloom from its thorns and inhaled its scent. "Do you truly think so?"

"You've lost a little of your southern accent. And you seem happy."

"My accent?" Alarmed, Evangeline touched her throat. "Do I sound as though I was born here?"

"No, dear." Margaret patted her arm. "You have a way to go before you get that far. But it does sound as though you've grown accustomed to this place and its quirks. I can't remember the last time you asked Mrs. MacDonald to repeat herself."

"Well, I suppose I am growing used to it here. And the way everyone sounds. You know there are about five too many syllables in every single word. And half the words they use aren't words at all—I've looked a few up in the dictionary just to be certain."

"That's the thing about dialects," Margaret said absently. "There are no rules."

"But Hugh makes it sound elegant, which is another thing I can't understand." Like she did so often when she thought about Hugh, she gave a secret smile. "I've been wondering for weeks how he managed to achieve it. He sounds as though he was born here—which of course he was—but with a refinement that wouldn't be out of place in a drawing room, if necessary."

"Well, I suppose that's what comes of being the duke. He must be all things."

"It sounds exhausting," Evangeline said. "Far easier to be his duchess from the south, where no one expects anything from me but failure. It is my pleasure to prove them wrong."

"Soon you'll be one of us."

Evangeline couldn't help beaming at the thought. Finally, she had found a place where she belonged, and it made her heart sing. A place where she felt welcome and valued and loved, for the first time in her life. And she had found it here, mere miles from the Scottish border, beside the sea that led out to the wild lands of Norway and beyond.

"Thank you for your help, too," she said. "I appreciate it more than you could ever know."

"You're more than welcome, dear. For my part, I'm just happy to see Hugh find some of the happiness he deserves."

Evangeline turned her face to the sea, then back to the castle. It rose, the stone walls imposing, into the air. The first time she'd seen it, she had thought how intimidating it looked. Everything about the place had frightened her. Now, it felt like home.

"Let's see if Hugh is free for an outing," she said, slipping her arm free. "Come on. I'm sure he would delight in spending time with the two of us."

Margaret merely gave a secret smile and said, "He would be amused to know that is the emotion you have attributed to him."

"Perhaps," Evangeline said, but she knew that although Hugh pretended to care about nothing and no one, he had a soft spot for his aunt.

And she suspected he was deeply enjoying the way they were all bonding together.

* * *

Although Hugh still worked, he made sure to come and find her the moment he finished, carving out time for her in his busy schedule.

"There you are," he said when he found her frowning over a portrait. The red room upstairs was, despite its name, one of the lightest in the castle, and she had appropriated it for her painting.

She turned her face up to his for a kiss. "Are you done with your work for the day?"

"For now." He pulled her into him, kissing her more deeply. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"May I interrupt?"

"Please."

"Excellent." He turned her around, pressing her against the wall as he undid the laces at the back of her dress. "I've been thinking about you all day."

"Oh?"

"In precisely this position."

She let out a breath. " Oh ."

"Don't move, pet."

She kept still as he painstakingly removed the layers from her. This was another of his games—where he would have her utterly naked and bare to the world, and he would remain clothed.

There was an erotic delight to it that she adored.

"Are you ready for me?" he murmured, spreading her legs and pressing his fingers to her folds. "Yes, you are."

"Always." Her voice trembled as he worked a finger inside her, loosening and preparing her the way he always did. Her bare breasts were pushed against the wallpaper, the air cool against her burning skin.

Then his erection touched her bare buttocks, his skin like velvet and shockingly hot. He was already hard.

"Perfect," he said as he slid up and into her, pressing her against the wall. "I love taking you like this. Palms flat, love. Head back. Give me your throat."

She obeyed instantly, and his palm came to her throat, the gesture so perfectly possessive that her legs trembled. And when he squeezed, holding her in that position, his other hand across her bare stomach, she thought she saw stars.

"What are you?" he growled.

"Yours."

"Mine." His thrusts grew stronger, and she knew he would not last long, not like this. At night, he took his time with her, but during the day, when he made her his, they were always fast and passionate.

When they were finished, he dressed her tenderly and told her about his plans to leave for London. Just for a few days, but it was enough for her to contemplate how much emptier her life would be without him in it now she wanted him there.

* * *

Two days after he left, Evangeline was walking listlessly through the hallways when she noticed a commotion off past the library. Servants rushed past her, abandoning their positions, not even seeming to notice that she was there.

After only a second's hesitation, Evangeline followed behind them to the open door of the west wing. Margaret was standing blocking the way, her face twisted with agitation, and maids were wringing their hands behind her.

"Please," Margaret said.

This was her moment to discover once and for all what was lurking in the west wing. Evangeline surged forward, pushing past the maids and ducking under Margaret's hand.

"Evangeline!" Margaret said, reaching for her. "Don't go in there!"

Evangeline had been down this corridor twice before. The first time, Hugh had interrupted her before she could get any further; the second time, she had gotten as far as the small drawing room at the base of the stairs before turning back.

This time, she was face to face with a girl she knew well from pictures, Mrs. MacDonald holding her arms firmly behind her.

The girl was Lily Merritt, Hugh's sister.

Hugh's dead sister.

Alive.

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