Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Selene sat at the servants’ long table in the kitchen at Trenton House, picking at the stew, pushing it around her plate. It had been a long, tiring day and she was ravenous. But after the encounter with the duke in his study, she had somehow lost her appetite.

The way that he looked at me. The way that his dark eyes glittered. I was certain he was going to touch me. What would I have done if he had?

Her head spun as she forced herself to contemplate the question. She had been angry, and it had been difficult to control that anger. But simmering beneath the surface had been intense desire, as well. She had realized, with a start, that she had never been more attracted to a man in her life—that, in fact, she had never known what true attraction was, until she had met him.

She took a deep breath, picking up her glass of water, taking a long sip. She realized that her hand was shaking. Appalled, she placed the glass down, staring at it.

I would have stepped away. I would have told him he had no right to touch me in such a way. I would have turned and ran out the door, and then I would have given my notice and walked away from Trenton House.

Her heart started thumping wildly. The appalling thing was she truly didn’t know how she would have reacted if he had touched her. She wanted to believe she would have done the right thing, but truthfully, she just didn’t know. Her attraction toward him was so strong, so powerful, that she might easily have submitted to it.

He is your master. He is a duke. He cannot be anything to you other than the person who pays your salary. We are worlds apart.

“And how was your first formal day with your charge, my dear?” asked Mrs. Kittles, sitting down opposite her, gazing at her with warm eyes. “Did the little lady pull any more pranks on you?”

Selene jumped. She had been so engrossed in her reverie that she hadn’t even noticed the housekeeper approaching. She took a deep breath, trying to concentrate.

“It was good, Mrs. Kittles,” she said eventually, trying to smile. “Lady Lenore worked well. We took a walk and found a beetle which entranced her.” Her smile widened. “She named it Bessie and wrote a long story about it. She also sketched and labelled it. And we did some research, as well.”

The housekeeper looked surprised. “A beetle, did you say?”

Selene laughed. “Yes, a beetle. She was so fascinated by it that I thought she would work better if she could bring it back to the house. And then I thought, why not use the beetle as a springboard for her learning? Interest is half the battle, Mrs. Kittles.”

“I daresay,” replied the housekeeper, looking doubtful. “But as long as she worked without incident, then I should say the day was a success.”

“There were no incidents,” said Selene, her smile widening. Then she stiffened, thinking about the duke. “Except for the fact that His Grace saw me taking the walk and did not like it. He did not seem pleased about the beetle, either. He wants me to do writing drills with the lady. He has a very narrow view of education. Is he always so dogmatic and stubborn?”

Mrs. Kittles laughed. “Oh, yes, my dear. He rules this house with an iron fist… and that is probably where he gets his moniker.” She paused, gazing at Selene. “But there are good reasons why he can be belligerent and argumentative, my dear. He has suffered great loss. It is not an easy cross to bear for him.”

Selene’s heart lurched. “Yes. The late duchess passed away on Christmas Day, did she not?”

Mrs. Kittles nodded, leaning forward over the table toward her. “Yes. A dreadful day it was.” She shook her head, tears springing into her eyes. “The servants were enjoying their Christmas luncheon when we heard the duke’s cries, as he brought her into the house, in full labor. I have never seen a woman in such agony. She was screaming and clutching her belly, doubled over in pain.”

“What happened?” Selene gazed at the housekeeper, her heart thumping uncomfortably. “Why did she die?”

Mrs. Kittles sighed. “There were complications,” she replied, looking sad. “It was not her time—she still had a full month before the babe was due, you see. It was premature labor, and the mother and babe are always at higher risk when that happens.” She sighed heavily. “It is a miracle that Lady Lenore survived at all. She was tiny, such a wee babe, scrawnier than a newborn kitten. And yet, she was a fighter.”

“I am not surprised to hear that,” replied Selene, thinking of her spirited charge. She paused. “It is very sad she never knew her mother.”

Mrs. Kittles nodded. “Yes. A tragedy.” She hesitated. “Things would have been very different around here if the duchess had lived. The household would probably be filled with children, running and laughing. And the duke would not be the shell of the man that he has become.”

“He truly loved her, then?” Selene could barely breathe as she waited for the reply. “It was a genuine love match?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the housekeeper, nodding emphatically. “They were so in love. He could not take his eyes away from her and never wanted to leave her side.” She hesitated. “He blames himself, you know. For her death.”

Selene frowned. “But why? While a tragedy, women die in childbirth all the time. What could he have done to stop it?”

Mrs. Kittles pursed her lips. “It was obvious to everyone that the duchess would have passed away, whatever the circumstances,” she replied, lowering her voice. “It was simply what was going to happen and could not have been prevented. No one but God can control early labor starting, after all. Unfortunately, the duke did not see it that way.” The housekeeper stopped, looking around, as if fearing they might be overheard.

Selene stared at the housekeeper, waiting for her to continue. She was surprised at how fervently she wanted an answer to her question. Somehow, she knew the mystery of the Iron Duke might be solved if she knew. That the answer might hold the key.

“He blamed himself because he insisted they travel on Christmas Day,” continued Mrs. Kittles, after a moment. “The duchess was tired that day and did not want to attend celebrations. But the duke persuaded her.” She paused.

“She started going into labor in the carriage on the way back to Trenton House. Apparently, they were frightened that she would not make it back in time—that they would be forced to pull over and she would give birth on the side of the road.”

Selene’s heart quivered, shaking her head. It was an appalling, tragic story.

“I still recall when the duke rushed into the house, carrying the duchess in his arms,” said Mrs. Kittles, her eyes moist. “He was bellowing for help, swearing to high heaven. I have never seen a man so distraught. He would not rest while she was being attended to. He paced the floor constantly. When the physician emerged telling him that the duchess was gone, he howled, breaking down, cursing God above.”

Selene shuddered. “How awful.”

“Yes.” The housekeeper took a deep breath. “And he never recovered from it. He was always a man of quick temper, but he was fair, as well. He could share a joke and camaraderie with people.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “Now, he just growls at people, lost in his grief still, after all these years. He tries to be a good father to Lady Lenore, but he is never fully present with her. It is as if time stopped for him all those years ago.”

At that moment, a maid approached the table, needing the housekeeper’s assistance. Mrs. Kittles flashed an apologetic smile at Selene, getting to her feet, and walking away with the maid.

Selene looked down at her dinner, which was congealing on the plate. She pushed it away. She had lost her appetite entirely after listening to the duke’s tragic story.

A man lost in his grief, still living in the past. A little girl who lost her mother and doesn’t really have her father, either. Trenton House is filled with sorrow. They might have all the riches in the world, but they are bereft.

***

After writing a long letter to her parents, then saying her prayers, Selene crawled into the unfamiliar, hard, narrow bed, gazing around her new bedroom. The candle on the bedside table flickered erratically. Selene frowned—there must be a draft coming through a crack in the walls.

She lay her head on the pillow, gazing at the dancing flame, her eyelids drooping. It had been such a long, tiring, unsettling day. So unsettling in many different ways…

She was walking the grounds at Trenton House again. The snow was swirling around her, so fiercely, that she couldn’t see a thing. Fearfully, she turned her face to the house, to the window where she had seen him watching her that day. He wasn’t there.

She was just about to keep walking, when she felt a hand on her arm, spinning her around. She was staring into the face of the Iron Duke, drowning in his dark eyes, almost as black as coal. Her skin burnt where he had touched her.

“What… what do you want from me?” she asked, in a stammering voice.

“You know what I want from you,” he whispered, closing the gap between them, gazing at her with ardor. “I know that you want it as well.”

“No,” she whispered, her heart thumping. “No…”

He pulled her to him, seeking her desperately. Her body burst into flames as his hands found her breasts, squeezing them ardently. She shuddered, as if possessed, a white-hot light flashing through her.

He tilted her back in his arms, his lips on her neck, biting and nibbling. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, reaching out, to wind her hands through his dark hair, to pull him closer…

She gasped, opening her eyes. He was gone. He had vanished, as if in a puff of smoke. And she was suddenly falling into the snow, crying out in confusion, desperately flailing, her scream echoing into the swirling whiteness that was consuming her.

Selene bolted upright in the bed, her heart thumping painfully, gazing around in confusion. It was pitch black. The draft in the room must have extinguished the candle.

She was breathing rapidly, almost panting, and she felt sweat trickling down her neck. The dream had been so real. She had felt his hands on her body and his lips upon her neck. She could still feel the tingling inside from it, the ardent desire he had roused within her, as if it had actually happened.

She blinked, trying to shake the illusion of the dream. Her skin prickled as the howl of a dog suddenly pierced the silence.

Her heart still pounding, she lay back down, staring into the blackness. Fear gripped her heart.

I am in danger here. I am in danger from feeling something that I have no right to feel. The duke is my master. It is wrong to feel this way about him. Besides that, he is a broken man. No good can come of it. What is happening to me?

She put her hand to her mouth, biting it, trying to banish the dream’s spell. But it lingered in the air, a sensual mist, surrounding her, threatening to overwhelm her entirely.