Page 61 of The Duke
Kate had looked down at the body she couldn’t bully or buy or wrestle into living, the body without which Celine couldn’t exist, and she had known that the letter had become irrelevant. It wasn’t that the consequences of it getting out were any kinder, or the pain of having written it was any less, but it could no longer overpower other considerations.
Celine wanted to be safe, loved.
And Kate was going to see that Celine got what she wanted. She would deliver Celine safely into the bosom of the Farnsworth-Baxter family, who were everything Kate and her broken family were not. This, she understood, was why she hadn’t taken the letter when she had the chance. It was only by remaining in Celine’s power that she could give Celine the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The next time Celine woke it was daylight, and the flowers were different but even more numerous. The duke, occupying the same chair beside the bed, very correctly wore a coat and cravat, and her hair was brushed elegantly back. Her lashes were down, eyes hidden from view.
Celine started up, and cards slid off the bedcover onto the floor, the neat columns of a game of patience falling willy-nilly. The duke started laughing.
“I was winning,” the duke said. “How are you?”
“Poorly,” Celine croaked. “Someone was using my sickbed as a card table.”
The duke’s sculpted lips parted around a gasp. “How rude. I hope you tipped his cards onto the floor.”
Celine looked down at the cards scattered by the duke’s feet, blank white backs and colourful face cards interspersed with number cards. She tried not to smile but was dismayed to find the urge too powerful to resist. She fell back on her pillow and buried the smile inside her elbow.
She heard the duke get up and move about the room. She lowered her arm a fraction and watched.
The duke stood at a side table with her back to Celine, working on something. She had the ideal proportions to set off a gentleman’s clothing. Broad in the shoulders for a woman, tapering at the waist. Her legs long and powerful, feet planted with purpose, allowing for the slight sway of her hips as she bent closer to her task. Her thick, pale hair cut in a V above her high collars. Evenwith her back turned, the leashed power in her was unmistakeable, the confidence and unconscious grace of every movement.
Why on earth was she here? It made no more sense today than it had yesterday.
She turned, and Celine ducked back down.
“Come out of hiding and drink your medicine, there’s a good girl,” the duke said.
Celine lowered her elbow and met the duke’s bright, amused eyes. She pulled a face.
“I am not above forcing you to swallow it,” the duke said, sitting, “so don’t even think of spitting it out.”
The medicine was foul. She might indeed have spat it out had it not been for the expression on the duke’s face, which promised the duke would follow through on her threat at the slightest provocation.
Celine swallowed, and her mouth opened on an entirely involuntary “Blergh,” expressing its disgust and, too late, its rejection. She guzzled down the hot tea the duke passed her a moment later and eyed with trepidation the bowl of broth the duke held at the ready.
“How did you know when I would wake up?” she asked, touching the empty teacup to her cheek. The porcelain was warmed through. “The tea’s still warm.”
“I didn’t,” the duke said. “I’ve had the servants bring fresh tea and broth every quarter hour since ten o’clock.”
Wide-eyed, Celine glanced at the clock. It was going on one-thirty. “I’m sure they… were happy to oblige,” she said faintly. For the first time, she noticed that between the vases of flowers, plates loaded with sweets had appeared. Good Lord, when a duke with all the money and resources in the world at her disposal put her mind to looking after someone, it was truly mind-boggling what that duke might do.
The duke frowned, as though the suggestion of servants liking or not liking the tasks they were asked to perform were nonsensical, and held out the first spoon of broth. Celine looked fromit to the duke’s serious brow, then gave in with a terrified rush of warmth.
It was even more confusing than last time.
Why was thedukethe one mixing her medicine, feeding her broth? Why not send the servants who had cared for Celine during the worst of her illness? Why not call on the services of Lady Pecke, her soon-to-be mother-in-law, for that matter?
The letter, she reminded herself.The duke has a personal motivation to see me well that is unmatched.But the thought wasn’t entirely convincing.
After she had eaten, the duke rang for a bath, entertaining Celine with idle card tricks until it arrived. Then, and only then, did she bow herself out.
AFEW DAYSlater, the duke was reading to her. Celine had bathed and eaten, and now was dozing a little while she listened. Sunlight shone down from the high window in dense, sparkling silence. The air was an elixir she took into her resting body. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.
“This is a dirty novel!”
The duke raised her brows and said in a perplexed voice, “Whatever are you talking about? This one gentleman simply wishes to inspect this other gentleman’s back door, in the manner of a carpenter or a—”
