Page 30 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

She turned over in the bed and looked at the ceiling.

He has the broadest shoulders I have ever seen, as wide as a doorway and muscles that show even under his overcoat. His amber eyes hold speckles of green and brown that communicate more than his words ever could; as little as he speaks, it is a good thing he has them. And his smell intoxicates me each time I pass him, try as I do to ignore it. It is so soothing, warm soap, soft pine…

She was not going to think about Frederick. She was not going to think about his past, his present, or his future.

And she was definitely not going to think about what lay beneath his clothes.

He had been clear, and she had been sensible, and both of those things remained true. In fact, nothing had transpired between them, and yet she was lying awake cataloging each interaction they had ever shared. It was not a productive use of the midnight hours.

She thought more chamomile would help, and remembered Mrs. Hale had pointed it out during the tour, tucked into the herb cupboard off the kitchen. The house was quiet enough at this hour; she would not encounter anyone. She put on herdressing gown, found her slippers, lit the small candle on the nightstand, and went downstairs.

The corridor was dark and still. The rain on the windows was quieter, muffled by the old walls. She moved along the east wing toward the main stairs, her candle throwing a small warm circle around her feet. She saw the light before she heard anything.

Frederick’s study was at the end of the north corridor, which she did not need to pass on her way to the kitchen. She heard a sound. Low, unclear, and not a voice. She stopped and listened.

Then, she heard Percy’s soft meow. She went toward the study.

The door was four inches open, and she could see through it without pushing it further. The Duke was at his desk, slumped forward, his cheek on his folded arms, papers everywhere, the lamp burning low beside him. He had fallen asleep over his work, still fully dressed, his coat discarded on the chair behind him.

It was…rather endearing.

Percy was on the corner of the desk, very close to his head. The cat was watching him carefully. The cat reached out one paw and placed it softly on Frederick’s arm. Then she heard it properly.

“No.” His voice, blurred with sleep, stripped of everything that normally inhabited it. “No-no?—”

His shoulders had tightened, and his hands had closed in the papers beneath them. Percy meowed again, the same short, concerned sound, and pawed at his arm a second time.

Anna pushed the door open and went in.

She was across the room before she had thought about it, her candle set down on the edge of the desk, her hand soft and rubbing his shoulder.

“Your Grace,” she whispered.

He came awake with a full-body flinch, and he was upright before she had time to step back. His breath was coming in fast and ragged, eyes open but not yet focused on the present moment.

“Your Grace.” She kept her voice low and very steady. “You’re at your desk. You’re in your study. It’s all right. I’m here. Percy’s here.”

He was breathing too fast. His hands were on the desk surface and pressing into it. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the middle distance that was not quite the room. She pulled the footstool over and sat directly in front of him, close enough that he would see her when he came back. The proximity pulled at her like centrifugal force, as if they were one entity facing this nightmare together.

“Look at me,” she said as she put her hands on either side of his handsome face. “Here. Look at me.”

His eyes found hers, and she could feel the heat from his skin prickle her own.

“Good.” She kept her voice at the same soft tone as she inched her face closer to his, tentatively and calm. “Breathe slower than that. Follow mine.” She breathed in, deliberately, let him see it, breathed out. “Again.”

He breathed in. Ragged at the edges, but slower.

“Again.”

The third time was nearly steady.

“Good.”

She waited, setting her hands on her lap. She did not touch him again. She simply stayed where she was, close enough that he had something to focus on. Percy had retreated to the edge of the desk and was sitting very straight, watching.

After a minute, his breath regulated. His hands uncurled from the desk surface. He blinked once, twice, and then he was back. She could see him becoming aware of her, of the room, of the fact that she was sitting three feet away in her dressing gown, having just watched him be afraid. The composure that came down was very fast and very thorough.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep and the nightmare.