The Duke and the Lass by Jessie Clever
Chapter 18
It was the dead of night when the knock sounded at the door.
She paused in brushing her hair and looked away from the dressing table mirror. She sat on the stool Andrew had mended with his own two hands, but she chose not to think of it.
But she knew who was knocking, and it made all of it seem too bright and real.
She set down her brush.
“Come in,” she said calmly and clearly.
It had been a long evening, and while she thought her mind would be plagued by her father’s words, it strangely wasn’t. She was now bolstered by the true understanding of what it meant to be a part of the Darby sisters, and she thought it likely cushioned the blow of her father’s declaration.
Instead, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Andrew had said.
I miss you.
Something so little that meant so much. She’d never known anyone to miss her, and to think he might have been suffering from their estrangement…well, she couldn’t quite grasp it. Did he truly miss her? And what did it mean if he did?
She didn’t wish to speak to him now. Not with the confrontation with her father still fresh in her mind, not with the strain of the evening still so present.
Her first society dinner, and her drunken father had bumbled right into it.
Andrew had probably regretted his words to her in that very instant. He was likely here to tell her to pack her trunks; he was sending her to Bewcastle.
But suddenly that didn’t matter anymore.
Because she knew without anyone telling her that tonight had been a success despite her father’s appearance. She knew she had done everything perfectly, and what hadn’t been so perfect didn’t matter. Her father’s words had unknowingly released her from some kind of prison she had built around herself. It was as though she had stepped free of a weight that had worn her down over the years. She didn’t know what it meant, but she suddenly felt clearer about her future.
She pivoted on the stool to face the door and prepared herself for a scolding.
But that wasn’t what happened.
Instead, her husband came through the door and set a small table in front of her.
A small table.
It was of beautiful solid oak with powerful grains that marched across its surface. It was fashioned with four tapering legs that melted from the tabletop in elegant lines. The whole thing was finished with a warm stain and glowed with lacquer.
“It’s…it’s…” She looked up at her husband. “What is this?”
Andrew gave a sheepish smile. “It’s a table.”
“I see that,” she said. “But what’s it for?”
“It’s for you.” He rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. “I…made it.”
She stood straight up, her eyes riveted to the table before her. “You made this?”
“I did.” He dropped his hand to hang at his side. “I…I wanted you to have a place to set your book.”
She blinked at the sudden rush of tears that came to her eyes at his words.
“Andrew.” She had meant to say more, but the single word came out watery, and she bit her lower lip.
“Here.” He was still dressed in his formal attire, and he reached inside his jacket. He withdrew a book and placed it on top of the table.
She stared, the tears running unimpeded down her cheeks.
It was a copy of the Melanie Merkett novel she had lost.
She touched a single finger to the book before slipping it over the edge of the cloth cover to the smooth surface of the table.
“Andrew, I don’t—”
“I love you, Della,” he interrupted, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from finding his. “I know you’ve had a difficult evening, but I’ve wanted to tell you for some time now, and I didn’t know how. I thought…I thought that after what I had said…” He licked his lips nervously. “Well, I thought you wouldn’t wish to hear it, but I honestly don’t care how you feel about it because I had to tell you. I had to tell you that I love you.” He took a step toward her but seemed to think better of it. “I was wrong, Della. I was wrong about so much, but you were wrong too. You’re not a responsibility to me.” He laughed, almost as if he couldn’t believe the words either. “You’re so much more, and I don’t want you to continue to think that way. It stops you from being so much. From being you, and I always want you to just be you. I hope you know that.”
She blinked and felt the tears drying against her cheeks, but her mind remained blank, his words somersaulting in her head.
“Well, that’s all I wanted to say. Good night, Della.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and backed out the connecting door, closing it softly behind him.
She was left standing alone in the center of her rooms, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the table he had made for her. The first piece of furniture he had made himself, and he had made it for her. For her books to rest on.
She turned and stampeded through the connecting door.
She froze at what she found. Andrew was seated in a chair by the fire, his face in his hands. It was the very picture of despair, and it stopped her heart in her chest.
“Andrew.” His name was round with the emotion she poured into it, and he looked up, his eyes startled, his gaze disbelieving.
She was in his arms within seconds, her hands finding the muscles of his back, and her fingers dug in, held on. His lips were on hers, and she gave herself to him, fully and completely.
She hadn’t known there was something standing between them, but Andrew had been right. She had just as much to let go of as he did, and anticipation for their future spiked through her.
Andrew pulled away far enough to murmur against her lips. “I love you, Della. I plan to say it enough for you to believe it.”
“I do believe it,” she said. “And I love you, Andrew. I’ve loved you almost since that first night when you tried to sleep on the floor of my room.”
He pulled back farther, a devilish glint coming to his eye. “Since then?”
She watched him warily. “Well, almost since then.”
He pulled away from her even though she held on to him for as long as she could. She watched as he went to the bed, tugging the bedclothes from it before carrying them to the place before the fire. He bent and spread them out until a soft nest had formed.
He then proceeded to remove his boots.
“Andrew,” she said, a note of warning in her voice.
“Yes, lass?” he said, tugging the other boot from his foot.
“I thought I told you not to sleep on the floor.”
He stretched out on the nest he had made and bent one arm behind his head as he gazed up at her. Memories of the first time she had seen him came rushing back to her, and when something akin to pain blossomed in her chest, she knew it for what it was.
Love.
Complete, overwhelming love.
“I believe you suggested I wasn’t to sleep on the floor alone.” His voice held a note of desire that was unmistakable.
She raised her chin. “I think you may be correct, Your Grace. An astonishing fact considering you’re an Englishman.”
She watched him try to hide his smile as she stepped out of her slippers and made her way over to him. She sank down on the nest he had made, careful not to touch him.
“I believe I had said I would join you if you attempted such a thing, did I not?”
“You did,” he confirmed and rolled onto his side to face her.
He reached out to snag the belt of her dressing gown, and she swatted his hand away.
“Your Grace!” she said with mock indignation. “What kind of lady do you take me for?”
He ignored her feeble attempts at protest.
“A saucy lass if I’m not being too bold.”
Her dressing robe parted under his attentions, and he dipped his hand beneath it, cupping her hip as he turned her body to fit against his.
“Of all the impertinent—” But he silenced her with a kiss, and she forgot anything else she might have said.
It was several seconds later as he nibbled her neck before he spoke again.
“I know I said you were beautiful tonight, Della, but I must make a confession.”
Her hands had found their way under his shirt, and her fingers curled into his warm muscles.
“Oh?”
He lifted his head, a wicked smile on his lips. “I was really only thinking how much I wanted to get that gown off of you so I could do this.” He tugged the hem of her nightdress up, and his hand traced along her bare skin, molding itself to her every curve.
Heat flared inside of her, low in her belly and spreading outward to the places where he touched.
He groaned as she lifted her hips into him, grinding her body against his.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Della?”
She smiled against his lips. “I have some idea,” she murmured and proceeded to prove it.
She woke sometime in the night, her skin chilled where it had come out from under the quilts he had brought from the bed. But when she turned, she found him gone from their nest, and she sat up, panicked.
But he was there within moments.
“Shh, darling. I was only seeing to the fire,” he whispered.
As sleep clawed at her, she let this pass and her eyes slid shut even as he drew her into his arms and curled her body into the warmth of his.
He pressed a kiss to her ear. “Go to sleep, lass. I’ll always be right here.”
She fell asleep, knowing without a doubt that he spoke the truth.