Awakening His Duchess (31 page)

Her head jerked toward him as if she listened for trouble
with his lungs, but then again that weakness was why he couldn’t let this
continue to fester. “I’m sorry, Yvette. I’ve treated you abominably.”

Her lips tightened and her eyes dropped. “What do you want,
Beau? I’m tired.”

He thought he’d explained what he wanted. To start anew. For
her to forgive him. He didn’t dare think she might ever love him again. “To
explain,” he ventured.

She turned to face him just a few feet from their suite.
“What did I ever do to make you believe I could be so cruel as to have you
enslaved?”

“Nothing. That is why it was like being beaten with a club
every single day.”

She blinked then shook her head and continued on to their
rooms. Once inside Digby and her maid would constrain their conversation.

“Yvette,” he called.

“I don’t care.” She reached for the door handle.

He pushed himself to catch up to her. “Just let me take care
of you tonight. I know you are tired.”

“What do you want in return?”

“Nothing.” That was a lie, but truly tonight he just wanted
to hold her until she returned to herself. “Nothing else but to comfort you and
care for you tonight. You haven’t eaten since I don’t know when.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Even so, you need to eat.” He removed her hand from the
knob then opened the door and held it for her. Inside the sitting room her maid
sprang off a chair, but she swayed on her feet as if she could barely stay
awake.

Digby looked out from his bedroom. “Your bath is ready, my
lord. I’ll just run down and see if cook has taken the tarts from the oven.”

Yvette’s eyes widened and she turned a questioning look
toward him. Warmth skittered down his spine. Perhaps he wanted more than to
take care of her, but he needed to keep his desire in check. He needed to give
her time to realize he had changed his mind about her. When he had seen her
intense care for a badly wounded child, it all clicked into place. She’d been
little more than a girl when he’d taken her to wife. The likelihood of her summoning
the bokor was small. Even if she had known, what could she have done?

“Why don’t you change into your nightclothes and dressing
gown then let your poor girl get to bed?” Beau gestured toward her room. “Digby
should be back with the food before long.”

She shook her head, and he was lost not knowing if she was
refusing to meet him halfway. He had half a mind to drag her out of her bed if
she pulled the curtains on him. Instead he headed into his bedroom to quickly
bathe.

 
*~*~*

Yvette shivered as she heard the Beau splashing in his bath.
She knew a screen was erected around the hipbath, but the thought of him naked,
wet, just a few feet from her played havoc with her thoughts. The images of his
shirt plastered against damp muscles as he raised the ax was burned in her
brain and the thought of soap sliding over his chest made her legs wobble. The
long looks he leveled in her direction made her skin tingle and her blood race.

In the last few days he’d been watching her, frowning
occasionally, but there had been more intensity and more concern in the way he
watched her in the Fowler’s cottage.

Did he want to mend the rift between them now that she’d
been so violently reminded why it was better to not care? For a second she
thought of how she had loved him back in Saint-Domingue, but that was so long
ago. Even without the tree falling on that poor child, she knew the suddenness
with which loved ones could be ripped away. And she wanted nothing of it.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t love Beau again. With his lung
ailment from the cane, he might have an attack she could not treat. He was a
bad risk, even in the best of circumstances. If she softened toward him, she
would eventually lose him again and even the thought of it jabbed her under the
ribs.

She couldn’t allow it. As long as he wouldn’t force the
issue, she didn’t want more children, didn’t think she’d survive any more loss.
And if she didn’t risk loving anyone else besides Etienne then she had fewer
chances of having her heart ripped to shreds again.

Beau splashed in his part of the suite and her pulse
skittered. His apology surprised and dismayed her. He had treated her badly,
but even when he treated her cruelly, he respected her right to make decisions
for herself. She didn’t fear he might backhand her if she said something he
didn’t like. Still she would risk too much allowing him to charm his way back
into her heart. If that made her cruel, then so be it.

Sighing, she allowed her maid to help her into a nightrail
and unpin her hair. The girl could barely keep her eyes open as she lifted the
brush from the dressing table. Yvette’s mind spun in a way that she knew would
not allow sleep. She expected to be summoned back to the Fowlers’ and she would
have to tell them there wasn’t anything more she could do except ease Thomas’
passage into the ever after.

“Please lay out a round gown and undergarments in case I
need to get dressed quickly.” She probably shouldn’t have undressed at all, but
she hadn’t been thinking. However, a round gown with its drawstring below her
bosom would allow her to dress without summoning the tired maid. “Then you can
go to bed.”

“Your hair, my lady.”

“I can manage to brush it out myself for one night.” After
all, in Saint-Domingue she had cared for her own hair. She removed the brush
from the girl’s hand and began drawing it through her unruly curls.

“Thank you, my lady.” The girl bobbed a curtsy, pulled out
garments, arranged them on the chair, and then fled the rooms.

The door to the corridor opened again, and Digby clattered
in with a tray. Beau was right, she needed to eat, and after Cook had been
roused, apparently to fix tarts to tempt her appetite, she had to get them down
even if it was like swallowing rocks.

Letting Beau offer comfort was tempting, but she had no
doubt he wanted to have relations again. And last time had been disastrous. She
stiffened thinking of the way he wouldn’t let her touch him, hadn’t kissed her,
hadn’t offered any tenderness at all. She didn’t know if she could forgive him
for that.

She would eat, tell him she was too tired to talk or listen,
then go to bed. Alone. His charm might be potent, but she was a grown woman and
wouldn’t fall for it. Nor would she think of the powerful way he wielded the ax
and the flex of his muscles under his shirt. Nor would she think about the way
he enchanted the little Fowler girls with his easygoing nature that reminded
her of when she first knew him. And she certainly wouldn’t think of the way he
touched her when he’d come to her bed.

He splashed again and the low conversation between Digby and
him made her realize she was listening for him.

She put the brush down and tied back her hair with a length
of ribbon then reached for her dressing gown.

In the sitting room she took a chair at the small table.
Digby rushed over to serve her.

“That’ll be all, Digby,” said Beau, standing in the archway
to his bedroom. He wore a fluffy Turkish robe and rubbed a towel over his damp
hair, leaving the pointed ends going every which way. His bare chest peeked
through the lapels and she doubted he wore anything underneath.

Her planned indifference dropped past her gut and heat
settled in between her legs. No, this wasn’t happening. She was tired and her
defenses were crumbling. Between ordering the tarts and insisting they needed to
look in on Etienne, then the apology, she didn’t know how to resist him.

“Do I get any credit for ordering tarts?” he asked with a
half smile.

“You shouldn’t have had the cook woken,” she said, then
burst into tears.

Chapter Seventeen

Beau’s dismayed expression was so comical she laughed. Only
it had been so long since she’d laughed that she choked. For heaven’s sake, she
was so tired and distraught she was likely approaching hysteria. She coughed
and Beau was beside her, pulling her into his arms. A multitude of confused
emotions battered her like waves could wear down pebbles on a beach and turn
them to sand.

He patted her back until she stopped coughing. The gesture
was oddly sweet—exactly what she didn’t want from Beau right now. She needed
him to go back to being the bastard he’d been when he first arrived. She was
too frayed to resist his being caring now.

He turned and pulled her into his lap as he sat on her
chair. “Are you all right?”

“I am well,” she managed to get out.

Gathering her dignity, she tried to stand up but Beau held
her. “Stay here, sugar.”

There was that endearment that had to be spiteful. “Beau,”
she protested severely.

He rolled his eyes. “If I let you up, will you promise to
eat?”

“Of course.” But she had to let him up, not the reverse, and
she hesitated a second too long.

His awareness of her hesitation showed in the momentary
lowering of his lashes.

Her face heated as she stepped back. He turned and faced
her, not what she wanted. He caught the edge of her chin with his rough fingers
and tilted her head back. With his thumb he removed the traces of her tears. “I
just want to hold you tonight. Nothing more.”

He was plucking at the strings of her heart and pulling them
loose. She didn’t know if she believed him. He wanted more, she could see it in
the flare of his nostrils, the darkening of his unusual spoked eyes. Was he
lying to himself or was he trying to see to only her needs? “You are in a
generous mood then.”

He gave a slight shake to his head. “The truth is I could
likely sleep like a rock, but you—you should be comforted.”

“I don’t need comfort. Nothing will change the tragedy of
this day, but you are right I do need nourishment because I expect they will
send for me before dawn.”

He frowned and his eyes narrowed. “I want to be your husband
if you can forgive my mistaken beliefs about you.” His voice slid over her like
a warm wave sloshing over her toes and shifting the sand beneath them. But she
didn’t know if it was just because he wanted more or he truly cared.

The change was too sudden, no darkening of the sky, no
rising wind to let her know the sea change was coming. No, he was just hitting
her like a wave every now and again would crest higher than the others and
knock an unsuspecting wader over.

Henri had been adept at wearing masks to get what he wanted,
too. Only the longer she’d been with him the more times she saw the cracks.
With Beau she didn’t know. She’d been so naïve when she fell for him.

“I am tired,” she repeated, but it seemed little defense
against this new attack. She held a hand out to distance herself from him, but
she didn’t seem to be able to hold herself impenetrable. She didn’t want to
love him again, didn’t want to admire him, didn’t want to forget the way he’d
refuted her.

“All right,” he said easily. “We both are. Let’s eat and
then get some rest.”

She bit her lip and looked away. She’d rather he was harsh
with her, demanding, and then she could maintain her anger. This new tactic was
an assault on her senses. The impulsive, reckless Beau she’d married was still
present but tempered under the capable, commanding, and strong man she’d seen
today.

He lifted the covers from plates.

The savory smell of beef and tangy cheese filled her
nostrils. So it was meat tarts as well as a couple of smaller tarts with fruit.
Her stomach lurched reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She
slid back into her vacated seat.

Beau dished one of each on her plate. “Eat.”

She cut into the flaky crust and a curl of steam rose in the
air.

He pulled his chair to sit by her side and dished up his
plate too. He reached for the silver urn and poured a cup of tea—a task she
should have done, but he seemed to have no compunction about ignoring formality
when it was not necessary. He reached for the sugar and dropped a lump in his
cup then reached with the tongs for a second.

“You like sugar?” she asked, startled.

He paused. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t use it much since I’ve seen...” Her voice trailed
off. He knew better than she what went into harvesting the crop and turning it
into the product sent to market.

The edges of his lips curled in a self-depreciating smile.
“I’d hate to think my labors wasted.”

“But—” She was too tired to form a useful objection, but did
it mean when he called her
sugar
that he wasn’t mocking her?

“Eat,” he repeated. “Don’t worry about anything else
tonight.”

She brought a bit of the meat tart to her lips and found it
wasn’t quite the flavor of dust. If it hadn’t been such a horrible day, she
might have even enjoyed the delicacy. She looked toward Beau. Had he known her
preference for tarts?

“I told Digby to ask the cook if there was anything likely
to tempt your appetite.” Beau pulled his plate around in front of him and
unfurled his napkin in his lap. “I also told him he can remove the bath in the
morning. Didn’t want him underfoot tonight.”

Grimacing, she hadn’t realized the staff had made note of
her preferences. She had never gone so far as to ask for tarts, although there
were never any left when they were part of the tea offerings. Not if she was
present for tea, which might be a very good reason to
not
request them.

“Or if you would prefer, I can summon him back,” said Beau.

She shook her head. They had kept their retainers up far too
late.

“I gather Mazi read to Etienne as we weren’t back yet.” Beau
ignored his fork and lifted a tart to his mouth. “The dishes can wait, too.”

She shrugged, really too tired to care about dishes. Beau
rambled on about nothing important. His low voice seemed to wrap around her,
warm and comforting, soothing and letting her relax, yet leading her thoughts
far astray from Thomas and the accident. Instead Beau talked of the progress
Etienne had made riding the sluggish Daisy, of Mazi’s determination to read
every book in the library, and of mundane details of the estate.