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Although I don’t know what she’s talking about, I continue chuckling along with her and nodding as if I know exactly what she’s saying.
“He’ll get it out for you soon enough. Henry Sloane is as dark as his father. At one point, girls started disappearing after they saw to the late Duke, and there was a rumour that he’d fucked them dead.”
“Oh,” I choke out. All my humour is completely gone because the few times that I met Henry’s dad, he was kind to me. It’s why I felt compelled to play at the memorial dinner they held for him. It’s why I can’t bring myself to be scared of his son’s mercurial temperament. Still, my heart is pounding in my chest as my mind takes me back to the way he’s touched me. The spoken warning and unspoken threat of what he could and would do to me. It’s not until now, this conversation, that I really feel as though he would follow through on both.
“The new Duke never fucked here. Not until you. He watches, though. He likes to watch in the dark corners. Especially the prince. He watches the prince like…” She pauses when we reach the Red Suite. The red tassel key is in the lock, and when I open the door, she peers inside.
“What’s he like?” Mary asks, staring at the bed as though she’s never seen anything like it before.
“I-I d—”
“That’s enough gossiping. Don’t you think?” The deep voice comes from behind me.
When I spin to look at him, a shiver rakes all the way through me, chilling me past my rain-soaked clothes and pruning skin. His stare bores into mine with a fierceness that has the marks he left on my body pulsating.
“Apologies, Your Grace,” she whispers with a deep curtsey.
“Off you go, Mary.” He waits for her to be gone before he moves towards me. “No one goes in my room. No one looks inside my room unless I say so. Do you understand?”
It’s not like I invited Mary inside or asked her to have a look. Besides, this wasn’t something mentioned before. “I didn’t know. I—”
“Now you do. Don’t let it happen again.” Any of the warmth he had in him yesterday is gone. I’m not even sure he wants me here with the curled-lip glower he’s levelling me with.
I nod, watching as he steps forward again while I step backwards. Henry is wearing a dark, long-sleeved top with dark jeans. He looks taller than ever. Oddly, the casual attire makes him look more dangerous with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing thick, corded forearms that taper to strong wrists and large hands.
Henry doesn’t stop until I’m in his suite. It smells as good as home, a mixture of him and beeswax polish, along with history. Regal, well-kept history that pulls you back in time the second you’re engulfed by it.
The scent fills my lungs, warming my blood and calming my hammering pulse so that I can hear him as clear as the pouring rain outside.
“There’s a robe in the bathroom. Get washed,” he orders in a plain voice, with his stare roving down my body all the while. “Warm yourself. I’ll be back soon.”
There’s no room to argue as he turns and goes back down the hallway towards the room where his father’s memorial was held. Meanwhile, I close the door and go about my usual ritual, where I put everything in its place.
The violin case by the coatrack where I hang my jacket and where my shoes are parked. Moving the chair in the corner close to the bed, I place my backpack next to it. It’s important that I know where it is and that I can get access to it at all times. My Desmopressin is in there, and if I get a bad nosebleed or pluck a string hard enough that it causes a bleed, I need to be able to get to it fast.
A nervous energy overwhelms me as I stand by my chair and stare at the door. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting for him. There’s a low knock on the door before a maid walks in with a tray in her hand.
“Your hot chocolate, miss,” she tells me as she brings me the drink.
As soon as I take it from her, she leaves with a glance at the bed. Nothing else is said, and I’m left in the silence of the suite with only my thoughts for company. I pace around in circles, holding the sickly sweet drink in my trembling hands as Mary’s words keep echoing in my head.
“The new Duke never fucked here. Not until you.”
For the first time, it occurs to me that every person in this place thinks I’m in here sleeping with Henry.
Not sleeping.
They believe he’s doing to me what the other men do to them. My eyes fall to the bed. It’s the first time I truly notice its size and how imposing it is. It’s all dark wood and rich red bedding. Silks, satins, and mahogany. Hand-carved scrolls upon hand-carved scrolls.
“I’m not a child,” I whisper, trailing my fingers over the carved beast in the centre of the footboard.
A gold ring dangles from its mouth with a scarlet rope wound around it in a three-way knot.
“I wish he’d do more than touch me.” I breathe out some of the building disappointment, tracing the elaborate strands of the knot.
He wants to. Henry as much as admitted it yesterday. Besides that, I feel it deep in my gut, in the marrow of my bones. And I want him to. I want him to do things to me that I’ve never done with a man.
“What part of get washed didn’t you understand?” I jump out of my skin, almost spilling my drink everywhere, at the sound of Henry’s stern voice.
