Page 32 of Unbound Duchess

“I am happy you think so,” Laurence answered. “And the rest of the house? Did Madalene show you everything before she took her leave to London?”

“She did,” Ellen assured him. “The house is lovely. And so is she. I look forward to getting to know her better when she returns.”

Though she meant what she said, part of her balked at the idea. She’d trusted Judith, and such a decision had proven most dangerous. She was not quite sure if she could trust a ‘friend’ again, even if Madalene already seemed far kinder than Judith ever had.

Silence stretched between them as the dimming light from outside cast shadows across the opulent room, and Ellen felt her nervousness return. She reached for her usual curl of dark hair, and placed it over her mole out of habit.

“You…do you wish to speak to me about something, Your Grace?” She asked timidly. “Or were you just curious as to how I found my new accommodations?”

Something kind passed through Laurence’s eyes, even as his smile faded.

“Please do not call me that,” he quietly insisted. “I understand we still do not know one another very well, but there is no need for such formalities between us.”

A smile twitched at the corner of Ellen’s mouth, and she bit down softly on her lower lip. She did not know why, but that pleased her.

“What should I call you then?” she asked.

Laurence’s brows perked, as if he had not given it much thought.

“Laurence is suitable,” he offered. “Husband, I suppose, fits. Though it seems barely less formal than Your Grace.”

“Laurence, then,” she agreed.

She did not insist he call her Ellen, though he’d already started doing so, and she was already over how quickly she had become accustomed to him calling her by name.

“What do you wish to talk about, Laurence?” she asked, waving him toward the white satin settee before the marble fireplace.

He didn’t move. Not until she was seated on one end. Only then did he take a seat on the opposite side and turn his body toward her, his ankle perched atop his knee and his interlaced fingers perched atop said ankle.

“I do not mean to pressure you,” Laurence said, “but I wish to speak to you about Benedict.”

The tension that had finally left her body only hours ago returned at once and with a vengeance. Her shoulders ached, and her stomach twisted. She had not forgotten—but for a few precious moments, her cousin and all of him had drifted silently to the back of her mind.

“What do you wish to know?” she asked, her tone soft. Defeated.

Laurence’s gaze was intense as he studied her features. Again, she shifted her hair to cover her mole and turned her own gaze to the fireplace. She blushed the moment she felt his fingertips brushing that stray bit of hair out of the way, but this time she did not flinch. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and reveled in the gentle warmth of his touch.

“Was he always like this?” Laurence asked, his fingertips gently trailing down to the faded bruises along her cheek and jaw.

“Not always,” she rasped, opening her eyes to watch the flames dance in the hearth. “In fact, up until the passing of my father, I adored my cousin. He seemed to adore me in return.”

Laurence’s touch drifted away from her face, leaving behind coolness she did not like. Even so, she did not ask him to bring his hand back. That would be far too intimate a request, she wagered.

“My father, though,” she pressed on. “My father did not like him. We barely argued but when we did, it was often about Benedict.”

,“Did he ever tell you why he did not like Benedict?” Laurence asked calmly.

Ellen’s thoughts whirled back to the day before she met Judith two years ago, and the talk she’d had with her father.

“He said it was not Benedict’s actions he distrusted,” she said, recalling her father’s words, “but his secret wants.”

She turned her gaze to Laurence to find him still watching her with that same intense stare.

“I could not understand why my father said such things at the time. But now? I believe my father knew just how wretched Benedict was under his pretty façade.”

She looked down, suddenly ashamed.

“He tricked me,” she whispered. “In fact, the only person I believe he did not trick was my father.”