Page 16 of The Duke of My Desire

A moment later, the innkeeper appeared at his elbow, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Another one for you, sir?”

“Please,” Gregory replied. “And my compliments. The ale is excellent.”

Mr. Martin grinned. “I’ll tell my wife you said so, sir. She’s our resident brewer, and a right genius at it, too.”

Gregory gave him a smile. “You’re a lucky man.”

“That I am, sir. That I am.”

The older man left to fetch another ale and Gregory watched him go, envy spearing him through the chest.

The innkeeper was not powerful or wealthy, but he seemed content with his lot in life, and why shouldn’t he be? He ran this inn alongside his wife, and the two likely had a brood of children to look after, too. No doubt it was a challenging life with as many hardships as there were rewards, but the couple had each other to lean on for support and encouragement and Gregory envied them that.

He’d been the Duke of Paxton for years and before that he was the Duke of Paxton’s heir. Being a duke was all he’d ever known, and it was difficult to imagine living a different existence.

Would he have been happier if he’d been born an innkeeper’s son?

He frowned. Where had that thought come from?

He wasn’t unhappy.

Was he?

His frown deepened. No, not unhappy, exactly. But he did feel a certain degree of dissatisfaction with his life. He was very aware that he had much to be grateful for, and he was grateful, truly. Still, there was something missing, something he’d tried to find on his trip to the Continent, but which continued to elude him.

He might not be unhappy, exactly, but he was lonely sometimes. And sometimes he felt entirely alone.

His mother was his closest confidante, but he never shared his innermost feelings with her, and that was what he yearned for most. Someone to talk to and confide in, someone who would listen and care. Someone who would come to know him, the real him, inside and out.

He wanted a wife, a partner, a woman to share his life with, the small, every-day moments, the shared interests, the responsibilities and decisions.

He thought he’d found that in Olivia, but he’d been quite wrong there, and now he wondered if he’d ever find another woman who inspired those feelings in him. And if he did, would he be able to trust his heart again?

“Here you are, sir.” Mr. Martin set a mug of ale on the table before Gregory, startling him from his reverie. “Will you be wanting anything else?”

“Thank you, no. I’ll be turning in once I’ve finished my ale.”

“Very good, sir.”

Gregory lingered over his ale for a time, his thoughts unsettled, his body still restless, and soon the hour was up, and it was time to return to the room.

The room where Justina had just enjoyed a bath.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself as he pushed his chair back and rose. “You’ve faced greater challenges than this.”

But he couldn’t recall a single one at the moment.

With something akin to trepidation, he made his way up the stairs toward the guest rooms. He hesitated outside the door to their room, finally forcing himself to knock, and at Justina’s call to enter, he let himself inside.

The room was darker now with the curtains drawn, and a fire blazed in the hearth, heating the room, its flames snapping and crackling cheerily in the silence.

Justina was there, in the armchair beside the fireplace, her legs curled up beneath her emerald green dressing gown, her gaze on the flames as she ran her fingers through her long, damp hair.

God, she was bewitching. His cock hardened, apparently in agreement, and he swallowed past the lump in his suddenly very dry throat.

“How was your meal?” she asked, turning to look at him with those arresting sea-green eyes that made him wish he knew how to paint so he could capture her likeness in oils, lounging on the armchair with her dressing gown parted provocatively, revealing the swells of her breasts and perhaps the barest hint of one rosy nipple.