Page 17 of The Duke of My Desire

His face flushed hot and he averted his gaze. “The meal was very good, especially the ale.” He crossed to the wash basin and shrugged out of his coat. “How was your bath?”

“Very restorative, thank you,” she replied, and Gregory splashed water on his face, trying not to picture it but failing miserably.

“I’ve ordered a plate of bread and cheese for you,” he said as he dried his hands and face on a length of clean linen. “And a bottle of wine, in case you want to eat something before we go to—” He broke off before the word ’bed’ could escape his lips. “Before we...retire for the evening.”

He risked a glance at her and found her watching him, her lips curved into a little smile he couldn’t decipher. “Thank you, that was very kind of you. I think I could eat a little something, actually.”

And then, as if on cue, a brisk knock came from the door and a few minutes later, Justina was munching on bread and cheese and sipping a glass of burgundy, apparently content.

“Will you have some?” she asked, extending a hand toward the plate of food.

“Thank you, no. I couldn’t eat another bite.” He sat down in the chair next to hers and tried not to stare at her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of her dressing gown, or the wild mass of honeyed tresses curling down her back all the way to her waist.

What he needed was a distraction. Some conversation, perhaps.

“How long were you married?” he asked, blurting out the first question that popped into his mind.

She stilled, clearly taken by surprise, and he grimaced, feeling like the worst sort of boor.

“I apologize,” he said. “That was rude of me. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

But she shook her head and swallowed her bite of cheese before saying, “There’s no need to apologize. Phillip and I were married for two years, though we were promised to each other long before that.”

“An arranged marriage?”

“Not in the traditional sense. We grew up together, you see, and I think we always knew we would one day marry.” She shrugged one shoulder. “At least, I always knew.”

A soft smile curled her lips, and her eyes took on a faraway look, as if she’d slipped into a memory. A happy one.

“You were a love match,” he guessed, though it wasn’t much of a gamble.

“Yes.”

“What was his name?”

“Phillip.”

He hated his next question and that it might cause her pain, but he had to ask. He wanted to know more about the man she had married, about her life with her husband and what he’d meant to her.

As if by knowing her husband better, he would come to know her better. Which was precisely what he wanted.

“How did he die?” he asked softly.

She sipped from her glass of wine, her gaze on the fire. “It was a wasting illness. The doctors never knew what it was that afflicted him, but it made him very ill and kept him confined to his bed. I watched him waste away for nearly a year before he...” She trailed off, pain flashing in her eyes. “Before he was finally at peace.”

“I’m sorry, Justina.”

She smiled. “So am I.”

He wanted to take her hand, offer her comfort, but he held back, uncertain whether she would welcome the gesture.

“Well, now…” She set her glass down and cleared her throat. “I’ve had my bath and a meal, and now I think it is time to sleep. Shall we retire?”

“Good idea. It’s been a long day. I’ll sleep here and you may have the bed.”

He wriggled in his chair experimentally, suppressing a frown. It was not the most comfortable chair in the world, but it would have to do.

“That isn’t necessary,” Justina said. “The bed is large enough to accommodate us both.”