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CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
After Edwina retired to her room that night, she sat down for Lizbeth to braid her hair with a sigh.
“Another long day, Your Grace?” Lizbeth asked, her expert fingers combing through her hair.
“I suppose so,” Edwina told her, rubbing her temples. “It was pleasant to spend time with my father and the Duke once I got home. I just do not feel any closer to him. He refuses to open up to me.”
“It will take time,” Lizbeth encouraged her. “You have only been married a few days.”
“There have been times when I feel like he is not telling me the whole story. He just shuts down and refuses to continue the conversation. It is so frustrating,” she continued. “Are all men like this?”
“No, think of your father,” Lizbeth countered. “He is very open. Some men are just more private.”
“It just feels like he is hiding something,” she lamented. “I just wish I knew what it was. At first, I thought he was sensitive about his scars, but now, I feel like it is something else.”
“Like what?” Lizbeth asked, frowning. Before Edwina could respond, a rap came to the door, surprising both Edwina and Lizbeth.
“Shall I go?” Lizbeth asked Edwina.
“No, please finish,” Edwina replied and called out, “Come!”
The Duke came in, looking hesitantly at Lizbeth. Edwina motioned for him to sit. Something about making him wait for her made her feel a little more in control. He watched her as Lizbeth finished braiding her hair, making her feel a little self-conscious.
“I forgot to give you your gift, earlier,” she said, breaking the silence. “Lizbeth, would you hand me the parcel?”
“I had forgotten, as well,” he agreed. Lizbeth handed Edwina the paper-wrapped parcel which she handed to the Duke. He let his hand over the paper, looking up to Lizbeth.
“Is there anything else, Your Grace?” Lizbeth asked, taking the hint.
“No, good night, Lizbeth,” Edwina said with a smile. When Lizbeth shut the door behind her, Edwina turned to the Duke, trying to appear cooler and calmer than she felt. “Go ahead; open it.”
He raised an eyebrow, peeling the paper off the small parcel. As the last layer disappeared, it revealed a dark blue silk mask, similar to the white one he wore. “This is beautiful,” he told her.
“I saw the silk and thought it would suit you,” she explained.
“May I?” he asked, holding it up.
“Go ahead,” she waved. Fergus turned around to untie his white mask so that she would not see his face as he put on the new mask. When he turned back, she smiled affectionately at him. “It brings out the blue in your eyes.”
“This is extremely thoughtful of you,” he told her in a low voice. He reached forward, and taking her hand, he pulled her over to join him on the couch he sat on.
“Your Grace,” she whispered hesitantly.
“Yes?” he breathed, meeting her gaze.
“I do not believe I am ready tonight,” she whispered, trying to look apologetic. “I just –”
He shook his head quickly. “You do not have to apologize to me. I do not want to force you.” Withdrawing his hand, he took her bare fingers and raised her knuckles to his lips, sending shudders through her body. Then, when he made to stand, she gripped his hand.
“Do not leave just yet, though,” she protested. Even though she did not yet feel comfortable to lay with Fergus, she did not want him to leave. Feeling his kiss burning against her skin, she wondered what more he might be able to show her. He settled back down on the couch, searching her face.
“Please, if you would, I want to get to know you more… intimately,” she explained.
As he looked down at her hands, he gently stroked the back of her wrist. The subtle movement made her shiver again. “Intimately, how?” he asked.
“I want to get comfortable laying with you,” she explained. “And I cannot do that if you do not allow me the chance to practice.”
He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “What would you like to practice?”
