The Rusticated Duchess by Elle Q. Sabine Page B

her life, Gloria had been taught that respectable women were to be demure. Of course women of a certain type were known to bestow the favour of their bed outside marriage. Gloria had never been one of these women, and she had been shocked to discover that her mother had done so. Even so, Lady Winchester had been loyal to Lennox from the time of Genevieve’s conception. Abigail was devoted to Meriden, and the notion she would indulge in a relationship outside her marriage was laughable. Fiona’s reserve kept her apart from men. And Genevieve frequently wished that the entire male race would simply disappear and leave her be.
    In one fateful afternoon, a man had broken down that reserve and tempted her to entertain him . Not only had she done so willingly, she’d enjoyed it.
    Gloria kept up her cheerful mask for the household, of course. Inwardly, however, she was appalled at her own behaviour and went about her daily routine without her usual zeal or focus. A sense of dread began to dog her, particularly when the next afternoon passed by without a visitor. Gloria had refused point blank to even consider going out for a walk, and thankfully neither Colman nor Brody suggested it.
    By the second afternoon, her legs ached with the need for exercise, but she couldn’t imagine another encounter out of doors with Clare. In any event, rain began pelting the house just after luncheon so she simply stood at the parlour window and looked longingly into the front garden.
    It rained for a full day, with the sun breaking through the clouds on the afternoon of the third day. Mr Pitcher quickly reported that the road was muddy and unsuitable for walking. Quietly relieved, Gloria retreated to the nursery with Mrs Pitcher and Eynon. She settled on the floor where Eynon nestled against her knees and practised cooing noises.
    Gloria laughed softly at his fascination with her skirts and put a big wooden block in his hands that he immediately dropped on his foot. The babe scrunched up his face and cried, so Gloria lifted him against her chest and cradled him as one of his hands fisted in her sleeve and the other clenched tightly in the bare skin of her bosom.
    Behind her, the door opened and she turned.
    Her mouth opened wordlessly and her brain seized.
    Clare stood in the doorway, wrapped dramatically in his greatcoat. His lips were pinched, his brows drawn together and his eyes bright, but when he caught sight of her with the child in her arms, he seemed to soften for the briefest of moments.
    It was enough for Gloria to sense the humanity in him, though Clare quickly scowled. Gloria couldn’t seem to summon the customary defensive mask with which she met others. It angered her—her vulnerability and his ability to obliterate the wall she’d erected to protect her private emotions and thoughts. “We are going into your parlour for a chat. Privately,” he said after a long heated examination of Gloria’s face and the conflicting emotions he must surely have seen on it.
    Clare filled the door, larger than life, crossing his arms over his chest. Gloria knew the others were gathering at his back, determined to prevent him from escaping with her, but he glared at her as though they didn’t matter. “Don’t even think of saying no.”
    Gloria felt the shame and humiliation of the afternoon in his bedchamber all over again. Heat flooded her and filled her cheeks.
    “Whatever nonsensical notion you’ve taken into your head, we’re solving it today,” he rasped out, interpreting her flush with ease. His eyes swept the solarium and found Mrs Pitcher already putting away her knitting needles, then gestured to her with his head. “Your people will look after him, and your devoted guardians will doubtless be listening through the keyhole if you allow it. Even so, you are coming with me if I have to carry you over my shoulder.”
    Gloria gasped and straightened indignantly, but then Mrs Pitcher was there taking Eynon from her and she had no