Free The Rusticated Duchess by Elle Q. Sabine

He hadn’t said a word about what to do if the entire household decamped.
    Before he even realised what he was doing, Clare was on his feet. He’d make sure she was where she was supposed to be, then break his fast and plot his afternoon constitutional. One way or another, she would tell him her story.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    Gloria did not sleep well. She told herself that she was worried, that her restlessness had been caused by Clare’s threats and insinuations, but by morning, she curled up beneath the coverlet, stared at the canopy and admitted the truth, at least to herself.
    She ought to be working out what to tell him—truth or not—but she hadn’t even considered it. Gloria was thinking about the kiss.
    Marital relations with March had never been better than merely tolerable, much as her mother had gently warned her was likely. Sadly, merely tolerable had been achieved on the nights Meriden was most sotted. The smell of cheap, stale liquor had always been on his breath, while softer touches or emotions had never figured into the act. Still, when insensibly drunk, he’d fumbled and had been unable to be vicious.
    But he had not drunk himself to oblivion every night. On those nights he had been sober enough to deliberately tumble her, he had also been deliberately brutal, as if he had been exacting his pleasure from her pain. Gloria had belonged to him by law, March had said on their wedding night and repeated over the following months, and she would spread her legs when he chose. He’d chosen that first night, and made a regular point of it whenever the house had been still and he’d returned from whatever revels he’d graced through the evening. He’d taken especial delight in waking her from sleep and laughing at her startled angst, and had made a point of coming to her still cloaked in the cheap perfumes that his whores had left on his skin. The acrid smell of tobacco and alcohol had been inescapable in his presence, and March had been outwardly amused by her revulsion. It had not taken long at all for Gloria to learn to lie as still as possible and wait him out.
    Once pregnant, Gloria had tersely informed him there was no need to risk the health of his heir when his mistress was readily available. At her request, Lennox had installed a bolt on the inside of her bedchamber door, where she’d stayed each night with her maid. March had sneeringly informed her that she’d better be prepared to submit to his ‘attention’ as soon as the doctors gave permission. He’d laughed and promised her that he would greatly enjoy it.
    The few seconds she had spent with Clare had been a world separate from any sensation March had ever created. March’s touch had frozen her to stiffness and disgust, while Clare’s firm grip had been compelling, but not violent or rough. Instinctively, Gloria had known after the first terrified moment that she could pull back and end the exchange, that Clare would not have forced the intimacy upon her. The memory of March’s heavy breath and stale odour had been erased as she’d inhaled the rich, well-tended leather of Clare’s overcoat and a lingering aroma of lime and spice that clung to Clare’s skin.
    Even more fascinating—more deserving of her attention—was her physical reaction to Clare’s kiss. The touch of Clare’s lips had fascinated her and left a tingling awareness on her mouth and down her spine that she’d never before experienced. Gloria had wanted, even desired, to seek closer shelter in his arms, to offer up more than her passive lips. He’d wanted more, too. He’d been regretful when he’d pulled back, denying himself something he wanted in deference to her physical comfort.
    She’d barely been able to think of anything the rest of the day. Her abstraction had drawn the attention of the staff, especially once Colman had told his tale to all the others. Mrs Pitcher and Mrs Sinclair had hovered, as if inviting her confidences. Brody had glowered,