The memory of the kiss they had shared lingered in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of the forbidden attraction that had sparked between them. She had felt the warmth of his lips against hers, the electric thrill of his touch, and for a fleeting moment, she had allowed herself to believe in the possibility of something more.
But reality soon came crashing back, harsh and unforgiving. She was just a maid, bound by the structures of class and society, while William was the duke, with responsibilities and obligations that extended far beyond their fleeting connection. The look she had seen in Mr. Trent’s eyes earlier served as astark reminder of her place in the duke’s life—a mere servant, easily replaced and forgotten.
She sighed heavily, trying not to think about it. That was when she noticed that Mr. Trent was still holding a glass clutched in his hand as it hung from the side of the couch. Not wanting to have it break, she approached him, reaching out slowly, intending to relieve him of the precarious object before it could slip from his grasp and shatter on the floor.
But just as her fingers brushed against the glass, Mr. Trent’s eyes snapped open, his grip closing around her wrist with unexpected force. Rose gasped in surprise, the suddenness of his awakening catching her off guard.
Chapter 18
Their eyes locked in a tense moment of silent confrontation, the weight of his grip sending a jolt of apprehension coursing through her veins. She could feel the pressure of his fingers digging into her skin, the intensity of his gaze piercing through her like a dagger.
In that fleeting instant, a myriad of emotions flickered across Mr. Trent’s features—confusion, disorientation, and something else, something darker and more unsettling. Rose’s heart began to race, a sense of unease settling like a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed. Mr. Trent released her wrist with an apologetic murmur, his expression clouded with embarrassment at his abrupt reaction.
“I… I’m sorry, Miss Rose,” he said quietly, glancing at the duke in an effort not to wake him. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no,” she whispered back. “It’s quite all right.”
“It is not,” he corrected her. “My sleep is always plagued with nightmares about the war,” he explained. “When you grabbed me, I… I panicked and I apologize for startling you.”
“Like I said, it is all right,” she repeated simply, glancing over at William, to see if they had woken him up. Then, she looked back at him. “You might want to try chamomile tea. It will help you sleep better.”
“Thank you, but I am beyond help, my dear,” he said somehow sadly. Then, he quickly added, his voice a low whisper. “You seem to care deeply about the duke,” Mr. Trent said, but what startled her was the fact that it wasn’t a question. It was a statement, meaning he was certain of what he was saying.
“Of course,” she said with a dismissive half-shrug. “He almost died. Of course, I was concerned for his wellbeing and did everything in my power to bring him back.”
“I see,” he nodded, lifting an eyebrow.
He isn’t going to mention the kisses, is he? She wondered apprehensively, because she had no idea how on earth, she would explain kissing the face of her employer while he was unconscious. It was preposterous to even think that such a thing had an explanation other than the only reasonable one. Fortunately, however, Mr. Trent seemed satisfied with her response.
“I am merely doing my job, Mr. Trent,” she concluded respectfully.
“And you are doing it very well, Miss Rose,” he added somehow mischievously, which she didn’t like at all.
“If you will excuse me,” she said, taking a step back. “There are still a few things I must tend to.”
“Of course,” he nodded, watching her leave. She was with her back turned to him, but she could swear that he didn’t take his eyes off of her even for a single second until she disappeared behind closed doors.
With each step, Rose felt the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her, the echoes of her encounter with Mr. Trent still reverberating through her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her, a nagging sense of doubt and uncertainty that gnawed at her conscience.
As she made her way to the kitchen, the familiar surroundings offered a brief respite from the turmoil within her. The comforting scent of freshly baked bread and simmering stews filled the air, enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth and familiarity.
But even amidst the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, Rose found herself unable to shake the lingering unease that had taken root within her. Were her feelings for the duke truly that obvious, she wondered? Had Mr. Trent seen through the carefully constructed facade she had so diligently maintained?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a stark reminder of the precariousness of her position within Montford Manor. She knew she would have to tread carefully, to guard her heart against the dangerous allure of forbidden desire.
As she busied herself with her tasks, Rose resolved to keep her distance, to bury the emotions that threatened to consume her beneath a veneer of professionalism and restraint. For in a world where love knew no boundaries, she knew that some desires were best left unspoken, lest they unravel the delicate tapestry of her carefully constructed life.
When she realized that the last task had been brought to an end, she headed out of the kitchen and down the barely lit corridor, heading toward the servants’ quarters, where she would take her coat and head back home. However, as she walked, she had a dreadful sense that someone was following her, as if the sound of her own footsteps doubled behind her, making her think there was someone else there.
Without thinking, she turned around, only to come face to face with none other than Mr. Trent.
“Oh,” she gasped, pressing her hand to her chest. “You startled me.”
He grinned. “You didn’t think it was a ghost, did you?”
“No,” she said, not smiling back. “Of course not. I thought it was Mr. Hancock, rushing after me to tell me something.”
