Chapter 11 #2
The words struck him harder than they should have. She trusted him. After only a handful of clandestine meetings, arguments, accusations, and that reckless kiss in the alley. He was not entirely certain he deserved it. Yet he wanted to prove to her that he could, in fact, be the man she saw in him.
“You should not,” he muttered.
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“You trust me too easily.”
Jane looked genuinely puzzled. “I hardly think I do.”
“You are entering a bachelor’s house after dark,” Hector said.
“You invited me.” Jane tipped her head to look at him in a way that he found maddening. It was as if she could see directly into his core.
“I did.”
“You have never once given me reason to fear you.”
His jaw clenched. That was precisely the problem because, lately, he had begun fearing himself. Not because he would ever hurt her. He would never do that. But because every day he spent near her made it increasingly difficult to remember why he ought to keep his distance.
The carriage turned another corner. A few moments later, it slowed before a pair of iron gates. Unlike many London mansions, Sunderford House did not blaze with excessive light. Only a few windows glowed warmly against the night.
Hector stepped down first. He offered Jane his hand. She accepted it without hesitation. Her fingers curled around his. He released her almost immediately.
“This way.”
Rather than approaching the imposing front entrance, he led her down the side of the townhouse toward a narrower servants’ door hidden behind ivy-covered stone.
He produced a key. The lock clicked. Inside, the passage smelled faintly of beeswax and fresh bread.
A maid carrying folded linens nearly walked into them. She startled. “Your Grace.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly upon seeing Jane, but only for a heartbeat. Then her expression settled into perfect composure. “Good evening.”
“I require discretion tonight,” Hector said, keeping his voice calm and even.
“Very good, Your Grace.” The maid curtsied before she quickly hurried away.
Jane watched her disappear. “She did not seem surprised.”
Hector suppressed a smile. “My staff have excellent manners.”
“They also possess remarkable self-control.”
“They are well compensated for both.”
The corner of Jane’s mouth lifted. “I suspect everyone in your household knows how terrifying you can be.”
Hector barked out an unexpected laugh. “I should hope so.”
“I was teasing.”
“I was not.”
She laughed quietly. The sound echoed softly through the corridor, warm and bright, and was entirely at odds with the solemn house. He found himself listening for it again.
At last, they reached a pair of heavy, walnut doors.
Hector opened them. “My study.”
Jane stepped inside. The room was spacious without being too extravagant. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined two walls, all crowded with books that had clearly been read rather than displayed.
A large desk occupied the center of the room, covered in neatly stacked correspondence, maps weighted beneath a brass compass, and several leather-bound ledgers.
Near the fireplace stood two deep green armchairs. The scent of leather, paper, and cedar filled the room. A fire burned low in the grate despite the summer warmth.
Jane slowly turned in a circle. “It is… I expected something… different.”
“What did you expect?”
She looked almost embarrassed. “I am not certain.”
He folded his arms. “Go on.”
“I imagined…” She hesitated. “…something colder.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be offended?”
“I suppose not.”
“It is a fair assumption.”
She looked toward the shelves. “There are far more books than I expected.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am surprised.”
“By literacy?” Hector asked.
She laughed. “By quantity. There must be hundreds.”
“Close to two thousand,” Hector said, the pride evident in his voice.
She blinked. “You’ve read them?”
“Most.”
She wandered toward one shelf. Her fingertips hovered just above the bindings without touching.
“How do you organize them?”
“By subject.”
“I should have guessed.” She tilted her head, reading titles. “History. Law. Military campaigns. You truly enjoy reading.”
“I enjoy understanding,” Hector corrected.
“There is a difference?” Jane asked.
“A considerable one.”
She seemed to think about that. “I believe I only realized just now that it never occurred to me what a duke actually does.”
He almost smiled. “Most days?”
“Yes,” she said. “What do you do most days?”
“Paperwork.”
Her gaze wandered farther across the room until it landed upon a violin resting inside an open case. She looked surprised.
“You play?”
He followed her gaze. “Evan does.”
The words emerged before he could stop them.
Jane looked back at him. “Oh.” She simply looked at the violin. Then at him. “I am sorry.”
The sympathy in her voice carried no pity. Only understanding. He appreciated that more than she could know. “He was never particularly patient while practicing.”
“No?” Jane asked.
“He preferred performing.”
She smiled faintly. “That sounds rather wonderful.”
“It was loud.”
Jane smiled. “I can imagine.”
“He insisted everyone listen to him.” Hector felt a wave of emotion roll over him. They always came at the most unexpected moments, catching him off guard.
“And you always did, didn’t you?”
He nodded once. “Always.”
She looked at the empty chair beside the violin. “You’re a good brother, Your Grace.”
His throat tightened. “I hope so.”
“You are. I know brothers.” She smiled sadly. “And I know what it is to miss one.”
Their eyes met in shared grief. It was the first time since Evan had vanished that Hector did not feel entirely alone in it, and that realization frightened him far more than anything else waiting for them later that night.