Chapter 3
Josephine sat by the window, her book resting lightly in her lap as her eyes moved over the page without truly seeing the words. The steady crackle of the hearth and the faint patter of rain against the glass made the small cottage feel like a world apart—safe, peaceful, and entirely unexpected.
It was strange to think that only last night she had been running for her life.
Now she sat in warmth and quiet companionship, in the home of a man who had quite literally saved her life.
Whether Jude considered himself a hero or not was of no consequence.
She did. And she would make certain he was properly thanked for it.
Her gaze drifted to the tall bookshelf tucked into the corner. The sheer number of volumes astonished her. The spines gleamed in the soft candlelight—many of them first editions, if her eyes did not deceive her.
“May I ask,” she began, glancing over at him, “how you came to possess such an impressive collection of books?”
Jude looked up from his armchair near the hearth, where he sat reading. His dark hair caught the firelight, and the faintest hint of amusement lit his eyes. “My mother was an avid reader,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.
“Yes, but these are rare editions,” Josephine pressed, gesturing to the shelf. “Surely they were not all hers?”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “Most were. My mother believed a person should be well- read. She loved a good argument about a book’s meaning, especially if her opponent was ill-prepared.”
Josephine smiled at the image. “I daresay I would have liked her immensely.”
He set his book down on the side table. “And she would have liked you, particularly when you threatened me with that pitchfork.”
Color rose to Josephine’s cheeks. “I am truly sorry about that,” she said quickly. “Had I known—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off with a teasing glint in his eyes. “I am only jesting, my lady. I found it rather brave that you were standing your ground against a man holding a rifle.”
“Brave or foolish?” she countered lightly.
“I prefer brave,” he said. “I’m far too much of a gentleman to insult a lady.”
She gave a soft laugh. “Then you are already far superior to most men of my acquaintance, sir.”
His gaze shifted towards the window. “It seems the rain has finally stopped.”
Josephine turned her head to look. The clouds were breaking apart, the faintest hint of a rainbow arcing over the distant trees. “So it has,” she murmured, setting her book aside. “Perhaps we should depart for the Duke of Ashmoore’s estate while there’s still light?”
Jude shook his head. “The ground will be too treacherous, and the woods aren’t safe after dark. We’ll travel at first light.”
“Are you quite certain? I should think you’d be eager to rid yourself of me by now.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll admit, it’s been rather nice having company for a change.”
“Well,” she said with mock gravity, “I’m relieved my presence alleviates your boredom. Tell me, will you be serving the same stew as this morning?”
“Indeed,” he replied, his tone equally dry. “Rabbit again. I do hope you won’t object.”
“Not at all,” she lied. “I find I rather enjoy rabbit stew.”
“Liar,” he said, his eyes dancing.
She laughed outright. “Very well, you’ve caught me. It is not my favorite dish since rabbit is rather tougher than I prefer.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
Josephine folded her hands in her lap. “Do you enjoy living here alone, in the middle of the woods?”
His expression changed, growing thoughtful. “I don’t always live here,” he said. “But when I need peace to think… this is where I come.”
She tilted her head. “And what do you think about?”
“This and that.”
Realizing she might have trespassed on something private, she flushed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry. I was only making conversation.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” he assured her. “I’d simply rather not speak of it.”
She nodded. “Then we shall speak of something else. Do you have siblings?”
His expression softened. “A brother. He married recently a lovely girl. I wasn’t sure of her at first, but she’s surprised me.”
The fondness in his voice made Josephine’s heart squeeze. “You’re close, then?”
“We are,” he said. “He’s done well for himself. Better than I expected, perhaps better than me.”
“You clearly admire him.”
“I do,” he admitted.
Her gaze fell to her hands. “I envy you that. My brother and I used to be close, too, before he inherited our father’s title. Now his life revolves around the estate, and duty leaves little room for… affection.”
“Duty can be a shackle, if one allows it.”
“I could not agree more.”
For a few minutes, silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire. Then he surprised her by saying, “Forgive my boldness, but I’m astonished you’re not wed, given that you’ve had more than one Season.”
Josephine stiffened. “You sound just like my brother,” she remarked. “He’s grown weary of financing failed Seasons and has tried to marry me off more than once. I’ve refused each time.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” Jude said. “A lady as beautiful as you must have suitors lining up at her door.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “You are kind, but most of my suitors are interested in my dowry, not me. I would rather remain a spinster than be tolerated by a man who doesn’t love me.”
“Ah,” he murmured, his eyes thoughtful. “You seek love, then?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “Yes,” she said with quiet conviction. “My parents had a love match. I would accept nothing less.”
“I admire that,” he said after a pause.
“Most don’t,” she confessed. “They think me foolish or romantic. I’ve had offers from men who see me as little more than a prize to display.”
He inclined his head. “I understand more than you might think. I wish for the same—a marriage like my parents’, built on love rather than convenience.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Then we are in the minority.”
“Perhaps,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t make us wrong.”
The tension in her shoulders eased. She let out a small sigh. “The ton finds me odd. I prefer a library to a ballroom, and most gentlemen don’t find that appealing.”
“You are an avid reader, then?” he asked, a trace of a smile returning.
“I am,” she admitted. “Much to my brother’s dismay. He’d prefer I were married by now with a half-dozen children in the nursery.”
“Then it is fortunate,” Jude started, “that your fate is yours to decide and not his.”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“Few things in life ever are.”
The wind moaned outside the cottage walls, brushing against the shutters like a restless spirit. The chill in the air crept closer, and Josephine rose from her chair to fetch the wool blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed. She wrapped it around her shoulders and returned to her chair.
“And what of your father?” she asked, curiosity threading her voice. “Are you close with him?”
Jude rubbed the back of his neck, his expression distant. “We have a complicated relationship,” he admitted. “He wants me to rise up and be the man I’m meant to be.”
Her brows drew together. “And you are not?”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t know what I am. I fear that I’ll fail and that I’ll never live up to his legacy.”
Josephine studied him for a long moment. The firelight cast sharp planes of gold and shadow across his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw, the weight in his eyes. He spoke with such quiet honesty that it stirred something in her chest.
“So you let fear control you?” she asked gently.
He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Yes… no. I don’t know,” he said, his voice rough with self-reproach. “You haven’t met my father. He’s a force to be reckoned with. A man admired by many. And I…” His voice trailed off, the rest lost to the fire’s crackle.
She leaned forward slightly. “You are his son,” she responded simply.
He gave a sharp, decisive snort. “Do you know how many people are waiting for me to fail?”
“Is your father not pleased you are a gamekeeper?”
He hesitated. The silence stretched long enough that she wondered if she had offended him. Then he said, “No. You could say he’d rather see me take over the family business.”
Her curiosity deepened. “And what do you want to do?”
That earned her a wry smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said. “I must do what is expected of me—in my time, in my turn.”
Josephine drew the blanket tighter around her shoulders as a shiver ran through her. His words struck a chord far too familiar. “I understand that sentiment all too well,” she murmured. “I am merely a woman, and our only duty is to marry and have sons.”
“You are not merely a woman,” he said, his tone firm, almost argumentative.
Her lips pressed together. “Once I wed, I will be someone else’s property,” she said bitterly. “If I displease my husband, he could send me away to an asylum and the world would applaud his decision for managing his troublesome wife.”
Jude stood abruptly, as if her words unsettled him. He picked up a log from the stack. “Then for your sake,” he said, “you must choose wisely.”
The log landed with a soft thud, sending a spray of sparks into the chimney. The glow danced over his broad shoulders, and she found herself watching him, wondering what secrets hid behind his guarded expression.
“I am just glad,” she said after a pause, “that I never reached Gretna Green with Mr. Broderick. My life would have been miserable had I been forced to marry him.”
Jude turned, his eyes meeting hers. Something unreadable flickered there—anger, perhaps, or protectiveness. “That man was a blackguard,” he asserted. “Thank goodness you escaped when you did.”
“I agree,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The fire popped, filling the silence that followed. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Josephine could hear the faint rhythm of rain dripping from the eaves, and beyond that, the low, steady beat of her own heart.