Chapter 8 #2
Hector didn’t need to ask what he meant. “No,” he said.
Ambrose’s mouth curved. “Just admit you’re thinking about Lady Jane, my friend.”
Hector’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes. But I am thinking about her only because she is assisting with the search. That is all.”
Ambrose tilted his head and smiled wider. “You’re fond of her,” he said lightly.
“I am not.”
Ambrose nodded slowly. “Of course you’re not.”
Hector ignored the tone. “She is useful,” he said instead. “She notices details others would miss. She understands Wynten in a way I cannot. That is why she is involved.”
Ambrose made a thoughtful sound. “So it is purely strategic?”
“Yes.”
Ambrose regarded him, and Hector stared back. “You are holding something back.”
“I am not,” Hector said a bit too quickly, too defensively.
Ambrose slapped a hand against his knee. “You most definitely are. What is it? Did you kiss her?”
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. Hector did not move.
Ambrose, far too satisfied with himself, leaned back again.
“Aha, so my theories are confirmed,” Ambrose said cheerfully. “Most of them involve you being far less controlled than you would prefer to admit.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“And yet it happened anyway. I saw you at the garden party. You looked at her like—”
“Stop. This won’t lead anywhere, so there’s no point discussing it. I have other priorities at the moment, and Jan—ahem, Lady Jane is not one of them.”
Ambrose paused, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hector,” he said, quieter now, “we’ve known each other since Cambridge. You can lie to politicians, to dowagers, to men who think they own half of Westminster. But you cannot lie to me.”
Hector let out a slow breath. “It was a mistake,” he said.
Ambrose tilted his head. “You do not have to be so harsh with yourself, my friend. You are allowed to have desires.”
“Not when I have pressing responsibilities.”
“I’d say especially when you have pressing responsibilities. No man is an island, Hector. You can enjoy a kiss every now and then.”
Hector’s eyes darkened slightly.
Ambrose studied him for a long moment. “What’s the matter?”
The question hung there. Hector did not answer immediately. Because the truth, one he did not want to examine too closely, was not simple.
“I cannot pursue it,” he said finally.
Ambrose’s expression shifted. “Ah, I see. It’s more than mere attraction, then,” he repeated.
Hector’s tone sharpened. “Ambrose.”
“Peace, my friend. I am not judging you. I am only trying to understand. And what I have understood, correct me if I’m wrong, is that the kiss rattled you a lot more than it should have. No?”
Hector looked away.
“I thought so,” Ambrose mused. “So now, you do not wish to pursue it because it could unfold into something deeper than lust?”
“I cannot pursue this because of Evan.”
Ambrose leaned back again, exhaling through his nose. “You always do this,” he muttered.
“What do you mean?” Hector asked.
“You know what I mean,” Ambrose said. “You take responsibility for everything except what you actually want.
You think if you allow yourself to want something now, it will be taken as well.”
Hector did not acknowledge what his friend had said. It did not matter what he had been like before Evan disappeared. The only thing that mattered was finding his brother now.
“Hector,” he said, “you’re the Duke of Sunderford. Yes, you are Evan’s older brother, too. But you are also a man. A man who deserves pleasure, joy. Dare I say love, or will you implode at the very sound of the word?”
Hector’s voice was firmer now. “Lady Jane is part of this investigation. That is all she can be.”
Ambrose stood slowly, crossing the room to pour himself more brandy.
“You know,” he said, “most men would consider it fortunate. A beautiful woman. Intelligent. Brave enough to follow you into brothels and gaming hells.”
“That is precisely why she cannot be involved further,” Hector cut in.
Ambrose glanced back at him. “Or,” he said, “precisely why she already is.”
Hector’s expression tightened again. “This ends once Evan is found,” he said.
Ambrose gave a quiet laugh. “You say that like you believe life obeys such neat timelines.”
Hector’s gaze hardened. “It must.”
Ambrose softened slightly. “And if it does not?”
That question lingered longer than the others. Hector did not answer.
“You are allowed to want something, you know,” Ambrose said.
Hector’s voice was flat. “I have no use for want.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have left.”
Ambrose studied him for a long time. Then he sighed. “You are a very stubborn man,” he said.
“I am efficient.”
“You are exhausting.”
Hector almost smiled. It didn’t quite happen. He could not let himself feel anything at the moment.
Ambrose raised his glass slightly. “Fine,” he said. “No more teasing about Lady Jane.”
Hector gave him a sharp look.
Ambrose grinned. “For now.”
Hector turned away again. But as he did, one thought remained, quiet, unwelcome, persistent.
Jane’s face, turning toward him in that alley. Her lips, slightly parted. Her breathing, heavier than normal, caused her chest to heave in the most fetching way. Warmth spread through Hector at the memory. He had to work with all of his self-control to calm himself down again.