“Very little when I’m at a post.”
And when he wasn’t as well, but that was none of Ridgely’s concern either. His kindness was misplaced; Theo didn’t deserve it. Indeed, if the duke had any notion of the thoughts which had been passing through Theo concerning his sister ever since last night, he would have challenged him to a duel instead of offering him a brandy.
He shouldn’t have lingered in the garden with her earlier. The moment he had spied her on that bench, chewing on her full, sweet lower lip as her chalk had flown over the folio in her lap, he should have left. Instead, he had gone closer, drawn to her as ever, telling himself it was all in the name of the duty he performed when the truth was far less selfless.
He had gone to her because he had been hungry for the sultry lilt of her voice. For the scent of her perfume on the breeze. Because he was so taken with her that he would seize upon any excuse for the chance to clash with her.
“Your dedication is commendable,” Ridgely said, intruding on Theo’s thoughts and filling him with a fresh wave of guilt that threatened to drown him.
“If you don’t require anything else of me this evening, Your Grace, I should return to my post,” he managed.
“Of course,” Ridgely said easily, “you are a free man, sir. I’ll not force you to tarry any longer.”
“Thank you,” Theo said, rising and offering a bow.
The duke was wrong, however. He wasn’t a free man. He hadn’t been since the day he’d been born the heir to the king of Boritania. He wasn’t now. As he took his leave of the duke’s study, his mind drifted again to thoughts of his sister. Stasia was in London. Close. Close enough to find him if she truly wished it. But he didn’t know what her sudden arrival or her questions about him truly meant. It had been over ten years since he had last spoken with his sister, since well before he had been taken to their uncle’s dungeon. Although they had been close once, it was entirely likely that she had become one of their uncle’s minions, if for no reason other than self-preservation.
No, he hadn’t been wrong in telling Tierney that Stasia’s brother was dead. Because the Theo she had known was gone forever. He had died somewhere on the floor of that cold, stone dungeon beneath the August Palace, died as his lifeblood had seeped from the lashes and cuts and burns on his body and the infection had taken hold.
He was far better in the present, even if there was a maddening widow tempting him beyond measure beneath this same roof. Theo chastised himself for his stupidity again and again as he threw himself into the task of making certain Hunt House was secure. Even if the widowed Lady Deering was amenable to an illicit tumble or two, he couldn’t truly be intimate with a woman.
Not with his hideously scarred hide.
She deserved better, were she inclined to lower herself to bedding a nameless bodyguard who had been tasked with keeping her brother’s home free of assassins. Better than a broken man haunted by the evils that had been visited upon him. She deserved a soft-palmed lord who could whisper sonnets in her ear and spoil her with gifts and jewels and whatever else it was that made a woman like her smile.
He hadn’t seen her smile yet.
It shocked him to realize how much he wanted to watch those pretty pink lips turn up, to watch the ice in her eyes melt into brilliant heat.
What a damned fool he was.
The hour grew later, and Theo told himself he would stay away from the private hall where Lady Deering’s chamber was situated. Told himself no good could come from another meeting between the two of them in the night.
He stopped to speak with the two men he had stationed in the halls belowstairs where the entrances from the gardens were scarcely used and ripe for invasion. Thomas and Richard reassured him that nothing untoward had occurred. The night had been quiet, nothing but the occasional scuffle of a mouse skittering along the cold cellar floors.
He left the capable men behind and ventured to the mews, where something of a commotion was unfolding despite the lateness of the hour. His booted footsteps carried him nearer as he heard one of the grooms speaking to the stablemaster, andhername reached him on the cool night air.
“…Lady Deering’s carriage…damaged badly…”
His strides increased in speed.
“How is her ladyship faring?” the stablemaster was asking the groom.
“Well enough,” the groom said. “None too pleased about being left on the street, I expect. I told her I’d fetch some help and return.”
“Mark Coachman is waiting with her?”
By Deus. The marchioness had been stranded somewhere in a damaged carriage at this late hour? Fear crept up his throat, along with a surge of protectiveness.
He approached the groom and coachman. “What has happened?”
The groom gave him a look tinged with suspicion. “And who are you, wanting to know?”
“I’m the guard assigned to watch over this house and everyone in it, including Lady Deering,” he bit out. “Now tell me what’s happened.”
The groom looked to the stablemaster, who nodded, for they were already on familiar terms after Theo’s extensive exploration of the mews. “He’s called Beast, and he’s trustworthy. Tell him what’s happened to Lady Deering’s carriage.”
“There’s a problem with the rear wheel,” the groom reported. “A large hole in the road couldn’t be avoided on account of the street traffic, and the coachman hit it. He doesn’t dare travel farther until the wheel is repaired, for her ladyship’s safety.”
