“One of the workers clearing the trees saw you disappear in the forest. I was working in the garden when he told me he thought it was odd that one of the houseguests would scramble off into the wild part of the forest where the ditches are. I knew it had to be you.” He swore. “Why didn’t you answer when I called you? I only heard a vague ‘help’ and then nothing. I feared the worst.” His voice was harsh.
“I—hate being enclosed. It makes me panic and then I’m incapable of functioning.”
“You could’ve spent the night out there all alone.” He clenched his jaw. “What an utterly hare-brained thing to run off like that.”
“I suppose it was stupid of me.” Lucy crumpled under his scathing scrutiny. “I didn’t think.”
“You rarely think before you act, do you?”
“Only when someone bullies me into doing something I don’t want to do,” she muttered.
“Is this what you think? That I bully you?”
“Absolutely. Yes. Sometimes. Not on purpose. Oh, I don’t know!” Why was he looking at her as though he cared? It made her feel all hot and muddled inside. “The truth is, I don’t know what to think anymore. You can seem awfully cross and unforgiving and horridly proud when you are the duke. It’s rather intimidating and makes me feel like I’m inadequate and then I just want to run.”
There was a taut silence.
“Oh dear. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s unfortunate I have this effect on you,” he said after a heartbeat. “I apologise if my disposition make you feel inadequate. It’s not intentional. I suppose it is—” he seemed to struggle with himself. “It’s how I am. Spontaneity and a lighter outlook on life, like you and Arabella have, is something I never possessed.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you are wrong in having a more reserved disposition. Can you imagine a world of only Arabellas and Lucies? That would be fairly awful. It’s just—I prefer when you’re being Henry, that’s all. Just a little more.”
He sighed. “Once in a while I like to put on simpler clothes and work in the gardens. It helps me think. When things get—too much—sometimes,I even like to take the cart and drive about the countryside and pick up plants. That’s all there is to it, Lucy. You’ve patched yourself up an image of a man who doesn’t exist.”
Lucy felt a lump in her throat. “I don’t think I imagined it.”
He looked at her with a thoughtful frown. “Am I being forgiven for my cross and bullying behaviour?”
Lucy nodded. “I still won’t marry you,” she said gruffly into his jacket as she clung to him.
“You’ve made your sentiments more than clear. For your peace of mind, I won’t pressure you into anything—for the time being. However, we’re not done with this topic. For now, I insist that you stay here for Arabella’s pleasure—and as my guest. If you please.”
“Would it really please you?”
“It would.”
“Well then, I’ll stay.” She beamed at him through the muck that caked her face.
“You’re full of contradictions,” he grumbled. He looked at her as if she posed an unsolvable riddle.
“You’ve mud on your cheeks,” she said breathlessly.
“So do you.” He wiped it off gently with one hand and tugged an errant curl behind her ear. His finger lightly brushed her jaw.
It took him awfully long to lift her off his horse and set her down, and even then, his hands lingered at her waist. He carried her into the house, all the way to her room, calling forservants on the way.
She was given a hot bath, a warm meal, tucked into bed with three blankets and warm bricks tucked by her feet. Lucy had never had such a fuss made over her.
She fell asleep feeling that maybe she and the duke had finally found sometruce.
She dreamed that there was a marble statue of the duke standing in the corridor. She chipped away at it with hammer and chisel, and underneath appeared flesh.
“There you are, Henry,” she cried in relief and threw her arms around him. “I thought you’d disappeared.”
“I’ve been there all the time.” He smiled his old Henry smile. He held out his hand to her.
Then she remembered why she couldn’t take his hand.
