“I know.” He tucked a whisp of hair behind the duchess’s ear. “I understand.”
What a vision they made together.Blonde. She recognized a fragment of his list. In fact, but for petite, the duchess was a perfect fit for all Hurtheven’s qualifications!
How had she not seen that before?
“I’m so glad you finally understand.” Penelope embraced him.
Hurtheven hummed a discordant, wounded tone. “I...” He held her close, resting his cheek against her hair. “I haven’t secured what I truly want.”
“No?” Penelope queried. She exhaled. “Well, you’ll forge a path. You always do.”
Another rueful laugh. “I will do my best.” After a moment, he again sighed deeply and said, “Your husband, I believe, anxiously awaits.”
“Good night, my dear friend.”
As she withdrew, Penelope passed Hera on the landing, coming so close her light scent lingered in the air. Hera’s stomach turned over.
She’d often wondered why the duke—who clearly had so much to offer—had remained unmarried all these years.
Now, she had her answer.
Perhaps she would have seen the truth from the beginning, if only she hadn’t misinterpreted him at every turn—just as she had misinterpreted the reason for the Runner’s visit. Hurtheven wasn’t closed and unreachable. He didn’t distrust women.
He loved one above all others.
And that woman was married to one of his two closest friends.
To be so near to the one you love and yet forever separated.... Well, she understood exactly how much pain he felt.
Absurd, this chain of longing—Hurtheven watching the duchess disappear down the corridor, herself, gazing after Hurtheven. She couldn’t bear another moment, and yet she could not look away.
Love and longing, polished to perfection over time. She didn’t know if she should laugh or weep.
Suddenly, Hurtheven glanced in her direction. He did not seem surprised to see her there. He looked pensive...almost weary. As if all emotion had just been wrung from him.
“You love her.” The words were out before she’d a chance to muffle them.
“Yes.” Something flashed in his eyes—pain? Anger? The flicker had been too quick to define.
“I see.”
“I don’t think you do.” He advanced. “I love themboth. Pen and Chev.” He paused. “Just as I love Ash and Alicia. Although Pen did, at one time, spark a deeper feeling.”
Had he just asked her to distrust her own ears? Hereyes? She’d seen him lean into Penelope’s embrace! “It is none of my concern.”
“Hera.” His voice had softened again.
She hated the way her neck prickled. “You asked her to marry you.”
“I did...a long time ago. She was alone. Vulnerable. Chev’s cousin had just had him declared dead and Ithwick Castle had been overrun by potential suitors.” He sighed. “I made a mistake.”
“You had no way of knowing her husband was alive.”
“Shedid. She trusted.”
So, not just love.Guilt.
“Chev and I have been close for as long as I can remember. Chev wasn’t his father’s heir, then. But he came from a ducal household. When we became friends, I think that I felt…understood for the first time in my life.”
