“Ashbey was a ducal heir.”
“Chev and I were friends first. Ash was never... Well, he wasn’t an easy person to get to know. Everyone knew Ash’s father was mad. He was mercilessly teased. Chev appointed us both Ash’s defenders. From that point, the three of us became sworn brothers. But what’s at the heart of our friendship is trust.”
He searched her gaze.
“Tonight,” he said, “Ash asked me, in a manner of speaking, if I had earned your trust. Have I?”
Now, it was her turn to feel exposed.
Hurtheven had known from the start she was hiding something. She’d been on the verge of telling him everything tonight. But now...
She thought of the look he’d had on his face when he was climbing up the stairs. He’d beenelatedto see Penelope. Then, he had held her close and said he hadn’t secured what he truly wanted.
Penelope.
Her chest contracted.
She could only ever be second best.
She’d always been second best—when she was thought of at all.
Born of a second marriage and never accepted by her brother, but instead, treated like his servant. Given a Prince’s attention...but only when he was sure no one else would notice. And, until the duchess had stepped in, she hadn’t even been capable of being first in her own daughter’s life.Giving upAnnis had been the only way she could protect her daughter.
Hurtheven was honor to his core, but she could not place her life—and the life of her child—into the hands of a man who loved another.
She, too, deserved someone who would love her with all of their heart.
“I think,” she replied haltingly, “you are the most trustworthy, loyal man I have ever known.”
He smiled, for once, accepting her response without question.
“Midnight?” he whispered.
“Midnight,” she answered.
She turned back toward her room.
She’d prevented him from speaking of his hopes because she’d been afraid he wouldn’t want her after he learned of Annis. She’d been worried about him getting too attached. Now, she knew he’d never been completely hers at all.
At least she had one more midnight before she had to let him go.
* * *
He should have escorted Hera directly from the landing into the armory. She’d needed reassurance. But the household had still been astir. And he’d promised to do everything in his power to preserve her reputation. He had to undress, dismiss his valet, and wait for the appointed time.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Five more minutes.
Quietly, he removed his dressing gown from the cupboard, and then, standing in front of his long mirror, slipped his arms within. He stood to the side, critically inspecting his profile. He straightened the seam and then smoothed the fabric—a surprising bit of vanity.
Whyhadhe done that? Why had he—without intending to do so—needed to perfect his appearance?
Why? Because he wanted to look his best, of course. And, if he were honest, he not only wanted to look his best. He wanted tobehis best.
He wanted to be worthy.
He scowled. Of course, he wasworthy. He was a bloody duke. And she was Hera to his Zeus. ...Only, he no longer wanted to be Zeus, god of all he surveyed.
He just wanted to be with her.
