“Happy,” he repeated thoughtfully.
When the children stopped to inspect the chiseled words on a marker, Hera and the duke stopped as well.
“Why, Mrs. Montrose”—he cocked his head—“did you just compliment me?”
“Were you always so good with children?” She skirted his query—as well as the school of fish leaping and twisting inside her stomach.
“Interesting question.” He smiled slightly, just enough to show he’d noted her conversational detour. “I spent a great deal of time with Thaddeus when he was young. Thaddeus is my godchild as well, you know.”
“Kind of you to take on the care of so many children.”
“No. Not kind.” He shook his head at some internal thought and then fixed his gaze in the distance. “It’s important to me that the children…” He paused. “...experience childhood.”
“You left part of that sentence out.”
His lids hooded his eyes. “Perceptive.”
Hera could think of only two reasons a duke could have such a concern—one, he’d had an idyllic childhood and wanted the same for the children he loved. Or two…
She recalled an overlooked portion of the conversation she’d heard the day of the garden party. What had that awful woman said? Something about the duke having survived an accident that had taken the lives his parents?
She searched his gaze.
There was something lurking behind the polish, wasn’t there? Something deep and sad and deliberately hidden.
A different kind of internal tug yanked her from her safe mental pool into a place she could find no footing. She felt him, then...experienced his presence as if he were not a duke, but a man with whom she was in sympathy. She sensed his fearsome will and power, but also something old, dim, and murky.
Lost—the word came unbidden.
“What are you reading, Mrs. Montrose?”
She flushed deeply. “I wouldn’t presume.”
“Wouldn’t you?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. He rolled the shiny bit of metal between his fingers. “Yours, if your assumption is correct.”
She looked at him incredulously. “A literal penny for your thoughts?”
“A wager, not a levy.” He stepped closer. “I’m quite serious.”
“Why?” She couldn’t properly breathe under his gaze.
“Insatiable curiosity?” He lifted her gloved hand with his own and placed the penny in the center of her palm. “Come, Mrs. Montrose. Accept the challenge.”
Hera kept her gaze on their joined palms while every nerve stretched toward him.
She was hot. And cold. And dizzy.Breathe.She willed a light, nonsensical answer, but not a single thought entered her mind to counter the truth she’d just seen. Every falsehood scattered to the wind with each stroke of his thumb.
Finally, she sighed. “You’ve known great pain, Your Grace?—”
He stopped caressing her wrist.
“—That’s what I read.”
Carefully, he closed her fingers over the coin. “Yours.” He dropped her hand. “Delmare!” he called as he strode away. “Fee! Not so far ahead.”
Oh, heavens!She stared down at the penny in her palm. He was, at present, her best hope of survival. And, she wagered, she’d just made him mad as the dickens.
* * *
