The footman blinked, then brightened, almost as if he understood. “Yes, Your Grace. Her Grace has returned. She is in the garden, having tea.”
“Thank you,” Greyson said, already striding past him.
He moved through the house with long, impatient steps, ignoring the startled looks of a few maids who were certainly unused to seeing the Duke of Callbury look quite so purposeful. The closer he came to the back of the house, the faster he walked.
Hazel had found his gift by now. What had she thought of it? Had she read every note? Had she understood what it meant, that he had shared something he had never shared with another soul?
He reached the final hallway and pushed open the door leading onto the garden terrace. Hazel was there. She was sitting at the small wrought-iron table beneath the climbing roses. She was with her back to the house, and the afternoon light kissed thecurve of her cheek. A teapot steamed gently beside her, but it looked untouched.
And in her hands, resting open on her lap, wasthe book.
Hazel wasn’t simply holding it. She was bent over it, absorbed, with her fingertips brushing the margin as though tracing the very path his pen had taken. Hazel turned a page delicately as if the paper were something precious. She paused, her gaze softening in that way she had when something touched her deeply. Her thumb brushed the corner, and he noticed her shoulders rise and fall on a quiet breath.
Greyson stood motionless in the doorway, unable to step forward, unwilling to disturb her. He knew that he should announce himself. He should clear his throat, take a step, call her name,anythingbut stand there like a man unsure whether to flee or fall to his knees.
But he couldn’t look away.
Hazel lifted a hand and pressed it briefly to her heart. Greyson’s hand tightened reflexively around the doorframe. He had not meant for her to look at the book that way. He had not meant forhimselfto feel this much.
Before he could lose the courage he’d only just found, he stepped forward. The gravel crunched beneath his boot, and she looked up sharply. When she saw it was him, she rose at once, holding the book to her chest.
“Greyson,” she breathed.
His name on her lips felt like warmth spreading through chilled air.
Hazel held the book closer. “You… came home early.”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
Her gaze flicked to the book, then back to him, and suddenly, there was a flush rising in her cheeks. “I… I found your gift.”
Greyson’s heart pounded with such force he wondered if she could hear it.
“Hazel…”
And for the first time since placing that book in her room, he feared what she would say next as much as he desperately needed to hear it.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Iread it all,” she said softly.
She gazed deeply into his eyes and saw it all: hope, dread, disbelief. She looked down at the book again, smoothing her palm over the cover as though calming her own trembling. When she lifted her gaze, her voice came out quieter but more determined.
“And there are no words…” She drew a tight breath. “Greyson, there are no words to describe what this means to me.”
She thought she might be able to thank him calmly and gracefully, like a proper duchess expressing polite gratitude. But she couldn’t. Her behavior could not have been further from it. No words could ever be adequate for the symbol she was holding in her hand: his own heart, laid bare in ink and memory.
She stepped closer, holding the book between them. “These notes… these moments… they’re pieces of you I never thoughtyou would share with anyone.” Her voice trembled. “And you trusted me with them.”
His silence didn’t frighten her. It only made her more aware of his own emotions. He searched her face with a kind of stunned intensity, as though trying to read her soul the way she had read the margins of that book.
“You wrote about your mother’s laughter,” Hazel whispered. “About Damian’s jokes, about how she read to you at night.” Tears pricked her eyes again. “Greyson… this book holds some of the happiest moments of your life. I felt them. I saw you in every line.”
His breath faltered. And suddenly, Hazel realized thathewas just as overwhelmed asshewas. They were mirrors of each other’s fear, each other’s hope.
Hazel clutched the book tighter. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Greyson’s lips parted, but no sound came. His throat worked once, painfully, and he looked away as though afraid the full force of emotion might show in his eyes.
