“Well then,” she laughed softly, placing her hand over his. “And if I refuse the Duke’s command? Will I be in trouble, Your Grace?”
“Well then,” Ambrose said, his voice dropping to a velvety growl. He offered her a hand to pull her up to her feet in front of him. “I shall have to find a much more persuasive way to convince you.”
“Is that so?”
“You will find that I am a man of many talents.”
She blushed at his words. “Uhm, yes. So… where were you this evening, Your Grace? I did not mean that to come off so boldly. I only mean to ask how you passed your time… Oh dear, that was no better…”
“It was an affair of no consequence?—”
“It looks like there was dancing,” she whispered.
“And what makes you say that?”
“Your clothing, and the way you looked when you came in to check on Philip…”
“You are perceptive. I did not dance, though, just another boring ball, which I escaped in haste.”
“Whatever for? Surely you must have your pick of ladies…”
“There is only one place I wish to be. I have no time for idle matters.”
Ambrose put an arm out and motioned to the window. They walked over and stood side by side, leaning on the sill. They gazed out at the night sky when he suddenly shifted his weight, and his hand grazed hers, a searing energy pulsing through the room at their touch.
“I remember doing this once for Thomas, their father,” Ambrose said, leaning onto the sill.
“That must have been hard.”
“He was five. He’d fallen into the pond in winter. I sat by his bed for two long and miserable days. My father told me then that aLockhart’s strength isn’t in his title, but in who he stands watch for.” He looked back at Philip. “Tonight… it felt like that again.”
“How so?”
“It felt like we were truly a family, and even that Thomas was with me. I can see it in your eyes… you have known much hardship in your life, with your own family situation. Haven’t you?”
Imogen lowered her gaze to her hands. “When I was small, I once caught a fever. My father…” She paused, weighing her words. “He was a stern man, always, but for those three days, he would not leave me. He read poetry aloud until his voice went hoarse.” She lifted her eyes to Ambrose, her heart laid bare.
“And what of your mother?”
“She passed shortly after childbirth. All I have of her is a small locket, with a curl of her hair inside. It is my most cherished possession, a security blanket if you will.”
“Did you often feel unsafe as a young girl?”
“I have not known such safety since he died. Perhaps I never truly did before that. But tonight… in there… for the first time in years, I felt as though I belonged. As though I were neither merely a guest nor merely a servant.”
“Imogen,” he rasped as he turned her away from the window. “You are much more than a servant. And certainly more than a guest as well.”
He led her out into the dim hallway, pulling the door nearly shut behind them.
The house was silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock downstairs in the echoing foyer.
He reached out, his hand cupping the side of her face. His thumb traced her lower lip, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Imogen didn’t pull away. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. She knew the servants would not start stirring for another hour or so.
“I should go,” she whispered, even as her body leaned toward him, betraying what her mind tried to deny.
“Don’t,” he murmured, low and urgent.
“Ambrose—”
