Ramsay snorted. “The two of you were caught wrapped up in one another like randy youths on May Day,” he observed. “Yes, Hector, I would dare say thereisan attraction.”
Hector leveled a glare at his friend so Ramsay would know he wasn’t helping.
“But,” he went on, “we spoiled it.Ispoiled it.”
He didn’t think he’d been fully wrong to challenge Clio about what she wanted, even if he did recognize that he hadn’t had asmuch as a teaspoon of tact about it. He even understoodwhyhe’d been such a brute about the whole thing?—
Because he had wanted—still wanted, with a desperation that carved out his chest—for her to say that she wantedhim.
But he hadn’t been brave, either. He had hidden behind his prejudices—which, he maintained, weren'tentirelywrong, as most aristocrats were utter bastards—and his responsibilities.
He hadn’t admitted that he wanted her. Not to himself, and certainly not aloud.
Instead, he’d let his anger drive her away.
“She said it’s broken,” he confessed, knocking back the rest of his drink just to feel the burn in his throat from something other than the admission. “Our marriage. She said it’s broken. That we shouldn’t have done it.”
There was another dreadful pause. Then, Ramsay said, “So what?”
The only reason that Hector didn’t hit him was that he was too stunned.
“What … what do youmean,‘so what?’ So, she hates me. She’s been staying with her family. It’sbroken.”
“Hector.” Ramsay shook his head. “Yes, you are a duke now—and again, congratulations; we have glossed over that a bit—but you do recall that before that, you were a blacksmith? For decades, I might add. And you were rather good at it, too. Whenever someone needed delicate work done, they came to you. From three towns all around, they’d come to you.”
This was, Hector supposed, a nice reminder that he wasn’t an entirely useless sot, that he offered something more to society than sitting around in fancy rooms and complaining about the poor’s audacity in existing, which he assumed was how most dukes spent their time.
But that didn’t mean it was relevant to his current situation.
“And your point?” he asked. He wanted to sound dry and urbane, but he just sounded wretched.
Jonathan apparently understood where this was going, however, because he sat up in his chair, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Oh, that’s very good.”
“Thank you,” Ramsay said, practically preening.
“Would someone please tell me what in the nine hells you’re talking about?” Hector demanded.
Jonathan turned, his smile bright.
“So, Your Grace,” he said eagerly, “you are a blacksmith. You know how to fix things that are broken, do you not?”
CHAPTER 29
Clio didn’t feel all that bad about imposing on her brother and Phoebe for the past several nights, not even when she kept pretending that she would definitely, absolutely be going home soon, in only a matter of hours, certainly, only to point out a clock after supper and say, “Oh, well, it has gottensolate. I might as well just stay the night, if it’s no imposition.”
As if her own home, such as it was, took hours and hours of travel and not, say, ten minutes in a carriage. Twelve, if the roads were particularly clogged.
“No imposition at all,” Phoebe would say, while Aaron jolted as she—with a subtlety that decreased every day—kicked him under the table.
It was very clear that Phoebe and her kicking was the only thing standing between Clio and her brother, demanding to know what on earth was happening with Clio and Hector.
And Clio was desperately grateful for that intervention, because she didn’tknowwhat was happening with her husband.
She didn’t want to say that she and Hector were committed to living separate lives … even when it felt increasingly as though they had already crossed that point.
Besides, Aaron was always happiest when he had someone (ideally a female relation) to feel protective over, and, as Phoebe explained, she needed a break.
