“My only concern is for Hugh,” she said carefully. “As, I thought, was yours.”
“Again, nicely done. You have a way with words.” He took a final sip of his drink, emptying the glass, after which he put it down. Then he turned and looked into the flames, staring at their orange belly as if his entire future depended on whatever he saw in the fire.
Yvette said nothing. She could sense the change in tone and mood, the humor gone, as was the combative nature of their conversation. The Duke had suddenly turned reflective, and Yvette held her breath…
“You said that you do not know me,” the Duke began. “Which is right enough. Purposeful too. It’s easier that way, a mystery wrapped in a riddle, dressed in a suit. When people assume a thing about you, it is often best to let them assume it rather than correcting them. Saves time.”
“I don’t want to assume anything.”
“No, you don’t.” He chuckled, but it was dark and hollow. “You wish to know how I feel about Hugh and his stutter? Or rather, why I don’t care, as you think that I should.”
The flames crackled and popped, and Yvette continued to hold her breath.
“I mentioned my father to you earlier today,” he continued in solemn tones. “The implication being that I did not have a very happy childhood.”
“I remember.”
“I wish my childhood had been simply unhappy,” he said darkly, still staring at the fire. “That is easy. That is normal. Rather, the best way to describe my childhood would be as a nightmare…” A cold wind blew through the room, although Yvette did not know where it came from. She shivered nonetheless and leaned closer to the fire. “Would you believe that as a child, I also had a stutter?”
“No,” she gasped.
“My father hated that I did. Although I suspect that if it were not that, he would have found something else to hate. He did, in fact. Many things…” As if on instinct, his hand moved to the scar on his cheek, but he stopped himself before he touched it. “My mother died when I was very young, leaving my father to raise me the only way he knew how. Through pain and humiliation.”
Yvette flinched, and her heart started to race.
“He tried to whip and beat the stutter out of me, as if such a thing were possible. I only think it made things worse. It also confirmed my hatred for my father, which might explain many a thing about how I have chosen to live my life.” He chuckled bitterly. “It wasn’t until the war that the stutter left me. In that,perhaps the old man was right. Scaring it out of me might have been the way to go…” More bitter laughter.
“Maybe ignoring it was the trick?” Yvette offered.
He snapped his head around to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“Once it no longer became a thing to worry about, it went away.” She shrugged. “Just a theory.”
He considered her. “Perhaps… not that it matters. I do not plan on beating Hugh, if that is your concern.”
“I know you won’t.”
“Do you know that?”
She smiled. “I do now.”
He continued to watch her, and the light of the fire reflected in his gaze. She tried to read his thoughts but found it impossible. The stare held… Yvette felt a tingle ripple up her body… and still he watched her as if she was the most interesting thing in the entire world.
“Hugh will grow out of it,” he finally said, turning back to look at the fire. “And if not, what does it matter? All things considered, it is rather low on the list of the boy’s concerns.”
With his head turned, Yvette saw the scar clearly on his right cheek. It was as thick as a finger, perhaps two inches long. She saw, too, the hint of a scar on his neck, hidden by his collar. She could not imagine what his father might have done to cause such scars, and while the mere thought of it terrified her…
“Your father…” She found herself shuffling closer. “He really did this?” As if on instinct, because she certainly wasn’t thinking clearly, she started to reach out as if to touch the scar.
“He did,” he said, not noticing her hand.
“I can’t believe he would do such a thing…” Her fingers hovered less than an inch from his face, and that was when she realized what she was doing. Her eyes widened, and she froze in fear.
The Duke frowned, seemed to sense her extended hand, and turned.
“What are you…”
“Oh!” She snatched her hand away and pulled it into her lap. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, looking away. “I did not mean… I should not have done that… it was an accident.”
