The room was thick with the weight of their words. Oakley seemed to wrestle with his own frustration, and for a moment, Kingston thought he might strike out, but Oakley simply stood there, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched.
Kingston’s gaze softened for just a moment, before he added, "I will not stand by and let your sister be taken away. If you wish to argue further, we can, but I won’t allow it to affect her health. Let her decide when she is ready to return home. If your father has any true concern for her, he will understand."
“You are welcome to remain,” Easton added. He and the rest of the guests in the room had remained silent during their exchange. Kingston had forgotten any of them were still there. “I have had a room prepared for your stay.”
“I will stay.” Oakley said nothing more, his frustration palpable. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room, leaving Kingston standing alone. But his thoughts weren’t on Oakley’s departure. They were on Jaclyn. She had already suffered too much at the hands of those who should have cared for her, and he would not let that continue—not under his watch.
“Thank you,” he said softly as he met Easton’s gaze. “I fear this is only the beginning of the battle though.”
“He will not back down easily,” Foxmoore agreed.
“Well,” Lady Easton said. “If he thinks he is going to browbeat my dearest friend into traveling while she is unwell then he has another think coming.” She turned toward her own brother, Lord Finley and told him, “And do not think for one second I do not know who told him that she was unwell. If you are going to stir up trouble you can go home. I do not need that sort of discord in my home.”
Finley paled, then nodded. “I won’t add any more strife to your life, sister. I promise I will remain on the sidelines in this battle.” He met the duke’s gaze. “He is not going away. Once he saw you here his pride would not allow for anything else.”
“I know,” he said. With a heavy sigh, Kingston sank back into his chair, his mind returning to the question that had been plaguing him for weeks. What was he truly willing to risk for her? He had already stepped too far into her life to back away now. The heart of the matter had always been the same—he cared for her in a way that he couldn’t explain. As for Oakley’s accusations? He had no intention of letting anything stand between him and the woman he had come to care for, no matter what came next.
Eleven
Jaclyn lay wide awake in the dark, her thoughts swirling in the silence of the night. The hour was late, and the soft glow of moonlight creeping through the draperies barely cut through the shadows of her room. The heaviness of the bed, the muffled sounds of the house, and the stifling quiet of the abbey all seemed to weigh upon her. Sleep had been an elusive companion tonight, slipping away like a bird caught in the evening wind. Probably because throughout her illness she had done little but sleep and she had no weariness left in her.
Sighing softly, Jaclyn slid from beneath the covers and slipped on her dressing robe, the coolness of the floor sending a chill up her bare feet. The house felt oppressive, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to change. Or perhaps it was just her, too restless, too burdened with her own thoughts, to settle. She needed something to distract her—something to ease her mind.
Quietly, she made her way out of the room and down the corridor, her footsteps soft against the stone floors. The house was still, save for the faint sounds of the wind brushing against the windows and the occasional creaking of old wood. She headed toward the library, a place of solace she had often sought in moments like these. Books had always been her refuge, offering escape in their pages, a place where she could lose herself in words and forget whatever troubles weighed on her heart.
When Jaclyn entered the library, the warm glow of the fire greeted her, crackling softly in the hearth. A candelabra, its candles flickering gently, was set upon a nearby table, casting a soft golden light around the room. The scent of old leather and parchment filled the air, comforting her as she stepped farther inside. A draft of cool air swept through the room, tugging at the curtains near the open door that led to the garden. The faint scent of the evening rain drifted in, mingling with the earthy scent of the wood and the faint aroma of candle wax.
She stood for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the open door, but after a long breath, Jaclyn chose to ignore it. The night was calm, and she knew everyone staying at Easton Abbey. There was no cause for concern. Someone might have gone outside to enjoy the evening storm, and it did not need further investigation. She moved farther into the library, allowing herself to relax in the familiar surroundings.
Her eyes scanned the shelves, her fingers trailing lightly over the spines of books until one caught her attention. A collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets. She had always found the works of the great playwright to be both comforting and poignant, and tonight, they would offer her some small respite from the restlessness that gripped her.
She pulled the book from the shelf and took a seat by the fire, the warmth from the flames creeping into her skin. With a small sigh, Jaclyn opened the book and began to read aloud softly to herself, her voice carrying through the quiet room. Jaclyn read over Sonnet 129 and then read the opening lines aloud.
"The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust…” Her voice was breathy as those words slid off her tongue. As she finished reading, Jaclyn paused, the weight of the words sinking in. The emotions they stirred were raw, and they seemed to mirror the turmoil swirling within her heart. The wild chase of desire, the joy turned to sorrow, and the bitter truth of how quickly pleasure could turn to regret. Her mind wandered to the secrets she kept hidden, the unspoken feelings for a certain man who was too close to ignore. A man whose presence left her questioning everything.
Jaclyn closed the book, her thoughts running rampant. She leaned back in her chair, staring into the fire as the flames danced before her. The draft at the door had picked up, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady the sudden shiver that ran through her. Perhaps the words of the sonnet rang too true tonight—too much of her spirit had been spent, too much of her heart had been given away.
With a soft sigh, Jaclyn closed her eyes, wishing the moment of uncertainty would pass, and perhaps, with the dawn, she could find the answers she so desperately sought.
“Did you have trouble sleeping?”
The sound of his voice behind her, the one man she couldn’t shake from her thoughts, sent her heart racing. She leapt to her feet and turned to meet the Duke of Amberwood’s gaze. His gray eyes almost appeared silver in the candlelight—more molten than normal. The book of sonnets slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor with a thud. “Your Grace,” she greeted him.
He shook his head. “None of that,” he told her. “I think we are beyond formalities, aren’t we?” He raised a brow. “At least I like to think so.”
“Are we?” She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “I hadn’t realized we had reached such a pinnacle.”
“We have,” he insisted. The duke strolled over to her side then leaned down to retrieve her book. He held it up to her. “Especially as we both have been in a similar turmoil.”
Jaclyn frowned. Had he heard her speak the first lines of that sonnet aloud? Surely, he hadn’t… She held in a groan. Of course he’d heard. That would be her luck. “I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning, Your Grace.”
His lips twitched. “You’re a terrible liar, Jaclyn.” He handed her the book. “Please, no more of that. I think it’s time you used my given name.”
She raised a brow. “I cannot agree to that. It would not be proper.”
“And yet I insist,” he told her. “My name is Kingston. Say it, love.”
Jaclyn shook her head. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She could not say it, even if he had dropped the formalities with her own name. Something she had not given him permission to do. But when had the duke ever done as he should? He was not the type of man that waited for a simple thing like permission to just call her Jaclyn—no lady needed. “No,” she told him. “It would only encourage bad behavior. One of us needs to remember propriety.”
