Page 63 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"Pardon?"

"My…" He gestured vaguely with his hands while reaching for the right words. "The way I am."

"On the contrary!" She half turned so she could face him. "It's truly admirable how devoted you are to those you care about. I admire it greatly."

His eyes met hers and though his lips twitched with mirth, she caught a very sincere curiosity in his gaze. "Then why do I feel as though there is a 'but' coming."

She laughed because…yes. She did admire him greatly. But— "I just wonder if you're so focused on your duty to others, that perhaps…" She lifted one shoulder. "Perhaps you forget your duty to yourself."

He stopped short, his brows arching. "My duty to myself?"

He didn't seem horrified so much as…startled. Like with the talk of her father, it seemed the idea that perhaps he owed himself something was a wild notion he could hardly fathom.

Her gaze moved over his face as she took in his surprise, and she couldn't help but laugh. "It's not so shocking as all that, John."

John. Drat. She'd gone and used his first name again. It had a tendency to slip out when she forgot herself.

She turned so they were facing one another on the path. "I just wonder if you ever ask yourself…" She met his eyes. "What do you want, John?"

The question came out before she had quite decided to ask it. She felt it land between them and considered, briefly, whether she could take it back.

But she found she could not. Her tongue felt too heavy and the air between them far too thick as their gazes locked and held.

She couldn't look away, let alone speak.

It was the intensity in his eyes that held her captive. That fire she saw burning there, beneath the calm and the caring. A fire that seemed to spark only when they were close like this.

"What do I want," he repeated.

It wasn't a question.

She nodded, unable to do anything else. The urgency she felt to hear his answer was completely out of proportion. It felt like her very future hung in the balance. And…

Maybe it does.

The voice was quiet but insistent.

What if you do have a future?

What would that mean? Not just for her, but for him?

Her mouth grew dry. Was she the only one who'd imagined what it might be like if she was free? If this was real?

She bit her lip to keep from blurting out something stupid. A plea, perhaps. Or another improper question.

He was quiet for so long she thought she might go mad. But then⁠—

"I don't often go after what I want." His voice had dropped, and it was so low, so gruff, she could have sworn she felt the vibration of it run through her.

He took a step closer. "I've only really done it once."

His eyes dropped to her mouth.

She felt the blush rise before she could stop it, hot and immediate and so unlike her that she nearly put a hand to her own cheek.

She knew what he meant. She knew exactly what he meant, and the knowing sent a current through her that was half thrill and half terror.

The rain clouds that had been slowly creeping in let loose all at once. Not a gentle English drizzle but a proper downpour, the kind that soaked through fabric in seconds.