Page 84 of Duke of Emeralds
He took the paper and inspected it. “It’s a fine butterfly.”
Bella beamed then added a second butterfly and a third, until the page was thick with wings.
Out in the field, Hester had coaxed the horse into a slow trot, locks of her hair coming loose and streaming out behind her. She looked so happy, so alive, that Thomas could not help but smile.
He turned back to the sketch, and as he shaded the grass and sky, he found himself adding two tiny figures at the foot of the oak: a man and a child, watching, side by side.
“You’re in my picture,” he said, showing it to Bella.
She studied it then nodded. “This is us. And that’s Mama,” she added, as if proud to have been included.
Thomas let her keep the sketch, and he was about to begin a new one when he heard a yelp. His head snapped up in time to see Hester slipping off her horse. Everything around him slowed, even his heartbeat.
But then his body was propelled into action, and he was lunging across the field to her. “Hester!” He kneeled before her, gathering her into his arms.
“Thomas, I am well. I… I slipped.”
He would hear none of it as he began inspecting her for injury.
“I truly am fine,” she tried to protest. “You are fussing.”
He ignored her and scooped her up into his arm, barking orders at the footmen to pack up the picnic. He settled her into the carriage, helped Bella in, and ordered the driver to hurry them home.
“Edison, fetch the physician at once!” he ordered as he carried Hester into the house, his heart thrumming in a rhythm that both confounded and drove him.
Hester glared at him. “You are making a scene, Thomas.”
He laid her on the bed, his voice pitched low so that only she could hear as he said, “I do not care, Duchess. You will let me fuss, or I will sit and make you rest.”
She almost laughed but grimaced and touched her side. Thomas’ hand followed hers. “I knew you were hurt.”
When the doctor came, he pronounced it nothing more than a strain from her fall. “She needs rest. Water. A little laudanum if she cannot sleep,” the doctor said, packing up his case.
Thomas hovered by the door, unsure what to do with his hands.
Hester, already under the soporific influence, waved him away. “Do not look at me like that,” she mumbled. “I have survived worse than a picnic, you know.”
He sat on the bed and tried to smile. “Aye. But I haven’t. Not like this.”
Only now did he allow himself to admit that she had frightened him. She reached for his hand, and he let her have it, let her curl her slim fingers around his own.
“You are a good man, Thomas,” she whispered.
He could not speak.
After the doctor left, Thomas stood by the window of dim bedchamber, listening to the even breathing of his wife as she drifted to sleep.
You nearly lost her today. You damn fool; you nearly lost her to a horse.
Thomas pressed his forehead to the cool glass then straightened. He understood then, with a bone-deep certainty, that he was in love with Hester. Not the arrangement, not the Duchess, not the clever partner he’d admired since the first day.Her.
He could not tell her, for she would not want to know. It would ruin everything.
He turned from the window, crossed to the bed, and brushed a stray hair from her cheek. He would keep her safe as best he could, but he would keep himself safer.
Thomas vowed, then and there, to never let her see the depth of what she meant to him. Not ever.
Because the cost—if she ever turned away—would be more than he could bear.
