Page 16 of Devil at the Gates
He blinked and dropped his hand from under her chin, looking away, his eyes suddenly distant. “Some days it feels like the truth.”
“It isn’t?” she asked, then immediately regretted it.
“Not in the way you probably believe.” He stepped away and began to leave. Harriet stared after him, utterly baffled. She couldn’t let him walk away with her questions unanswered, but neither could she pry directly. She decided to follow him at a discreet distance, to see if he would volunteer more information, but he never did. It was only when he stepped into the library that he spoke.
“Either come in or find your amusement elsewhere, Miss Russell. I’ll not have you stalk me like a black cat in the shadows.”
A little ruffled, she came into the library and watched him collect a few volumes of political treatises and set them on a nearby reading table, which he then sat down at. The light coming in from the windows lit his hair like flames.
“I did not take you to be an avid reader, Lord Frostmore.”
He arched a brow as she settled down across from him and stole the next book in his trio of chosen volumes.
“Given the brief duration of our acquaintance, I could say the same of you.” His tone was half-amused, half-frustrated. Harriet suspected he was not accustomed to conversation.
“Well, I do like to read.”
“And fence,” he added.
She blushed. “My father used to take me to his lessons with the young lords. I learned much. My father believed women ought to have as much physical activity as men. My mother was very healthy until…” Her breath caught in her throat, and pain tore through her. How had she so easily buried thoughts of her mother?
“What? What’s the matter?” Frostmore observed in concern.
“I…” She bit her lip and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the duke had risen from his chair and came over to kneel at her side. He offered her a handkerchief. She accepted it, feeling so very silly to cry and even sillier when she glimpsed a stag’s head crowned by briar roses embroidered on the cloth. His family crest, no doubt. The Devil of Dover had given her his personal handkerchief.
“When I left my home, my mother was dying. I think she must be gone now. She was already so close before…I had to leave. I managed not to think of it until now. And that makes me a wretched daughter.”
Frostmore watched her, his eyes suddenly warm. He reached up and covered one of her hands with his.
“You were injured and ill. Your mother wouldn’t blame you for that. Dry your eyes.” She dabbed at her tears and drew in a shaky breath, then returned the handkerchief to him. He tucked it into his trouser pocket. “Tell me, why did you leave?” Frostmore leaned back on the edge of the reading table beside her. His question caught her off guard, and she was tempted to answer openly and honestly, but she still didn’t trust to tell him the truth, at least not all of it.
“Do you know a man by the name of George Halifax? He owns Thursley Manor in Faversham.” She held her breath, waiting to see if her fears would be confirmed.
“Halifax?” He thought it over, then slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t know the man. I spend little time in Faversham, and since my wife and brother died, I haven’t been there except perhaps once or twice a year.” His face held an honesty that she decided she would try to trust. If he was lying, she was doomed, but if he wasn’t…she might find an ally.
“My mother remarried after my father died. But the man she chose was vile. That man is George Halifax. While she was healthy she kept him away from me, but when she fell ill he saw his chance, and my mother told me to flee. So I did. I left her alone with him…” She feared deep down that George may have hastened her mother’s death.
She wasn’t sure what she expected Lord Frostmore to say, but he simply picked up the book she’d been about to peruse and handed it to her.
“You did as your mother wished. You did not fail her.” Then he sat down and opened his book again. After a long moment, he spoke. “And I do like to read. It is one of the few pleasures I allow myself to indulge in.”
She’d never been one to be overly open, and it seemed Lord Frostmore was the same, yet she didn’t feel lonely sitting here with him. He knew she was in pain, both of the body and the spirit. He’d offered comfort and kind words, but he hadn’t pushed her to speak of it again. It was a relief not to be pressed about it.
They both read in silence until the shadows stretched across the library.
“You truly wish for me to stay here?” she asked.
Frostmore raised his eyes from the page. “I do. Christmas will be here soon, and the Channel will be full of icebergs. You don’t want to make the voyage, even one so short, in poor weather. Wait until spring.”
“But I only have enough money to pay for my voyage and a few days beyond. I must find work in order to pay for lodgings and food.”
The duke steepled his fingers, looking at her in silent contemplation. “Stay here until spring. You need not pay me anything.”
“Your Grace, I cannot—”
“Oh, what are you concerned about? Scandal? Who would care? No one comes on my lands. No one would know you are here. Consider my home a private refuge until you are ready to voyage in the spring.”
“May I have some time to think upon it?” she asked. He answered with a nod and then stood and left the room. This time she didn’t follow him.
