Page 88 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
A shiver went through her with the acknowledgment that Avendale would be ruthless in his search. “You give him far too much credit.”
“You don’t give him enough.” He returned his attention to the portrait. It wasn’t often that she wanted to smack her brother but at that precise moment she thought he could do with a good wallop.
“You can be most irritating when you want to be,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“But you love me anyway.”
She rubbed his shoulder, forgiving him far more easily than she should. “I do, yes.”
“And you love the duke.”
Her fingers jerked, and she quickly removed her hand before he could sense her tension. “That would be a silly thing to do.”
“Why?” He’d turned completely around, his gaze on her intense.
“He could never marry me.”
“Why?”
She sighed with exasperation. “Honestly, Harry, we need to work to expand your vocabulary.”
“Is it because of the things you’ve done, the way we live?”
Reluctantly she nodded, not surprised he’d figured things out. He was so astute, observant. “I’m not a very good person, not really. A duke requires a wife who is above reproach.”
“He needs a wife who loves him.”
“I should think he won’t have any trouble finding that once he sets his mind to it.”
He wouldn’t have any trouble at all. She did hope she’d be gone by then. A small voice in the back of her mind cautioned her to be careful of what she wished for.
Chapter 17
Rose secured for us a small cottage by the sea. At night, the crashing waves would lull me to sleep. On nights when there was a full moon I would walk along the water’s edge. I wanted to wade out into the surf, but I was afraid that I might topple over and not be able to get up, that I would drown. My left side had developed more protrusions, and I’d begun to have difficulty maintaining my balance.
Although she never said anything, I think Rose knew about my midnight walks. One day, she gifted me with a walking stick of beautiful ebony with a dog’s head carved at the end. The carving reminded me of the dog I’d once owned.
Rose began to go out in the evenings. I thought perhaps she had a swain. One night as I was walking, she appeared out of the darkness and I wondered how many nights she may have been there watching me.
“Would you like to step into the sea?” she asked.
“I might fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” I was all of fifteen, still a lad but on the cusp of manhood, although not as large as I would become. She knelt down and removed my shoes. Then she took my hand, and we counted the steps as we waded into the sea.
Six. The water swirled around my ankles, and I imagined that the waves had touched distant shores, that the water was free to journey wherever it pleased. For a moment I was envious.
“We’re leaving this place,” Rose said quietly, but still I heard her over the rush of sound that belongs to the sea.
We were gone by morning.
As the faint knock of ebony on parquet and shuffling feet disturbed Avendale’s concentration, he looked up to see Harry slightly inside the library doorway. It seemed Avendale wasn’t the only one unable to sleep tonight. His conversation with Rose earlier in the day weighed heavily on his mind. Had he been unfair to his mother all these years? Was he being unfair to Rose now?
Following dinner, he’d lost himself in her for a while, but after she’d drifted off to sleep he’d come here to become lost inherpast because it was easier than dealing with his own. Or it should have been. He was discovering that hers troubled him far more than he was willing to admit. She had been strong for so long. But without meaning to, he’d taken choices away from her. He shoved himself to his feet. “Harry.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I didn’t think anyone would be here this time of night.”
It was well past midnight, the shadows hovering in corners. “Where’s Gerald?”
