Page 112 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Colin sighed and started to stand.

Jane tightened her hold instinctively. “Careful,” she murmured, brushing hair back from his forehead. “Don’t try to move too quickly.”

He winced in pain. For a moment, confusion clouded his gaze again, as if the world refused to stay fixed in place. Then his eyes found hers. And something in his expression broke.

“I thought—” His throat worked. “I thought surely you would want nothing to do with me.”

“I will never abandon you.” Jane kept her tone steady, even as her chest tightened painfully. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to touch you. Either of you.”

Jane immediately reached for him, pulling him into her again. “You did nothing wrong,” she said firmly.

Colin shook his head against her shoulder, broken with relief and grief all at once. “You saved me,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

He pulled back slightly, looking between Jane and Hector. “Thank you,” he said, voice shaking. “Truly. But we have to find him.”

The words landed heavily. Jane’s breath caught. Colin’s gaze sharpened with renewed urgency through his exhaustion.

“I believe I might know where to find him,” Colin said, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s a place that we told no one about. A kind of safe space where we could hide out. Unless Strachan has got to him somehow, I think he might be there.”

A sound pierced the silence. Distant, but unmistakable. Footsteps. Jane stiffened. Hector’s hand moved instantly, subtly shifting between them, protective. Colin tensed.

The sound grew louder and closer. Jane’s heart dropped.

Whatever was coming was coming fast.

Chapter Sixteen

Hector moved first. Not in panic, but on instinct.

He stepped slightly in front of Jane and Colin, placing himself between them and the entrance without even thinking about it. His body had already mapped the angles: exits, cover, distance to weapons, if it came to it. The same calculations that had kept him alive for years now adjusted to protect two people far more fragile than he had felt on any battlefield.

Jane had gone still beside her brother. Colin, still unsteady, gripped her sleeve.

Then the warehouse doors banged open, and Ambrose stepped through.

Behind him came several men, broad-shouldered, efficient, unmistakably trained. Not guards. Not street muscle. Men who knew how to handle violence and how to end it quickly.

Ambrose’s gaze swept the room once, taking in the aftermath: the fallen Strachan men, the broken crates, Colin, alive, but unsteady and bleeding, Jane standing beside him.

Then his eyes landed on Hector. There was a flicker of relief in his expression, before immediate understanding.

“Well,” Ambrose said lightly, though his voice carried tension underneath it. “You’ve certainly picked the most dramatic place possible to reunite a family.”

Hector did not relax. “Ambrose.”

“Your Grace,” Ambrose replied, and then stepped further inside. Relief overrode any irritation Hector felt toward his friend.

Ambrose’s men spread out without needing instruction, checking corners, securing exits, and disarming the unconscious Strachan men. Efficient. Quiet. Controlled.

One of them tied a man’s hands behind his back and hauled him upright. Another checked pulses. Ambrose watched for a moment, then turned back to Hector.

“Got your message,” he said. “Followed quickly.”

Hector nodded once and smirked. “Good. Thanks.”

Jane stood carefully, still keeping a hand on Colin’s shoulder as if anchoring him to the world. Ambrose’s attention shifted to her. He was polite and curious, but not intrusive.