Page 70 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

“It is the only one I have left.”

Ambrose studied him for a long time. Then he sighed. “You are a very stubborn man,” he said.

“I am efficient.”

“You are exhausting.”

Hector almost smiled. It didn’t quite happen. He could not let himself feel anything at the moment.

Ambrose raised his glass slightly. “Fine,” he said. “No more teasing about Lady Jane.”

Hector gave him a sharp look.

Ambrose grinned. “For now.”

Hector turned away again. But as he did, one thought remained, quiet, unwelcome, persistent.

Jane’s face, turning toward him in that alley. Her lips, slightly parted. Her breathing, heavier than normal, caused her chest to heave in the most fetching way. Warmth spread through Hector at the memory. He had to work with all of his self-control to calm himself down again.

Chapter Nine

The musicale was already in full swing when Jane arrived with her mother. The soft swell of a string quartet drifted through the gilded hall like something carefully arranged to sound effortless.

Nothing about it felt effortless to Jane.

Her mother leaned lightly on her arm as they stepped inside, composed in appearance only. The last weeks had taken their toll, but Lady Wynten held her chin high anyway, as though sheer posture alone might convince the world that nothing in their life had been altered.

Jane envied that kind of certainty.

“Stay close,” her mother murmured as they moved forward.

“I am,” Jane replied softly.

What she did not say was that she did not feel particularly welcome anywhere in the room. Whispers followed them almost immediately. Jane felt them like a change in air pressure more than sound.

“Lady Wynten,” Lady Harrington said too brightly. “How…unexpected.” She paused briefly as though considering what else to say. “After… everything.”

Jane kept her expression smooth. The orchestra reached a higher phrase. Laughter fluttered somewhere near the refreshments. She knew what people were saying. She did not need to hear their words clearly to understand.

Scandalous gossip, wrapped neatly in silk gloves and lace sleeves.

Her mother squeezed her arm gently, as if in warning not to react. Jane did not.

A few moments later, a footman directed them toward a row of seating near the side of the hall, where Lavinia had promised to meet them later. Jane had barely reached the chairs before she felt it: the familiar tightening in her chest that meant she would have to do what she had promised herself.

Be practical. Be visible. Be acceptable. Find a husband.

It still felt like a performance for which she did not know the steps.

“Jane.”

A familiar voice cut through the room. Lavinia appeared as though she had been waiting for precisely that moment, dressed in pale green silk that made her look entirely untouched by scandal or anxiety.

Jane’s shoulders loosened in relief before she even realized they had been horribly tense.

“Lavinia,” she said, grateful despite herself.

Her mother smiled faintly. “Lady Lavinia.”