Page 32 of My Dearest Duke

“Well, I changed my mind,” she said on a peeved little huff.

Wait.

What had Vanessa said?

Brothers and sisters?

Botheration.

She couldn’t think of them like that. Far too dangerous. Attachments might be formed that would have to be broken in September. However, rather than state the obvious and risk offending her again, Kingston chose a distraction.

“I don’t recall which of my siblings you know, Vanessa.” They’d been neighbors in Canterbury for years before her mother married Patrick Elligon. He scratched his nose and, at her knowing smile, immediately stopped.

He’d been an only child for almost eight years before Madeline came along, which was why he’d become so close to Gabriel. Then, his other four siblings came into the world in rapid succession, filling the house to overflowing with laughter and love.

“Madeline and I played together, if you recall. Rebecca was a trifle too young to join in our games, though she tried.” She scrunched her nose, her eyes narrowed in reflection. “And your Mama had just delivered another girl before we left, but I confess I don’t recall her name.”

“Dorena,” Kingston supplied. “She’s sixteen.” He shook his head. “My sisters are all young ladies now.” Who’d not had any of the luxuries most gently-bred women claimed as their right. No dance lessons, finishing schools, fine gowns and slippers, assemblies, or even hair ribbons.

“And your brothers?” Vanessa asked, her interest genuine.

Kingston chuckled and uncrossed his ankles, bracing his hands on his knees. “Well, the lads, Gareth and Paxton, are every bit the precocious whelps your brother and I were.”

“I should like to meet them, Kingston. I truly would. I swear I’ll not swoon at the house’s condition. I’m not a snob.”

“I meant no offense, Vanessa. I’ve only been home once since leaving the hospital, and I—”

“Hospital?” She bolted upright. “You were in the hospital?”

Hell’s bells.

He hadn’t meant to reveal that. When she was around, his blasted tongue seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Why? Were you injured during a battle?” She peppered him with questions. “Are you completely recovered? Come to think of it, I did think you were a bit wan but presumed it was because of the distasteful task you’d set before yourself. Has the journey from London been too much of a strain?”

Kingston assuredly did not want to explain why he’d been in the hospital.

Yet, she gazed at him, expectation and concern shining in her innocent gaze.

“I was burned after an explosion.”

A deliberately set explosion. Meant to kill as many officers and soldiers as possible, but more importantly, to destroy the information Gabriel delivered to Pountney.

She fluttered her hand to the neck of her violet spencer. She fidgeted with the clasp there, face pale as milk. “Gabriel…he…he died in an explosion.”

I know, my sweet. I know.

Her eyes silently asked the question Kingston hoped never to have to answer. A mixture of pain, guilt, and regret impaled him.

“I know he did, Nessa,” he said sympathetically, forcing the words from his too-tight throat. Bile, bitter and hot, burned there as well, and he swallowed, hating himself—hating the sadness and grief in her stunning eyes that distress had darkened to liquid umber.

“Was it…?” She closed her eyes for one long blink, the slender column of her throat working convulsively. “Was it the same blast that killed him?” she asked in a tortured whisper.

“It was.” Kingston leaned forward and took her trembling hands in his. “I tried to save him. Vanessa.” Tears blurred his eyes as the memories that tormented him rose to the surface once more. “I repeatedly went into the burning building and dragged soldiers out.”

“That’s how you were injured,” she said, clinging to his fingers. “Were you burned?”

“Yes.”