“Father, please. No!”
Blake woke up with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. His fists were raised, as though to fight off an assailant. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand through his hair.
“He cannot hurt me. He is dead. It is only a dream.” He glanced out the window. The first light of dawn shone through. “A ride, that is what I need. A distraction.”
He slipped into his riding clothes and then made his way to the stables. He could still hear his father’s voice in his head. Absently, he ran a hand over his arm, feeling bruises that had long since faded. He shook.
“He is d-d-dead.” Blake felt anger and frustration rise within him and forced himself to take a deep breath. “He is dead.”
He gritted his teeth as he remembered how hard he had to work to overcome his stammer. How desperate he had been to earn his father’s approval or even a kind word.
All that pain, only to discover it was meaningless. I wasted so much of my life, and for what?
“I will not think of him. He cannot hurt me anymore,” Blake muttered to himself. “He is nothing more than bones. He cannot hurt me, but I can hurt him.”
“I will never marry,” he whispered. “Your name, your legacy, they will die with me.”
The wind rustled his hair, and he remembered the pained sound his father had made when he had made his vow to him all those years ago. A grim stab of satisfaction shot through him—let him feel the pain.
“Are you talking to yourself?” a voice suddenly asked, startling Blake.
He whirled around and found himself face-to-face with Jane, who was also dressed in riding clothes. “Do you make a habit of creeping up on men in the small hours of the morning?”
“Only the ones who are so self-absorbed that they wouldn’t notice if an elephant was approaching.” Jane rolled her eyes at him.
It had been several days since their fencing match, and though they had seen each other in passing, exchanging the occasional barb, this was the first time they had met properly.
“You move rather more quietly than an elephant,” Blake pointed out as they began to walk towards the stables.
“I would hope so, I am considerably smaller.” Jane raised an eyebrow at him.
“Though no less ferocious,” Blake teased.
“Are elephants ferocious?” Jane canted her head, frowning as though trying to recall something.
Blake shrugged. “They can be when provoked.”
“Then I shall take that as a compliment, for it implies that my ferocity is earned.” Jane laughed softly.
“Of course, you will.” Blake rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t resist adding, “I thought modesty was supposed to be a virtue.”
“It is.” Jane gave him a sidelong look before adding, “Though I see no reason to be modest around you.”
“Do you not?” He raised an eyebrow. “You seem rather overdressed for immodesty.”
“There is a difference between being indecent and immodest.” Jane blushed. “Though it should be no surprise that you do not know the difference.”
“Though it is surprising that you do not feel the need to be modest around me, I suspect your mother will be rather disheartened at my wanton influence on her daughter.” Blake kept his voice light and teasing.
To his surprise, Jane laughed. “If it was your influence that caused this, then yes, I suspect she would be. But worry not, my demeanor has very little to do with you making me stray.”
“Is it not?” Blake let the challenge seep into his voice, his tone silky and smooth.
“It is not. It is simply that I do not need to impress you. Besides, you are hardly the paragon of virtue.” Jane shrugged.
“Indeed not, and I should hope that I never will be. It seems frightfully boring.” He laughed softly.
“Do you get bored easily, dear Duke?” Jane asked.
