The letters, the conversation with Townsend, the steward’s strange behavior of late…taken together, they left him disinclined to trust the man regardless of his father’s confidence and his own long and complicated history with him.
No, he would not be asking Anderson.
Somewhere outside, Mercy yipped. Harbury wandered over to his bedroom window. Sure enough, there she was. She had taken the little beast out to the back garden. Her white robe and nightcap fluttered behind her as she rushed to and fro, never more than a step behind the scampering pup.
He glanced up at the close-to-full moon—the hour was late. Dangerously late.
He scanned along the garden hedge for any signs she might not be alone. He spotted the form of a man holding a lantern standing in the doorway—Tull.Thank God. Strange things had been happening. Cassandra must be protected. She was important to him.
Possibly—he rested his forehead against the cool glass—even essential.
Just then, Mercy went bounding off in the garden gate’s direction. Tull and Cassandra sprinted into motion at the same time. Mercy, however, interpreted their actions as a game—when either got too close, he darted in the other’s direction.
Harbury’s tension eased, and he chuckled softly. Wherever the dog had come from, the pup made Cassandra happy. From first sight, she’d adored the little terror.
So why had his initial response been to insist the pup be taken to the stables?
Below him, Mercy attempted to scoot between Tull’s legs. The footman scooped up the dog. Mercy’s tiny legs continued to pump as if he could propel himself through the air. Harbury frowned. The sight sparked a hazy memory—spotted legs and a rapidly wafting tail dangling from the grasp of another footman. In memory, he lunged toward an ominously closing door.
What did I tell you, Edward?His father’s voice.
Tears—then and now—pricked behind Harbury’s eyes.I’m not to bring filthy creatures into your house.Next, his father’s desk drawer had squeaked. Out had come the lash. Harbury’s recollection vanished. Beatings themselves all bled together.
His father had drilled into him not to show any response many times. Still, he’d never considered his father a cruel man. Not as cruel as Adrian’s father had been, anyway. Harbury knew his nature had alarmed the prior duke, giving rise in the man to an increasingly desperate need to instill his values, his methods, his idea of manhood into his son by whatever means necessary.
Harbury searched the garden below for the soothing sight of his wife.
Outside, Cassandra collected Mercy from Tull and then stopped to exchange a word. Together, they laughed, each of them shaking their heads in exasperation. Then Tull bowed respectfully.
An instinctive pull, a longing to safeguard what was precious to him left him feeling both vulnerable and yet thoroughly, heart-poundingly alert. The emotions surging through his blood were indescribable. The sting in his eyes, acute.
Oh, God.
He stepped back from the glass and pressed the base of his palms against his eyes. What was happening?
Pull yourself together.
He stiffened his spine and inhaled. One simply could not feel both brimming with hope and, at the same time, threatened by a yawning emptiness.
Not unless…
Had her gentleness left him undone? Had he succumbed to everything his father repeatedly warned him would lead to his ruin?
Panic returned—this time, with sharper teeth.
Mawkish, his father had called him. Thin-skinned. Far too easily bruised.
Overstated, perhaps, but still, a gentleman’s sentiments should never be out of his control,especiallywhen he had something so vitally important to protect.
Through the doorway between their apartments, he saw her enter her own chamber, puppy in arms. As soon as Mercy caught sight of him, he began to squirm.
“You’re awake,” she observed.
“So is he.”
“He was a very good boy.” She admired the puppy with a small, downward smile. “Weren’t you, Mercy?” She tickled Mercy beneath his chin. “Yes, you were.”
Harbury took an involuntary step toward them both.
