“Mother insisted I learn, and I loved it. I often danced with her, especially after my father died. My parents met at a ball. Dancing was special to her. She missed my father very much, and I did what I could to cheer her up. Although I now realise, I didn’t do enough. My obsession with botany came before everything else. Even her.” The smile disappeared as he stopped dancing.
“You’re being too harsh on yourself. We all have obsessions when young.” She didn’t step away from him, enjoying the comfort of his strong arms.
“I’m ready. I’d like to see her grave.” He frowned. “Something I should have done earlier. Would you come with me?”
“I’d be delighted.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He stroked her waist with gentle fingers, and she couldn’t suppress a delightful shiver.
“I want to be with you when you visit her.” Besides, it wasn’t going to be easy for him. “Let’s go.”
During the short trip to Grosvenor Place, Hector remained still. He hadn’t fiddled with his cravat or shuffled his feet. She wondered if the fabric of his shirt or the shoes had stopped bothering him, or if he was too upset to fidget.
“Are you nervous?” She slid her hands in her velvet warmer as a chill sneaked inside the carriage.
“I feel that I disappointed my mother.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “She’s dead, but I can sense her disappointment. It doesn’t make any sense, I guess.”
“Quite the opposite, but I’m sure she would never be disappointed in you.”
“Robert died to rescue me, she’s buried in common ground, and on top of that, I haven’t made amends to you.” He hung his head and twirled the bunch of flowers he’d bought for his mother. “Plenty of reasons to be disappointed.”
“Oh, Hector.” She pulled her hand out of the muff and closed it around his. “You do worry too much. You’re working hard to become a duke. No one could be disappointed in you.”
“Your hand is cold.” He took her hand between his, and, good Lord, began to rub it with gentle fingers.
She hitched a breath. His warmth heated her from her fingertips to her toes as he rubbed her knuckles gently and pressed his thumbs against her palm. Oh, she grew warmer. No doubt about it. She felt his touch throughout her body as her temperature rose. The rough spots on the pads of his fingers added a touch of illicit pleasure going straight between her legs. She wondered how those rough hands would feel on other, more sensitive parts of her body.
He paused. “Am I being rude or inappropriate again?”
“No.” The answer came out quickly. But perhaps she had something to learn from his candid sincerity. He deserved to receive the same honesty. “I enjoy it.”
His whole face brightened with boyish happiness. “I shall do it more often then.” He placed her hand over his chest, right where his heart thumped a steady beat. “You’re my angel, Maddie.”
No one had ever called her an angel before. Besides, she was no angel. But that wasn’t the reason why her face warmed. As usual, he spoke with disarming frankness, something difficult to come by in modern society. His simple compliment struck a chord within her, threatening to reduce her to tears.
When he’d told her she was a great artist with his usual passionate honesty, she’d wanted to weep. She hadn’t realised how important his spontaneous support was until he’d offered it to her so freely. Her dream had been buried deep in her soul for years, under layers of cowardice and doubts. But now she wondered if she could realise it with his help. Not economical help, but emotional.
“Why do you say I’m your angel?” Her voice broke with emotion. “I didn’t do anything special.”
“You did everything. You accepted me even when I was wild.” He kissed her hand, and even through her glove, his passion reached her heart. “Not to mention you found me.”
“It was luck.”
“It was fate.” He kissed her fingers, sending her pulse into a frenzy.
The carriage rolled to a stop, breaking the moment between them. The happy light brightening his face dimmed the moment he stared at the gloomy wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. From the outside, the place looked like any other cemetery, but at a closer inspection, it lacked any floral decorations. There were no wooden benches where one could sit in front of the grave of a loved one, or crypts. No flowerbeds, mown grass, or neatly arranged trees. Just plain stones and dirt. Those souls were alone, forgotten and unwanted. The air itself pulsed with despair.
Hector’s Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow before he stepped into the desolate cemetery. He kept holding her hand as they walked along the gravel path weaving across the cemetery. The further they advanced, the more he tensed with shadows darkening his expression. They walked past tombs so old the names had faded into oblivion.
Lady Wentworth’s grave was a simple grey stone. No statues of angels or crosses adorned it. Her title wasn’t even stated. All the graves in the communal cemetery were as anonymous as possible with barely the name of the person buried in that spot.
Hector gently placed the flowers on the grave. “She should rest next to Robert and my father. Not here. Alone. In this sad place.”
“Once you’re the Duke of Blackburn, you can move her to your family crypt.” She regretted her words. He didn’t need more pressure about becoming the duke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to sound commanding.”
The ghost of a smile graced his sculpted lips. “Now you worry too much.”
She helped him remove the grass and cleavers clinging to the stone. With each layer of weeds removed, Hector tensed further.
