Page 62 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

Her head snapped up, and she stared at him in a daze. “Andrew.”

Her skin was pale, and her eyes were heavy with fatigue, all their dancing amber tones swallowed in weary brown. He wanted to bring her into his arms and hold her, as though that might protect her from her own thoughts.

Not that it would do her any good.

“Enough is enough,” he said. “We have plans tonight.”

“I accepted no plans,” she said.

“That’s because I made them on behalf of us both.” He gently pried William from her hands and handed him over to Lucy. “You need a break, Jessamine.”

“I need⁠—”

“You need to get out of this room.”

“Not a ball,” she begged, resisting him as he took her hand and all but dragged her out of the room. “I don’t have a ball in me, Andrew. Not dancing and seeing the world. I can’t⁠—”

“I know,” he told her, keeping his voice gentle. “I have something entirely different in mind. Do you trust me?”

She blinked up at him. “What sort of question is that?”

“Change into something that doesn’t smell of stale milk.” He gently urged her into her bedchamber, where he had already summoned her maid to attend her. “It doesn’t have to be a ballgown.”

“Andrew—”

“I know it’s not what you want, but this is what you need. And if you don’t trust me, then I will have to insist you listen to the wisdom of your husband.”

“Oh.” She glanced behind her, and the ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “It’s like that, is it?”

“It is,” he said firmly.

“What can I say to that?” She closed the door in his face, and he paced impatiently outside.

If she fell asleep now, there was little he could do, but remaining in the house—ready to be woken by William’s every cry—was not conducive to relaxing.

What she needed was to be amongst her friends.

What better way than at the Minerva Club?

If it hadn’t been for Rebecca, he would never have known about its existence, and while he didn’t know precisely how he felt about it, he did know it had been a place of refuge for Jessamine before she had taken on the burden of raising another woman’s child.

When eventually she reappeared, he felt as though his nerves had been strung tight. He took her hand and led her down the stairs to where a carriage awaited them. She gripped his hand with surprising strength, and didn’t let go even once they were inside the carriage.

“Tell me where we’re going,” she said, gazing up at him.

He cleared his throat, surprisingly moved by her plea. “It’s a surprise.”

“I truly am all right.” She placed her other hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know I probably alarmed you when I woke up from my nightmare, but⁠—”

“You screamed.” He couldn’t prevent the bluntness of the words from searing the air. Every time he thought about that scream, the way it had left her mouth, so ragged and raw, it made his heart—his entire chest—plummet. “You kept screaming, and I couldn’t wake you up. You said you had lost him.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“Don’t apologize for something like that.” He leaned forward, adjusting their grip so he now held her hand between his. “But you must know that when I hear my wife scream, I will always come to help.”

Her mouth softened. She opened and closed it a few times, as though searching for the right words to say and failing. If only he could see inside her head to know her thoughts—she was so sparing with her words, but he could see her thoughts racing.

He was just as guilty of that as she. He wanted her, but couldn’t tell her. He felt guilty for the way he had forced her into this marriage, even if it was the best solution for them both, and he wished—more than anything—that he could release her into the world so she could find some happiness in it. The life he had provided for them both was not good enough for her.