Page 76 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

Jessamine lay alone in her bed, wishing Andrew had come to visit her again.

She had thought he might after the dinner, but after giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, he had told her to get ready for bed and that he would come up later.

So far, later had not arrived.

She was fairly certain he had not come upstairs at all; she had been listening out for his footsteps.

And so, as the clock chimed three, she clambered out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and crept out of the door. After checking on William, who was contentedly having a feed, she slipped downstairs through the darkened house. Over the weeks she’d been there, it had become so familiar to her that she could move about within the hallways and rooms without the aid of sight.

It came as no surprise to her that Andrew had closeted himself in his study. When he was missing from their life together, that was often where she saw he had gone.

Tonight, however, she intended to disturb him. Largely because he ought to have come up to bed. He’d had very little sleep the night before.

And because he’d told her later.

Later was now. Later had well and truly arrived, and she wanted her answers.

A light shone under the door, and she didn’t bother announcing herself as she pushed it open. The hinges squeaked, sending his head jerking up, and his red-rimmed eyes met hers from behind the desk. He sat in his chair, looser than he ordinarily sat—ordinarily, he moved through the world with a deadly sort of precision.

A half-empty bottle lay before him.

“Drinking?” she asked, shutting the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

A line appeared between his brows. “Why are you here?”

“You never came to bed, so I wondered where you had gone. And I discovered you were here.” She clicked her tongue. “Is something the matter?”

He stared at her as though he could not believe she was here. And so she approached, skirting the desk and placing herself in his lap. Once, she would never have dared be so bold, but things had changed between them. Perhaps not as much as Irene had wanted, but enough that they had a chance of being a real family.

Slowly, she told herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

His breath smelled of whiskey.

“What’s the matter?” she asked again, gentling the words.

He shifted, putting his arms around her. “Jessamine,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her neck. “Why are you here?” His tongue flicked across her collarbones, and despite herself, she gasped a little. “Why are you always here?” He turned his attention to the other side of her neck. “You are a torment. A delight. I have not needed anyone the way I need you.”

She dug her fingers into his hair. “Why are you drinking?”

“Sometimes… the nightmares come too fast and too strong. If I drink enough, I can outrun them for a short period of time.” He kissed his way up the column of her neck. “And you.”

“You can outrun me?”

“Sometimes I want to,” he murmured. “Do you think that’s terrible? Sometimes, you scare me so much, I wish I could hide.”

“Andrew—”

“But then I know I would never see you again, and that would be worse. So much worse.” His arm curved around her waist, holding her to him. “What am I to do with you?”

From the way he was still kissing her neck, she suspected he had some ideas.

And she wouldn’t have been against him, except for the fact she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Andrew,” she said again, cupping his face in her hands and looking down at him.

His face had softened, even his blue eyes gentler and less focused than they usually were. She traced the line of his mouth with the tip of her finger, feeling as though she were being more daring than she ever had been in her life before.

“You said you would tell me about your father and your brother.”