Page 8 of A Troublesome Circumstance

He gave a short, unreadable laugh. “Yes. Generous.”

She turned her head towards the firelight and saw his profile, all shadow and quiet strength. “You seem rather young to be a gamekeeper.”

He huffed. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

“I’m trying,” she said, smiling faintly. “Sleep just… eludes me.”

After a moment, he asked, “How does a young lady from high Society end up stumbling to my door in the middle of the night?”

She stiffened again. “Who says I’m from high Society?”

He arched a brow. “Your gown—though torn and muddied—is made of the finest muslin. And your speech, your manners… they give you away. That, and the fact your father called a duke his friend.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

His expression softened instantly. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to understand.”

“It is I who should apologize,” she said. “I’ve imposed on your kindness. It’s only… I don’t know if someone will come looking for me, and that frightens me.”

“Is this man your husband?”

“Heavens, no,” she replied, a bitter laugh catching in her throat. “But he wants to be.”

“Then whoever he is, I hope he never finds you.”

For the first time since her abduction, Josephine felt the sting of tears. She looked away, blinking them back. “So do I.”

“Will no one else come looking for you?” he asked.

Josephine’s gaze dropped to her hands where she twisted the corner of the blanket between her fingers. “I doubt they would know where to start looking,” she admitted. “But yes… I am certain my mother and brother are searching for me.”

“Are you close with them?”

“I adore my mother. But my brother, Alexander…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “We used to be very close, when we were children. Since he has inherited the estate, he has grown… distant. Everything he does now seems to revolve around ledgers and Parliament.”

Jude leaned closer to the hearth, the glow of the fire casting his face in warm, shifting light. “It is a great responsibility,” he said, “to have so many people depend upon you.”

“I know,” Josephine replied. “But I can hardly remember the last time I saw him smile. He used to laugh so easily, and now—” Her voice caught. “Now he seems burdened by every breath. I wish I could help him, but he will not let me.”

The room fell quiet except for the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. Then without warning, a loud bang echoed from outside.

Josephine jumped, clutching the quilt to her chest. “What was that?”

Jude straightened immediately, his eyes flicking towards the door. “I forgot to close the stable door when I carried you in earlier.” He rose, crossed the room to a small table and opened a wooden box that sat atop it. Inside gleamed the dull shine of metal.

Her pulse quickened as he lifted a pistol.

“It’s better to be prepared,” he said calmly, checking the weapon with practiced ease. “In case I run across any wild animals.”

“What about your rifle?”

“In the stable,” he replied, tucking the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. Then he reached again into the box and drew out a much smaller weapon—sleek, with delicate engraving along the barrel. He held it up. “This was my mother’s muff pistol.”

The flickering firelight glinted along the silver finish, and Josephine murmured, “It’s beautiful.”

He stepped closer to the bed, extending it towards her. “You should hold on to this,” he encouraged. “At least until you leave. Just as a precaution—nothing more.”

For a moment, she only stared at it. No man had ever handed her a weapon before. It felt like an extraordinary act of trust. She reached out slowly, her fingertips brushing his as she took it. “Thank you,” she acknowledged.