Page 30 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

“I see.”

“You see.” Alice heard the brittleness in her own voice and could not soften it. “Is that all you have to say? My sister is missing. My father has given up. And you… Please don’t tell me you’ve given up, too.”

That drew his attention. His head snapped up.

“I have men making inquiries.” His voice was level. “The runner reports weekly. Thus far, nothing of substance has emerged. Your sister appears to have vanished with a thoroughness that suggests planning rather than impulse. Which means she is likely safe, wherever she is. She took her time. She prepared.”

Alice swallowed down the sudden prickle of hurt in her throat. It wasn’t just Rachel’s absence that made her chest ache. It was the formal tone Kenneth was using with her.

“You speak of her as though she were an estate problem to be solved,” she said softly, keeping the sharp edge out of her voice. “Or perhaps a task you are waiting to cross off a list so you can return to your routine.”

Kenneth’s hand paused over the paper. He set his pen down, the quiet click echoing in the stillness of the study.

“That is unfair, Alice.”

“Is it?” She took another small step forward, her eyes searching his. “Since the night in the parlor, you have barely looked at me, Kenneth. Whenever I enter a room, you find a reason to leave it. If you regret what happened between us, I would rather you tell me, instead of hiding behind reports and duty.”

Kenneth stared at her, a flicker of something raw and unreadable breaking through his composure. He rose slowly from his desk, his broad shoulders blocking out the firelight behind him.

“Regret?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

Kenneth walked around the desk, stopping just a pace away from her. Up close, she could see the faint shadows of exhaustion under his dark eyes, the rigid posture of a man constantly holding himself together.

“I stepped back, Alice, because…” he trailed off, each word low, guarded, and painfully deliberate. He reached out, his hand hovering in the air for a fraction of a second, before his fingers lightly brushed against the sleeve of her gown. “Because I learned a long time ago that the moment you let down your guard and allow yourself to care, things break. Life takes them from you, and no amount of effort or duty can fix it.”

Alice stared up at him. She didn’t know the full story behind the shadow in his eyes, but she could feel the weight of old, unspoken grief in his voice.

“You think if you… grow closer to me, something will break?” she whispered.

“I think,” Kenneth murmured, his gaze dipping to her lips before rising back to hold hers, “that you are dangerously easy to want, Alice. And every instinct I have tells me to retreat before I lose my footing.”

He took the final step, closing the distance between them. The heat radiating from his chest seeped through her gown, and her hand came up instinctively, her palm resting against his waistcoat.

“I don’t want you to retreat, Kenneth,” she said quietly.

Kenneth’s breath caught. His hand slid up her arm to the side of her neck, his thumb resting against her rapid pulse.

“Alice,” he breathed, his voice laced with quiet defeat.

He bent his head, his lips hovering mere inches from hers. Alice tilted her chin up, her fingers threading into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to bridge the tiny gap between them.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

The footman stood in the doorway, his face a study in mortification that would have been comical under different circumstances.

“Your Graces, forgive the intrusion, but… it’s the young masters. They’ve… That is to say, Lord Frederick has…”

“What is it?” Kenneth’s voice was rough, his composure reassembling itself with the visible effort of a man forcing order onto chaos.

“The pond, Your Grace. Lord Frederick was attempting to sail one of the boats, and Lord Charles attempted to dissuade him, and there was… an altercation. Both of them are in the water. Well, not anymore, because we pulled them out. They are safe and unharmed,” the footman added hastily upon seeing the color drain from Kenneth’s face. “But they are soaked, and the head gardener is rather distressed about the water lilies.”

Kenneth closed his eyes. For one moment, Alice thought she saw laughter threatening the corners of his mouth, though it was gone before she could be certain.

“We’ll come,” she said, before he could speak.

She smoothed her skirts with hands that were not entirely steady, avoided his eyes, and moved toward the door.