Page 8 of Never Love a Duke

“They’re gone.” His whisper caressed her ear in a one-sided fashion, unlike the two-sided caging in his elbows provided against her arms.

She didn’t want to move. It was selfish. Unrealistic. A complete fantasy based on an ideal person that she once thought existed. That she had really met her true love match one magical night under the fireworks. What a fool she’d been. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish her current hold on it.

“No harm has been done.” His whisper, meant to soothe, pricked at her heart. Then at her eyes.

No harm? If only he knew. She had spent the better part of two years healing herself from the harm that hadn’t been done. That a single moment had such an unbearable impact on her proved mortifying. Because she knew she was alone in her feelings.

“That’s…” She couldn’t even bring herself to finish her thought. Not one to be overwhelmed by feelings, she was unaccustomed to the rawness left in their onslaught. Instead, a small whimper escaped her lips.

If only she could take that sound back because the second it left her lips, he had pushed off of her, in search of her pain.

“Is it your ankle?” His hands slipped to her foot, encircling the forgotten but relevant pain.

How she managed to say, “Yes,” was beyond her.

And then she closed her eyes. Because really, what else could she do as his warmth seeped in through her stocking.

“You shouldn’t have been on your feet this afternoon. You may have done more damage.”

“Why do you care?” she blurted out, arm over her eyes now. Never had she been so dramatic in her life.

His silence only drilled into her how cold and aloof he could be, which was in extreme contrast to the heat of his hands.

Drat. This man was confusing. Hot. Cold. Distant. Caring. Her direct and instant source of pain, yet a shelter. This wasn’t right.

“I’m fine,” she said, tugging her foot out of his grip. And she was. Or she would be. Whichever came first, but it would come. He would not get the best of her. Never.

Chapter 6

“Gabriel,” Tristan greeted him with a hearty slap on the back, “good to see you.” Alex nodded his salutation over the heaping pile of eggs in front of him. “Didn’t expect you here. What brings you to Kisswick?”

“Just a matter of business,” Gabriel answered.

“An evasive answer if I ever heard one, wouldn’t you agree?” Tristan canted his head toward Alex anticipating an answer but only watched Alex shovel more food in his face. Onward, Tristan persisted. “Does Damien know you’re here? Want to get in on the gold business?”

No one knew why Gabriel was here, and he certainly hadn’t meant to show up right in the middle of an explosion. He had really hoped to quietly conduct his business and escape with no one being the wiser. Sadly, everyone was the wiser. The cover of the gold business was as good as any.

“Why not?” he shrugged noncommittally. “Every other duke I know wants to invest.”

Tristan belted out a laugh. “You’re right. Even the good dukes of Wellingford and Somersby stopped by to get involved. Hell, the Ashbournes paid us a visit as well, offering their expertise in the area of safety. I’m happy to say we haven’t had any incidents.”

“Minus the abduction,” Alex interrupted gruffly.

“Hey now, that didn’t occur in our camps,” Tristan defended.

But Alex was not appeased. “Timothy was hired by us and then he abducted Violet. I’d say that’s an incident.”

Gabriel could see this conversation held the potential to get heated, so he stepped in. “What caused the explosion?”

Forfeiting the previous line of discourse, Tristan replied, “Not sure. And Mr. Linton’s not saying a word. It’s quite peculiar.”

“Not as peculiar as Violet being abducted,” Alex hadn’t dropped his hold on the conversation, and Gabriel took that moment to make his exit.

If Mr. Linton wasn’t talking, he wanted to know why. It only took a few inquiries, but eventually he located where the old man was recuperating. And right there beside him, of course, was Mirabelle.

“Now, Mr. Linton, you must eat something,” she coaxed gently with a voice Gabriel noticed she had never used on him.

Mr. Linton’s head was turned, staring blankly out the window, arms limp at his side. Pale as the sheets, his skin looked weathered in layers.