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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stephen was pacing. He rarely did that, usually because he’d seen his father do it countless times and, when he was younger, he’d wished to be nothing like him. So, he’d tried his best to curb that habit they shared, and only came about whenever he was particularly distraught.
He‘d gone back to find the piece of paper.
Right now, it was sitting on his desk, Lady Belle’s beautiful face staring up at the ceiling. He would pace over to the desk, stare down at it and then whirl away angrily. He’d stalk to the door, then rethink his idea of going straight to her to demand the truth and then walk away instead.
He had been repeating that cycle for quite some time now and, as the day slipped into evening, Stephen was no closer to calming himself down.
I cannot be her. And yet it is. Hannah Brown is Lady Belle Sinclair. How could I have been so foolish?
The signs had all been there. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke. Everything about her screamed that she was a lady, that she had been born with a golden spoon in her mouth. He had only been too foolish to consider that she might not be who she said was. He had been too infatuated with her to think straight.
And look what it caused me.
Only a short while ago, the butler had come to him relaying the Dowager Duchess’ question of whether he would have dinner with her. He’d turned him away and now, even as his stomach growled, he had no appetite. He once again went over to the desk and picked up the paper, staring at Lady Belle.
He would have spotted her instantly at a ball. Dressed in an elegant gown with her hair piled atop her head, he would not have been able to take his eyes off her. He would have asked her to dance and then when he engaged her in conversation, he would have fallen even deeper for her.
And there would be no lies between them, no betrayal. No heartbreak.
Stephen wished he hadn’t met Hannah Brown at all. He wished he had met Lady Belle instead, wished he had the chance to fall in love with her without being a part of a situation that ended with him being hurt.
The knock at the door drew him from his thoughts. He let the paper fall, then, after a moment, he stuck it under a book on his desk. “You may enter,” he called, leaning on the desk as he awaited the newcomer.
Stephen was surprised to see Robert enter. The other man ran his gaze around Stephen’s study, the sides of his lips turned down in appreciation. “It is one thing to know that you are the Duke of Dunleer and something else entirely to see it with my own eyes.”
“Our time in the army really brought down the barriers between us,” Stephen said. “I am not surprised at your shock. Would you like a drink?”
Robert hesitated at the door. “Yes, why not? I suppose a drink will make this entire ordeal much easier to deal with.”
Stephen made his way over to the bar and poured them both a glass of neat whiskey, just how he knew Robert liked it. He turned back around to see that the man was still hovering by the door. “You may have a seat, if you wish,” Stephen said.
“Ah, yes.” With oddly nervous movements, Robert chose to sit in one of the armchairs and accepted the drink Stephen handed to him. “Forgive me, Your Grace. It is not my first time being in a manor. Many of my patients are people of the nobility. I’ve gotten so used to seeing you like one of my own that the reminder that you aren’t has taken me aback.”
Stephen chuckled. “I never thought I would see the day you feel anxious about anything. You’ve always been quite confident.”
“It makes little sense not to be,” Robert said with a shrug. “Having confidence has made me the man I am today. I would not have Anne if not for that, even if it had been overstated at the time.”
“Wise words, Robert. So,” Stephen leaned back and put his leg perpendicular to the other, “what brings you to my study today?”
“Ah, yes.” Robert cleared his throat. “It is about Hannah.”
Anger, sure and quick, rushed through him so quickly, that he nearly squeezed the glass in his hand into shatters. He tried to rein it in, lest he take it out on the man before him. “Lady Belle, you mean?”
Robert’s eyes went wide. “You know who she is?”
Without a word, Stephen got to his feet and went over to his desk. He pulled the piece of paper out from under the book and, without looking at it, brought it over to Robert as he reclaimed his seat. Robert took it with a deep frown. “Ah,” he said, nodding his head understandingly, “I see.”
“She lied, Robert,” Stephen hissed. To be safe, he set his drink down, gripping the armrests instead. “She told me her name was Hannah Brown, a commoner who ran away from her employer. Everything she said to me was a lie from the very start!”
“Well, hold on now.” Robert held out his hand, taking a deep breath as if that would calm them both. “Before you get riled up, Stephen, let me get to why I’m here. Perhaps you will think differently after you hear it.”’
“I doubt I will,” Stephen grumbled, but Robert was already moving on.
“She has been taken.”
Stephen sat upright. “Taken? By whom?”
