Page 65 of Duke of Moonstone
Alexander did not look away from Frances.
This is what having a real family might feel like.
CHAPTER 24
“‘And so the knight set down his sword upon the stone and declared that he would go no further without her.’”
Frances turned the page. The library was quiet around them with the fire low in the grate and candles on the side table casting warm pools of light across the carpet where Emily lay on her stomach with a book open before her. She was not actually reading it; she had abandoned it ten minutes earlier in favor of listening, her chin propped on her fists, her stockinged feet crossed in the air behind her.
“Did he mean it?” Emily asked. “About not going further?”
“He did. He loved her, and he could not imagine the journey without her beside him.”
“That is very romantic.”
“It is rather romantic, is it not?”
Emily turned onto her back and stared up at the ceiling with the dreamy expression of a child who was imagining castles and swords and declarations made on stones. “Will you read the next part?”
Frances smiled and found her place on the page. “‘The lady regarded him with eyes that held both caution and hope, for she had learned that promises were easily made and less easily?—’”
She noticed a movement at the edge of her vision and looked up.
Alexander stood in the doorway.
He was still dressed in his evening attire—dark coat, a neatly tied cravat, and waistcoat buttoned—yet there was a noticeable change in his posture compared to his usual arrivals. He was not striding purposefully nor conducting an inspection. Instead, he stood quietly, one hand leaning against the doorframe, observing them.
Emily rolled over immediately. “Come in! We are reading about a knight.”
Frances’ pulse gave a single, sharp beat. She glanced at Alexander then back to the page then up again. “Yes—please, do join us. If you wish.”
The pause that followed lasted no more than two or three seconds. But Frances felt every one of them. He was looking at the scene before him—the child on the rug, the book in Frances’ lap, the fire, the candles, the particular warmth of a room that had been occupied for some time by two people who were comfortable in it—and something moved across his face that she could not quite name.
Then he stepped inside.
He crossed the room with his usual measured stride but slower than usual, as though the distance between the door and the settee required more navigation than it ought to. He sat beside her.
Frances looked down at the book.
Keep reading. Just keep reading.
“‘The lady regarded him with eyes that held both caution and hope,’” she began again and was pleased to find her voice steady, “‘for she had learned that promises were easily made and less easily kept. But the knight did not look away. He held her gaze as one holds a flame—carefully and with the knowledge that it might burn.’”
Emily sighed. “I like him.”
“The knight?”
“He is brave.”
“He is,” Frances agreed. She could feel Alexander’s shoulder, not quite touching hers. The space between them was perhaps two inches. She was aware of those two inches with a specificity that bordered on the absurd. Two inches of air that was warmer than the air on her other side.
She turned the page.
Her elbow lightly brushed his arm. The contact was brief—fabric against fabric with the slightest pressure—and she immediately pulled back, drawing her arm close to her body. Her eyes remained on the page. The words blurred for a moment before becoming clear again.
It is a settee. People sit on settees. Arms brush. It means nothing.
“Frances?” Emily had rolled onto her stomach again. “What does ‘countenance’ mean?”
