Page 159 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Jane smiled as graciously as she could. “We have only just begun learning how to be husband and wife.”

“A fair point.”

The conversation drifted onward almost immediately. Yet something had changed. Jane felt it before she even looked. She turned toward Hector. His expression remained perfectly composed.

Anyone else would have thought nothing of it, but she had come to know him. The slight tightening of his jaw. The way his fingers rested motionless against his glass. The distant look settling briefly in his gray eyes. Something about the conversation had affected him.

She wasn’t certain why. He noticed her watching. For an instant, their eyes met across the picnic blanket. His features softened almost immediately, and he offered her the smallest reassuring smile. It was enough to tell her he was all right. Not enough to convince her that nothing was wrong.

Jane returned the smile, though curiosity settled quietly beside it.

She had the distinct feeling that, beneath the bright summer afternoon and easy laughter surrounding them, Hector was carrying a thought he had no intention of sharing.

The carriage ride home was quieter than the journey to the Pratt estate had been.

Hector had remained perfectly courteous throughout the remainder of the afternoon, speaking with Ambrose about Parliament, complimenting Lady Ashcombe’s gardens, even joining one of the gentlemen for a leisurely walk around the lake. Anyone else would have declared him entirely himself.

Jane knew better.

The silence followed them through the front doors of Sunderford House. Their butler relieved Hector of his hat while another servant accepted Jane’s gloves.

“Would Your Grace care for tea?” the butler asked.

“Later,” Hector answered. He was already turning toward the staircase.

Jane watched him take several steps before speaking. “Hector?”

He paused. “Yes?”

“Would you come with me for a moment?”

He hesitated only briefly before nodding.

She led him toward the blue drawing room overlooking the gardens. The evening sun streamed through the windows, painting the walls in warm gold.

Once the door had closed behind them, she turned to face him. “What is the matter?”

His expression remained calm. “Nothing. I assure you, Jane...”

“No.” She stepped closer. “You’ve scarcely spoken since Lady Pennington mentioned children.”

A flicker crossed his face. It disappeared almost immediately. “So that is what this is about.”

She nodded gently. “Is it?”

For a long moment he said nothing. She waited. Finally, he exhaled. “I suppose.”

Relief mingled with concern. “I knew it.”

“It is hardly worth discussing.”

“It is to me. We haven’t even discussed children,” Jane said.

He looked toward the window instead of at her. “You asked whether I wanted children.”

“I did.”

“I’ve never truly considered it.”