Page 34 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

“It is,” Jane agreed. “But the man does not have any interest in me beyond that.”

“And yet,” Lavinia said, far too casually, “he looks like a man who is personally offended by your existence in the best possible way.”

Jane shot her a look. “Lavinia…”

“What?” her friend said innocently. “I observe things.”

Jane exhaled slowly. “He is cold,” she said. “Calculating. He sees people as problems to solve.”

Lavinia tilted her head. “And yet he was perfectly civil just now. It was only a glance.”

“He is not a man worth analyzing,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.

Lavinia hummed, unconvinced. “If you say so,” she said. Then, with a lighter tone, “Still, I could introduce you properly. He is a significant improvement over Maltby.”

That name made Jane stiffen. “Absolutely not. I mean, no. I don’t need introductions. I don’t want anything fromhim.”

Lavinia studied her carefully now. “Jane,” she said slowly, “you are doing that thing where you lie badly.”

“I amnot.”

“You are.”

Jane turned slightly away, adjusting her gloves with precise care. “I havenointerest in the duke,” she said.

Behind her, somewhere across the lawn, she felt rather than saw his presence again. It was like pressure in the air. Lavinia made a sound that suggested she did not believe a single word her friend had uttered.

“Well,” she said lightly, “that is a shame. Because he appears to have at least some interest in you.”

Jane’s breath caught before she could stop it. She hated that it did. She lifted her chin.

“I’m sure he does not,” she said. But her gaze drifted back toward him anyway.

And this time, when the Duke of Sunderford looked in her direction again, Jane did not look away fast enough.

“Tell me you didn’t actually enjoy the garden party.”

Ambrose, the Marquess of Redforth, lounged back in his chair like he owned the Duke of Sunderford’s drawing room, his boots crossed at the ankle, and a glass of brandy spinning lazily between his fingers.

It’d been several hours since the Randleys’ garden party, where Hector had spotted Lady Jane.

Hector didn’t look up from his drink. “I didn’t attend for enjoyment,” he said flatly.

“That is exactly what a man says when he enjoyed it immensely and refuses to admit it,” Ambrose replied.

Hector finally shot him a look. Ambrose grinned like he’d won something.

The room was quiet otherwise, late evening settling into the edges of the windows, candles burning low, the kind of comfortable silence that only existed between people who had known each other too long to pretend.

Hector took a slow sip. Ambrose watched him for a moment, then said, “So… Lady Jane Deverell.”

Hector’s hand paused mid-motion. Ambrose’s grin widened. “Oh,” he said. “That got your attention.”

Hector set the glass down with deliberate care. “Say what you mean.”

“I am,” Ambrose said lightly. “You’ve been staring at her like a man possessed.”

Hector exhaled through his nose. “This is not abouther.”