Page 68 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Ambrose let out a low whistle. “You are getting personally involved.”

Hector shot him a warning look. “This is about my brother. It has nothing to do with Lady Jane.”

Ambrose held up a hand. “I’m not judging. Just observing. Dangerous territory for a man like you.”

Hector’s voice was quiet. “This is not personal.”

Ambrose raised a brow. Hector did not elaborate because he could not. Not in a way that would survive scrutiny.

The silence held for a moment between them.

Hector turned slightly toward the window instead of the room. Outside, London moved as it always did, unaware, unbothered, indifferent to men like Strachan, to missing brothers, or anything that mattered.

Ambrose watched him for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. “You were thinking of someone else when you learned all this, were you?”

Hector didn’t need to ask what he meant. “No,” he said.

Ambrose’s mouth curved. “Just admit you’re thinking about Lady Jane, my friend.”

Hector’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes. But I am thinking about her only because she is assisting with the search. That is all.”

Ambrose tilted his head and smiled wider. “You’re fond of her,” he said lightly.

“I am not.”

Ambrose nodded slowly. “Of course you’re not.”

Hector ignored the tone. “She is useful,” he said instead. “She notices details others would miss. She understands Wynten in a way I cannot. That is why she is involved.”

Ambrose made a thoughtful sound. “So it is purely strategic?”

“Yes.”

Ambrose regarded him, and Hector stared back. “You are holding something back.”

“I am not,” Hector said a bit too quickly, too defensively.

Ambrose slapped a hand against his knee. “You most definitely are. What is it? Did you kiss her?”

The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. Hector did not move.

Ambrose, far too satisfied with himself, leaned back again.

“Aha, so my theories are confirmed,” Ambrose said cheerfully. “Most of them involve you being far less controlled than you would prefer to admit.”

“It wasn’t planned.”

“And yet it happened anyway. I saw you at the garden party. You looked at her like?—”

“Stop. This won’t lead anywhere, so there’s no point discussing it. I have other priorities at the moment, and Jan—ahem, Lady Jane is not one of them.”

Ambrose paused, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hector,” he said, quieter now, “we’ve known each other sinceCambridge. You can lie to politicians, to dowagers, to men who think they own half of Westminster. But you cannot lie to me.”

Hector let out a slow breath. “It was a mistake,” he said.

Ambrose tilted his head. “You do not have to be so harsh with yourself, my friend. You are allowed to have desires.”

“Not when I have pressing responsibilities.”