Page 90 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Her gaze wandered farther across the room until it landed upon a violin resting inside an open case. She looked surprised.

“You play?”

He followed her gaze. “Evan does.”

The words emerged before he could stop them.

Jane looked back at him. “Oh.” She simply looked at the violin. Then at him. “I am sorry.”

The sympathy in her voice carried no pity. Only understanding. He appreciated that more than she could know. “He was never particularly patient while practicing.”

“No?” Jane asked.

“He preferred performing.”

She smiled faintly. “That sounds rather wonderful.”

“It was loud.”

Jane smiled. “I can imagine.”

“He insisted everyone listen to him.” Hector felt a wave of emotion roll over him. They always came at the most unexpected moments, catching him off guard.

“And you always did, didn’t you?”

He nodded once. “Always.”

She looked at the empty chair beside the violin. “You’re a good brother, Your Grace.”

His throat tightened. “I hope so.”

“You are. I know brothers.” She smiled sadly. “And I know what it is to miss one.”

Their eyes met in shared grief. It was the first time since Evan had vanished that Hector did not feel entirely alone in it, and that realization frightened him far more than anything else waiting for them later that night.

Chapter Twelve

“This will do.”

Hector crossed to one corner of the study where several chairs had been moved aside, leaving an open space atop a Persian rug.

Jane joined him, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you.”

The fire had burned lower since they arrived, casting a warm amber glow over the shelves and polished wood. Outside, rain tapped lightly against the tall windows, muffling the sounds of London until the room felt strangely secluded from the rest of the city.

The duke removed his coat and draped it carefully over the back of a nearby chair.

Jane tried very hard not to notice the way his shirtsleeves strained across his forearms.

She failed quite spectacularly.

He rolled his sleeves to his elbows with practiced efficiency. The simple action somehow felt far more intimate than it ought. He caught her looking.

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Lady Jane?”

She blinked. “I was, erm, merely observing.” Her voice came out in a strangled croak, and she could feel her face heating up.

“I see,” he murmured with a hint of a smirk before he stepped closer. “Last time I showed you how to escape one sort of grip.”