“Answer me.”
His demand made me flinch. I took hold of the dashboard and began to climb down from the gig without aid, looking over my shoulder as I stepped down. The duke scooted forward and set his hand on my elbow. I dared one glance toward him. His jaw was clenched and tight. In every way he looked the part of the arrogant and callous duke. And yet, in the church . . .
Now his face rested just inches from my own, and his stormy eyes searched mine in an indecent manner. Outwardly, I froze. Inside, however, something in me stirred, a consuming heat that flowed through my limbs and left my head spinning.
“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice almost a growl.
It was his absolute expectation that I obey that pushed me over the edge. I wrenched my elbow free of his grip, chest heaving. “You cannot force me. I will not be ordered about, even if you are a duke,” I said, quickly alighting before turning on my heel and racing up the steps.
Chapter Eight
The duke did not appear at dinner that evening. Though the dining table was still full, there was a marked difference, a certain languor in the room without him. I felt a strange mixture of guilt and anger, but his absence only heightened my annoyance, for as the duke, he could easily sidestep company, while I could not.
I struggled to make conversation, feeling restless and distracted. When dinner was finished the ladies made their way into the drawing room, and I took a seat in an isolated corner. Aunt Agnes would be sure to scold me later, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
My toes tapped beneath my skirts, the evening before me seeming to stretch into certain tedium. Aunt Agnes sat near the duke’s mother and Lady Ellen, no doubt extolling Hugh’s many virtues. The thought amused me; Lady Ellen was not the type to allow others’ opinions to influence her own.
When the men came in, Robert found me at once. “Juliet, what is wrong tonight? You’ve hardly said a word all evening, and now I find you off in this lonely corner.” He pulled out a chair from an empty table and sat down beside me.
I looked up, heaving a sigh. “No, I am not quite myself tonight, am I?”
His green eyes that I knew so well creased in concern. “One of your headaches?”
Touched, I shook my head. “Not tonight.” For once my mood had nothing to do with his mother.
He gestured over to the serving cart. “Let me bring you some tea.”
I nodded listlessly. As much as his concern meant, not everything could be fixed with a cup of tea. I rather wished to be alone. The thought of making conversation for the next hour was painful. He returned with a cup of tea prepared just the way I liked it—with a small bit of cream and one spoonful of sugar. He held it out to me, eager to please.
Robert’s attentions lifted my spirits a little. I appreciated his steadiness, his stability. Since our arrival at Shaldorn, it felt as though I had been sailing in uncharted waters. Robert was, in many ways, like a reliable first mate, someone who could always be counted on.
“Now, tell me what troubles you. I haven’t seen you this quiet since . . . well, since you first came to stay with us, after your father died.” He gave me a brief smile, his way of apologizing for mentioning my father.
I held the teacup near my face and let the steam warm my skin. For no reason at all, loneliness crept through me. “It hits me at the strangest times, you know. Just this afternoon something reminded me of him.” I bit my lip, a vision of the chapel ceiling’s magnificent woodwork filling my mind. “Will it ever stop, do you think? Will there come a time when I forget to miss him?”
As if in answer to my question, Harry’s image settled in my mind. He resembled my father so much it sometimes hurt to look at him.
Robert sat forward, resting his arms on his legs. “I must admit, I do not miss my father the way you miss yours. But he and I were never particularly close. I cannot imagine a time when you will not miss your father, Juliet. So much of how you see the world and how you think comes from him.”
To have someone who understood me so thoroughly was a comfort. I let out a breath, taking a sip of my tea. “I think I am a little homesick tonight.”
“For Lymington Park?” He frowned and relaxed his shoulders. “I thought you liked the castle.”
“I do, of course. I just . . .” My feelings were difficult to explain, even to myself. I did feel homesick, but not for Lymington Park. I had felt off-balance ever since Harry had been sent away to Harrow. He was all I had, and I yearned for us to be together. But it was more than that. I missed the sense of belonging I’d had when my parents were alive. And perhaps the simplicity of my life when I’d been a young and carefree girl.
I took a small sip and set my tea down on the side table next to my chair, anxious to change the subject. “I heard from Harry a few days ago. I worry about him. He seems unhappy.” Guilt plagued me. Though I had written him a few lines, I still hadn’t sent off a letter.
Robert set a light hand on my forearm, warmth lighting his expression.
“Robert,” I warned, keeping my voice low. “You must be careful in company.” Dozens of little affectionate touches over the past half year came to mind. I’d mistaken them as innocent regard between almost-siblings, but now I could see that to him they were much more.
“I’m sorry.” He drew back in disappointment. “It was unintentional. I only wished to express my concern.” He schooled his features, hiding any
