He huffed, arranging the cards in his hand. “It is true I do not wish to reveal all I think and feel to anybody who might feel some interest. But I certainly do not try to fool Society by pretending to be what I am not.”
I shook my head, hardly believing my ears. “Only a duke would have the luxury of such an attitude. Despite what you think, I do not think it a strange thing for a person to have different facades. I believe there is a common desire among us to have someone who will see each of these sides of us, seek to understand them, and love us all the same.”
“And that is your desire, Miss Graham?” His voice was low, but its intensity made my heart pound against my ribs.
I hesitated for only a moment. “Yes, of course. But such trust is gained only over time.” Reaching deep, I pushed out the rest of my thoughts. “And it certainly would not be given to someone who wears such a look of disapproval as you do.”
Hugh gave a slight shake of his head, as if in warning. I ignored him, too indignant to feel the need for niceties.
Halstead studied me, his gaze so thorough I felt as though he could see down to all of the deep corners of me that I wished to keep hidden from the world. My bones seemed to melt under his scrutiny.
“Are you two quite finished?” Lady Ellen asked. Her pointedness and the suggestive note in her voice brought the fading blush right back to my cheeks. “For I believe you are to lead, Miss Graham.”
I played an ace of diamonds, biting my tongue and staring intently at the cards in my hand.
My outburst left a calm in its wake, and we all played for the next hour with light conversation and a bit of good-natured ribbing when Halstead and I won. Hugh gathered up the cards and then rose to help Lady Ellen from her seat. For a moment I wondered whether I should scoot out my own chair, but something gave me pause. Halstead stood with the help of his cane and came around to where I sat. Leaning on his cane with one hand, he pulled out my chair with the other, his hand lightly brushing my shoulder.
Unexpected courage surged in my chest. “Thank you, Halstead.” He looked at me sharply. I stood and turned to go.
“Juliet.” I looked back, and he leaned toward me, so close that the soft scents of pipe smoke and balsam filled my nose. “What you said before—about the different sides we show people. You are right, I think.”
I took a breath, my lungs seeming to expand with his every word.
Halstead’s voice remained low, meant for my ears alone. “But you make it sound so easy. Knowing every side of someone. It almost makes me . . .” He turned away, and I could only just make out his parting words. “Lucky is the man who will know every part of you.”
His words, his form, both vanished. But the impression, the thoughts, the strange emotion he stirred within me only grew.
Chapter Thirteen
That evening after Betsy helped me into my night things, I sat at the vanity, too restless to climb into bed. The fire was dying, and the chill would soon drive me under the covers, but so much weighed on my mind. The little carved mountain goat from my father sat in my hand, and I ran my thumb over the grooves of its fur.
Thus far, I’d made some effort to avoid letting my thoughts wander to uncomfortable places, especially to thoughts of Halstead, but I could evade them no longer. What was it about him that seemed to consume me, even when I escaped his presence?
Dinner had been nothing short of a disaster. I knew the dowager’s influence irked him, but why had he been so reluctant, so intractable with me? It had almost been like we were strangers or, worse, adversaries. I thought again how the halting and erratic nature of our relationship exhausted me. I’d never experienced so much uncertainty. At least with Aunt Agnes I always knew where I stood.
But there was something exciting about the uncertainty too. It was so different from Robert’s steadiness. As I stared into the mirror, I played over in my mind my time with Halstead in the library. His words, his voice, his quiet “Please.” That word had lodged in my heart, making it almost impossible for me to barricade it against him. For a man with so much pride to lower himself and make such a request of me—it was too much to be believed.
And the ease with which we’d been able to talk once the uncomfortable feelings between us had faded . . . There was a way he had of turning every ounce of his attention on me that made me feel significant. I treasured that feeling, letting it burrow within me.
I sighed, putting down the goat and pulling out my brush. Undone, my auburn hair tumbled halfway down my back, and I brushed it in long strokes, unable to curb the rush of exhilaration that came from remembering my time with Halstead. A smile crept across my face, and I caught sight of it in the glass mirror. I set down the brush and began to plait my hair, scolding myself.
It was a dangerous practice to let my thoughts run away like that, for the thought that anything could happen between us was absurd. The man was a duke, after all, and I was no one. He was meant for
