Mrs. Prune stopped beside her, her eyes softening as she looked at the great oak. “This was always his place, you know. When the master of the house was in one of his moods, the boy—Young Master Blake—would hide out here. This tree was his refuge.”
Rosilee swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t anyone stop it? His father?”
Mrs. Prune sighed, the lines of age deepening around her eyes. “There was no stopping the old duke. He was the worst sort—always in a drunken rage, and no one in the household dared intervene. Poor boy had no one. His mother died young, and with her gone, he had no one to shield him from the duke’s temper. Even after his father remarried, his stepmother had been of no help.”
Rosilee stared up at the tree again, her heart aching. “I met him once,” she said softly. “Eighteen years ago.” Had it truly been that long? “It was a rather terrifying moment, and we ran away from his father to hide in the tree.”
“I see,” Mrs. Prune said. “So that’s why.”
Rosilee blinked at her, startled. “Why what?”
“He chose this spot as refuge.”
Rosilee’s heart stuttered before a lump formed in her throat. “And I didn’t even recognize him. I even forgot...”
Mrs. Prune patted her arm gently. “You were both children. It’s not so strange, forgetting something painful. But he remembered you.”
But did he recognize her?
He claimed to be acquainted with her brother, but was that the truth? Her mind spun with so many questions. There were so many coincidences that she didn’t know what to believe anymore. Yet, even if he had deceived her about their connection, she found no anger in her heart. After all, it wasn’t hard to imagine that big, gruff man becoming inwardly flusteredat her not remembering him but still trusting his word to the degree that she had.
She couldn’t explain it either.
She stared up at the tree again. They’d hidden there, among its branches. After she had returned home, they’d retired to Wiltshire, and they never returned to London again as her father passed away soon after that.
And over time, the memory had faded.
Before she could respond, a shadow fell over them, and she looked up to see the duke standing at the edge of the garden. His face was unreadable, but his eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on her.
“So,” he said, voice low, “you remember.”
Chapter Eight
Blake’s heart poundedin his chest as he saw Lady Rosilee beneath the very tree she had brought him to eighteen years ago. Memories of that night flashed through his mind. He could see now how that night had become the great obsession in his life. Dreaming of her, sketching her, longing for her. It all stretched out before him like an ocean, too vast to ever reach the shore and too deep to ever escape.
Fortunately, he didn’t want to escape.
“Your Grace?”
He flinched. She’d called him this before, but this time it hit differently, and in no good way. “Call me Blake.”
Her gaze swung between Mrs. Prune and him. “I can’t do that.”
“Well,” Mrs. Prune said, retreating several steps. “I shall leave you to speak.”
Blake nodded, his gaze never leaving Lady Rosilee’s as he etched every single nuance into his mind. The moment the older woman was out of earshot, he said, “Mrs. Prune told you about how this tree became my hiding spot.”
She hesitated. “A little.”
Blake didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of him wanted to curse, and the other part wanted to rejoice. He had spent so much time convincing himself that distance was the only way, that she deserved more than the broken man that he was. He shrank from her knowing how deeply monstrous he or his father was, that the same blood that ran through that villain’s veins ran throughhisveins. But at the same time, wasn’t this what he claimed to want? For her to see the truth? Maybe then, she’d not step too close to him, maybe she’d trust him a little less, before he lost the will to keep himself from reaching for her.
He cursed under his breath.
He had to stay the course, no matter how much it gutted him. With time, the war inside him would subside a bit.
“He was a monster.”So am I.“He even took a life once,” he said, determined that she should fully understand. “He pushed a servant who angered him down the stairs. The man snapped his neck tumbling down.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Why are you telling me this?”
