“Yes, my home…” he paused for a moment, as if he were fighting with himself whether to continue or not. “Montford Manor.”
She suffocated a gasp. “Then you are…” She stopped, allowing him to finish her thought.
“The Duke of Montford, yes,” he confessed in a manner one confessed to having committed a terrible crime. She couldn’t imagine having a name that carried such a dreadful burden with it.
The man standing before her, cloaked in darkness, was none other than the duke himself. She had heard tales of the duke, but never had she imagined she would find herself in his presence, alone in a lavish room shrouded in secrecy.
“Come into the light,” she said, surprising even herself with her request.
His voice cut through the silence; his tone wry. “I’m afraid I must decline your request… for your own good.” She could hear theweight of authority in his voice, but there was more than just that. Was it pain? “I wouldn’t want to frighten you any further than you already seem to be.”
Her brow furrowed in displeasure; her curiosity piqued by his cryptic words. She knew of his scars. Everyone did.
“Frighten me?” she reverberated. “Your Grace, I assure you that I am not easily frightened.”
“Have you not heard of the tales of my… monstrosity?” he inquired. Was that a hint of amusement she could hear in his voice?
“There are no such things as monsters,” she told him the same thing she had told Timothy, and many times to her own brother. “You are a grown man. You should know that.”
“I do,” he said in a way as if he were grinning, but she couldn’t see it in the darkness. “I also know that grown men create these monsters. And then frighten little children with them.”
She knew what he was referring to. She knew she should let it go. She should just thank him for his hospitality and leave. But something wouldn’t let her. She needed to see him.
“I am no little child,” she reminded him. “I have seen plenty of scary things helping my aunt, the village healer.”
“Cora Roberts is your aunt?” he inquired.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Rose,” she introduced herself. “Rose Browning.”
She heard him inhale deeply. “Well, Rose Browning… you think you’ve seen scars?”
“I know I have,” she assured him. “And I want to thank you properly for saving me in the woods. I want to look at you in the eyes and say it. Would you deny me that, Your Grace?”
She was dangerously close to crossing the line of propriety. She knew that as much as he did. Yet, it seemed that he was amused by their banter, because he had taken two steps closer to her during it. She could almost see him now.
“Thank me?” he echoed. “Is that what you wish?”
She hesitated, but then hastily nodded. “I owe you at least that much.”
“Very well, Rose Browning. You shall have the chance to thank your savior.”
She waited, and her heart was beating so hard she felt it all the way down in her heels. He didn’t move immediately, almost as if he himself doubted that was a good idea. Silently, she urged him not to change his mind. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the sides of the windows. After what seemed to be a small eternity of waiting, he finally stepped into the light.
Startled, Rose’s gaze snapped up to meet his, and she couldn’t help but gasp softly. He was not what she had expected. Younger, his features softened by the gentle light, and yet, there was a ruggedness to him that spoke of a life lived fiercely and bravery beyond the call of duty. His chestnut hair fell over his forehead in careless abandon, and his full lips spread into something that wasn’t a smile, nor a frown.
But it was the scars that caught her off guard. Beneath the dim illumination, they seemed less daunting, almost… intriguing. The scars traced across his face, telling a story of battles fought and hardships endured, yet they did not detract from his undeniable handsomeness. In fact, they seemed to add depth to his appearance, a raw authenticity that stirred something within her.
As their eyes remained locked onto each other, she felt a flutter in her chest, a sudden awareness of the man before her. She hadnot imagined him to have hazel eyes. She did not imagine him to have such ordinary brown hair, much unlike the monstrous description everyone was giving him. He was not just the duke from the village stories, not just a title. He was a complex tapestry of strength and vulnerability, and in that moment, she found herself drawn to him in a way she had never expected.
However, he seemed to take her interest the wrong way. Obviously thinking that she was frozen out of shock, he hastily withdrew back into the shadows from which he had emerged.
“No, please,” she said, instinctively reaching out to him with her hand. “Come back. I… didn’t expect you to be… like that. I don’t know what I expected. I… please, just… I wish to look at you while I speak to you.”
“What did you expect then?” he asked, stepping into the soft light once again and granting her wish. He didn’t sound offended, but rather curious.
