Page 56 of My Demanding Duke

Without another word, Hugh threw his heavy coat over her shoulders and bundled her from the room.

“I’m taking you home,” he said firmly. From his possessive tone and the strong grip on her shoulders, Anna could guess that he would never let her out of his sight again.

Anna soaked in the warmth of the bath until her skin began to wrinkle. The heat had helped soothe her aching limbs, but it did little to calm the tangle of thoughts in her head. She was home. She was safe. Hugh had held her gently on the ride home, arms wrapped around her as though she were made of porcelain. He had not spoken much, merely kissed her hair and cradled her against his chest. So careful. So honourable.

Too honourable, she suspected, to come to her now.

As the heat began to recede from the water, Anna gingerly stepped out of the bath to dry herself. She toweled herself off, donned her familiar old nightrail, and set about brushing her hair. She sat by the fire awhile, as she waited for her hair to dry, contemplating her next move.

The house had fallen into silence, its candles long since extinguished. Anna glanced at her bed, unwilling to succumb to sleep. She wanted to speak with Hugh, to speak with himproperly. Not only that, but she wanted to make love to him. To finally become his wife.

He would not come to her bed, she realised, while he believed she was convalescing. Not while he believed her fragile. Not while he still thought her unwilling.

She rose, wrapped herself in a woollen blanket, and padded barefoot across the room. When she reached his door, she hesitated for the barest of moments, then pushed it open.

Hugh stood before the fire in a long nightshirt, his dressing gown—a silk banyan—flowing open at the collar. The firelight cast shadows across his face, which was tilted toward the flames, as though deep in thought. When he looked up and saw her, something within her broke.

She ran to him.

He caught her at once, arms closing around her with desperate strength. She buried her face in his chest and let out a soft, shaking breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hoping that those two words could convey just how sorry she was. She could not believe that she had been so careless with the feelings of the only person in the world who truly cared for her.

“No, I’m sorry,” he echoed, echoing her. “You were right, Anna. I’ve kept too many secrets from you. I wanted to shield you, but in trying to protect you, I pushed you into danger.”

He pulled back slightly and led her to the fire. They sat before it, the blanket slipping to her shoulders, her hand held tightly in his.

“I wish I could go back and do it all differently,” he said softly. “If I could start our marriage again, I would do everything right. Court you properly. Tell you the truth.”

“What truth?” she asked gently.

He hesitated, pain flashed across his handsome face and for a moment Anna could sense him retreat from her.

She waited, not wanting to press him. Then:

“Jack didn’t die in a hunting accident; my brother took his own life.”

She stared, stunned. No wonder he had hidden his grief from her—from the world—she could not imagine a more terrible pain.

“He left a note,” Hugh continued, voice low. “He’d lost everything at the tables. Debts I hadn’t known existed. He couldn’t face the shame, so he shot himself in the woods near our home. I found him shortly after. No one else knows, not even our mother.”

“Oh, Hugh,” she breathed, tears springing to her eyes. What a burden to carry for so long all alone. But he wasn’t alone now, she reasoned, he had her. She reached out for his hand, squeezing it hard in a desperate attempt to convey her love.

“I’ve kept his secret for over ten years,” he continued, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “When I first saw you I was struck by how beautiful you were—and then I learned of your perilousness of your situation from Bartie. It was madness but I felt I had to save you. I had to savesomeone. I just went about it the wr+ong way—I’m sorry.”

Anna reached for him then, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers.

“Today, I finally understood how vulnerable being my father’s daughter makes me. I see now what you saw,” she confessed, glad to tell him at last that hehadsaved her.

She hugged him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him with all her strength. He was no more made of stone than she, she could not believe that she had once thought it.

“There is good news,” he murmured, as the embrace ended. “My footman returned from Whitby. Your father is there; repentant, according to the report. He claims to have seen the error of his ways.”

“I shall believe that when he proves it,” Anna said dryly. She had learned a lesson on trust these last few weeks. It should only be bestowed upon those who earn it—like her husband. Her heart filled with love for the man before her; devilishly handsome, slightly-misguided, ever high-handed, but a good man. Trustworthy.

A silence stretched between them, as they held each other tentatively. Anna realised she would have to be the one to break the invisible barrier between them, once and for all.

“Hugh?” she said, cheeks flushing as she lifted her eyes to his.

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