Page 13 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“I fear that I am something of a burden to them,” she replied, “I… became theirwardwhen my parents died.”
Horatio tugged on a bellpull and resumed his seat next to the chaise on which Elisa was seated. “I shall send for a pot of tea. Hot, sweet tea should do well to revive you. In truth, it is the sugar that works the magic—the tea merely serves as the means to deliver it.”
“Are you a physician?” she asked.
“No, merely the possessor of a curious mind. I have a lot of rather esoteric information up here just waiting to be used,” he chuckled faintly, tapping a finger lightly against his temple. “I can also let your Aunt and Uncle know where you are, and…”
“No!” Elisa snapped, suddenly.
She sat up straight, reaching out to seize Horatio’s hand. His eyes flicked downward. The contact was fleeting, yet to him, it might as well have stretched into eternity. Every detail etched itself into his memory—the warmth of her fingers, the delicate pressure of her touch, the faint tremble in her grasp. As quickly as it had been initiated, she was drawing back, face scarlet and mortified.
“I—I beg your pardon, I must have forgotten myself!” she stammered.
Horatio fought for his own equilibrium, wanting desperately to touch her—or be touched again.
“Quite alright, Miss Fothering.” His tone came softer than intended. “But why do you not wish your Aunt or Uncle to be informed of your condition? Surely they would be concerned for your well-being?”
Elisa looked away, lashes fluttering, and he realized then that she was blinking back tears. The sight pierced his composure, and the urge to reach for her, to gather her trembling frame into his arms, came almost unbidden. There was a shadow between herself and her relatives, he realized—a pain she carried quietly. She had labeled herself a burden before, and he had assumed it was a self-imposed notion. But what if it wasn’t? What if that callous label had been given to her by those meant to protect her? It seemed cruel, but he of all people knew too well how cruel family could be.
“No,” Elisa said, at last, turning her gaze back to him. “I do not think they will be. Or even noticed that I have gone.”
“I see,” Horatio said softly. “Do they know of your… predisposition?”
Elisa shook her head mutely.
“I will not ask you why you have concealed it from them. I can guess the reasons,” he said, gently, “I too have been in the position of being beholden to someone, reliant on their goodwill for my very life. It was an… uncomfortable position to be in.”
Elisa frowned. “You? A Duke? I do not think you can know, truly.”
Horatio grinned, a crooked, bitter smile. “I can assure you, Miss Fothering. From your oblivious expression, you may not know the gossip surrounding me. The privileges of a Dukedom were not always available to myself. I have been a penniless wanderer, a citizen of everywhere and nowhere for a time.”
Suddenly, he rose to his feet, startled by the sound of his own voice revealing truths he had guarded fiercely, truths known only to one other soul—the person who had taken him in, offered him a roof over his head, and the dignity of honest work when he had nothing else.
Why was he speaking of it now, to her? Perhaps it was the way Elisa held her own secrets, the shadowed vulnerability in her gaze that called to something deep within him. Or perhaps it was the unspoken connection he felt crackling between them. Whatever the reason, he found himself wanting to trust her, to lay bare the parts of himself he had hidden for so long.
The notion was reckless, perilous even, but alluring. To share his secrets with her would be to forge a bond stronger than words. And that—having her closer, drawing anyone—especiallythis woman into his lonely world—was something he craved more than he dared admit.
“I am sorry, I had no idea. But, then, I would guess that very few people do,” Elisa murmured. “Just as no one, except for one other, knows of my secret.”
Horatio had turned away, flustered at sharing so much with this stranger. Now, he turned back.
“An instinct tells me that though I scarcely know you, I may trust you,” he said impulsively. “An instinct tells me that you would not do anything to harm myself or my reputation.”
Something in his words made her blanch.
Horatio felt a cold, sharp fear pierce through him then, the kind that stole breath and reason. It was the fear that all his painstaking efforts to restore the Templeton name might have just been undone, that this moment was yet another carefully laid snare—just as that fateful night had been. His jaw tightened as he silently cursed himself for a fool.
“What… what troubles you, Elisa?” he asked quietly, though the question weighed heavy with dread.
Tears glistened on her cheeks now, slipping silently down her face. But it only deepened his confusion. “You may trust me, Your Grace. I swear it. I would never do anything to injure you. Not by design, nor by choice.”
He took a step closer, his hands aching to reach for hers, to offer some form of solace. Yet he stopped himself, the effort of restraint nearly unbearable. Denying her that comfort was the hardest thing he had ever done.
“I believe you,” he murmured at last, his voice low as he leaned closer. The grief in her eyes gripped him, pulling at something unguarded within his chest.
It told him that she was a person of deep emotions and compassion. A kind and beautiful soul. But he did not understand the degree of her apparent grief or the passion with which she told him that she would never injure him. It was as though she were afraid that she might.
Or that she already had.
