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“Perhaps,” he murmured, “I am talking about both of us.”

Nineteen

“The creek is already overflowing and has burst its banks, Your Grace!” the coachman cried, panic in his voice. He was also shouting so that he could be heard over the roaring downpour. “The lower lane is completely flooded. Miss Bellamy and I can ensure the horses are safe under the timber shed, but Your Grace and her Ladyship may need to stay here in the cottage until the worst has passed!”

Rosamund did not get the opportunity to protest. The coachman was already escorting Alice toward the wooden shed, while she and the Duke were stranded inside the small, disused cottage.

Earlier, they were merely inspecting the cottage because it was linked to the financial records. Now, it felt like a prison. Rosamund shivered, her damp gown clinging unpleasantly under the raindrops it had absorbed from the leaky cottage roof.

The Duke wordlessly removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. The wool was warm and heavy, comforting in its thickness and the scent of rain, cedar, and Peregrine Blackwood himself. Rosamund pulled it tightly against herself. It was one of those moments when she did not make unnecessary complaints. But then, her eyes went back to the Duke who wore only his shirt and trousers.

“You will catch a cold, Your Grace!”

“My constitution has survived far more things than chivalry, Lady Rosamund,” he insisted, as he found a bench he could sit on while waiting for the storm to pass.

“I was unaware that you possessed chivalry,” she retorted, but there was no bite in her response, just a weary affection.

“I keep a small quantity reserved strictly for emergencies,” he explained. “Stubborn ladies trapped by flooded roads usually qualify for such emergencies.”

Rosamund walked toward the workbench where he sat. It almost felt like she needed more of the comfort and warmth he could give.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured, looking down at his coat that she wore. “For…all of this. For everything.”

It sounded strange. Not too long ago, she was painting him as the villain who took her family’s estate. Now, she looked at him as a hero because he was helping her uncover her father’s secrets.

“I would do more than just lend you a coat for warmth, Lady Rosamund,” he said gravely. Then, his eyes went to the rain-streaked window. “Henry used to hate the rain, but he would never admit it. You could see it in the way he walked fast whenever a storm broke. I suppose he was merely being wise.”

Rosamund gaped at the Duke. What did he just say? Her lips parted in shock. The Duke had never spoken about her younger brother in such a personal, affectionate tone.

“You know that?” she asked.

“Yes,” the Duke said. “He might be afraid of storms, but he braved everything else. He loved riding his unruly pony, and he would follow me as I rode my stallion. Once, he fell into the stream because he could not admit that he could not jump it.”

“Oh, I think I remember when he fell,” Rosamund said, her voice cracking. “He landed on his back, did he not? He blamed it on his pony being unruly.”

The Duke chuckled. “Ah. It must be why he chose that pony. Someone must take the blame.”

“How often did you see him, then?” Rosamund asked, frowning. Why was she not allowed to know these things? Things could have been different, then.

“It was often enough,” the Duke replied vaguely.

“Why did he not tell me then?” Rosamund asked, getting agitated. “I was his sister! I loved him.”

“Because Henry knew that you hated me after the scandal,” the Duke explained.

“He hid it from me because of his secret association with a man I hated? Did he think I would be mad at him?”

“It should not upset you, Lady Rosamund,” the Duke said. “Henry never stopped loving you, his sister. He completely adored you. However, he loved me, too. Children are often far better than adults at understanding that affection does not have to be divided by sides.”

Rosamund’s whole body stilled. Yet, all around her, the world felt like it had tilted. The things that she used to believe continued to crumble around her. She had persuaded herself long ago that loving Peregrine Blackwood, or even seeing the good in him, was betraying Henry.

But Henry had loved him all along.

A rogue raindrop trailed down her cheek. The Duke did not hesitate. He reached for it, slowly, to give her time to react and pull away. When she did not attempt to evade, he wiped the tear with his calloused thumb. The touch caused something in her to shudder. His fingers lingered at her jaw, tipping her chin up at that sweep.

The Duke leaned in slowly, his blue-grey eyes on her, searching and seeking permission. He moved, oh so slowly. She could have pushed him or walked away, but she did not. Rosamund felt her eyelashes flutter as he dipped lower.

“Rosamund! Your Grace!” Alice’s voice called out from the shed outside. “The water is beginning to recede!”