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He scoffed immediately.

“Grow fond of her?” he repeated incredulously, his mouth twisting with a smile that seemed far more defensive than amused. “That is ridiculous. I have known the woman for three days, and the only reason we are getting married is because Emma requires a mother.”

He stopped, his jaw tightening. Damnation.

In the brief silence that followed, Ernest’s refusal to speak felt suspicious, as though he were trying to unravel whatever secret Ambrose had almost let slip.

Ambrose cleared his throat and finished with deliberate dignity. “The circumstances of this marriage are hardly romantic. I hope to like the woman I marry, but that is all.”

He rose from his chair and straightened his coat. The conversation had lasted long enough.

Tomorrow was his wedding day. The marriage was happening.

He had considered what life with a woman like Marina would be like, of course.

One of the reasons he’d chosen to propose to her in the first place was her reputation and the rumors about her otherworldly activities. He’d imagined that if anyone could put up with a man of his reputation, it would be someone like her—with one of her own. It had made sense. It still did. But now that she was coming to live in his home, and with her rowdy cat besides, he understood that what he had imagined might not match reality.

What if he grew fond of her? What if he could not deny his desire to kiss her again?

No.

That was precisely the sort of thought he meant to avoid, yet such thoughts kept coming. Her lips, the softness of her body, the way she had touched him without fear. The way he had hardened against her during the kiss…

Had she noticed? She had to have…

Ambrose’s fingers tightened against the edge of his coat. He would not think about that anymore. He absolutely would not.

“Are you prepared for the celebration, Your Grace?” Ernest’s voice returned, drawing him from his thoughts.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Ernest replied, ignoring the fact that Ambrose hadn’t answered his.

There was a short silence before Ambrose continued, his voice certain.

“Why have you stayed in my employ all these years? It cannot be because you secretly love living in a house that is as dark and gloomy as mine.”

The butler chuckled now. Just once. It was light enough to hold no disrespect, yet friendly enough to remind Ambrose that the man before him had known him long before he had become a duke.

“You have always been observant, Your Grace,” Ernest replied warmly. “You know I am very fond of you, Your Grace,” he said. “If I held a different station in life, we might even be called friends.”

“You stayed out of friendship?” Ambrose asked. “You tolerated it all because of affection?”

The sound of Ernest drawing in a breath broke another silence before he answered, “Yes. A man may tolerate something he dislikes for a time, but he does not spend years of his life doing so unless there is something far more important to him than his own comfort.”

“Affection?” Ambrose asked, raising a brow.

“I became accustomed to the darkness because my master required it,” the butler continued, voice steady and matter-of-fact. “There was never any hardship in doing what was necessary for you.”

Something in those words silenced Ambrose. All these years, Ernest had remained at his side, growing up with him. He had adapted without ever complaining once, learned the manor’s darkness without question, and never made Ambrose feel as though his condition had become a burden to another man.

“And when you were younger?” he asked, his voice losing its usual authority. “Did you never fear that my condition might be contagious?”

The question brought his mind back to Lady Whitmore’s boldness. She had touched his face as though his skin were nothing to fear, and moreover, kissed him as though his condition did not exist. As though he were simply a man.

“I did not. You had a wet nurse as a babe, before I arrived. She did not get it. You had other servants. They did not get it. So no, I did not fear it.”

He cleared his throat. “In fact, I hoped that I might serve as living proof that your illness is not catching.”