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His thumb moved again. The more he restrained himself, the more painful it was.

Before the silence could deepen into something neither of them could resist, she turned her face slightly, withdrawing her chin from his fingers. The loss of contact felt strange.

“Very well, Your Grace,” she breathed, voice husky now. “If that is what you wish, I shall be out of your sight.”

She held his gaze for several seconds longer before offering a small, proper curtsy. Without a word, she turned, and he watched her walk away. He watched her until she disappeared into the darkness beyond his reach, until the door closed behind her with a quiet click.

And for several seconds, he remained exactly where she had left him, staring at the empty, shadowed space. He dragged a hand over his face. She had only looked at him, only allowed him to touch her chin for a few fleeting seconds. And somehow, that had been enough to leave him breathless. And as if that were not bad enough, the most absurd thing followed. To his profound disbelief, his heart began to race.

Fourteen

Think.

Intelligence had always been Ambrose’s redeeming quality, at least in his father’s eyes. The late duke had believed his son capable of managing the Griffin legacy despite his condition.

Yet here he was, a man accustomed to overcoming obstacles, unable to decide how to accommodate his wife’s request for more light. Or, more troubling still, how to control the effect she had upon him.

He set down his quill, unable to concentrate on the documents before him. His gaze drifted to the heavy curtains. Beyond them lay sunshine, fresh air, and a world he could never fully enjoy.

He pushed the familiar longing aside. There was little point dwelling on things he could not have.

He was, after all, still the Beast of Griffin.

With a humorless smile, he rose from his chair. Perhaps a visit to Emma would clear his head. His niece, at least, was a distraction he could permit himself.

Ambrose was sure that a few minutes with Emma would restore his composure. He would remember Janet, and his wish to avenge his sister would be reason enough to push away meaningless sentiments, whether about stepping outside… or about his duchess.

He opened the door to the nursery, where he was sure Emma was safely tucked in. But the moment he did, he stepped backward, shutting it again as swiftly as if he had seen a ghost. His fingers trembled around the knob, which he refused to release in case the door slipped open again. For several seconds, he did not move, drawing in slow breaths through his nose.

He should have worn his hat. But then again, he never needed it inside the manor. The curtains were always drawn, the corridors perpetually dim, and every servant knew better than to disturb the arrangement. Everyone except one woman.

The room beyond had been dazzling.

The curtains had been drawn wide, allowing the afternoon brilliance to pour into the nursery. He had caught only the briefest glimpse before instinct had forced him to recoil. She was in there, of course, clearly the mastermind behind it. Marina. She had been standing beside the baby, the sunlight touching her skin like a halo while she played with Emma.

And despite himself, despite having merely glanced at her, he had never seen anything so dangerously beautiful.

The door opened again, and Ambrose tilted his face away. But something felt different. There was no longer light threatening to strike his vision. He opened his eyes and realized the curtains had been drawn closed again. His gaze shifted, settling on the woman standing before him. Her sapphire eyes searched his face with an unmistakable concern that she made no attempt to conceal. She sank into a graceful curtsy.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” she said, watching him sheepishly. “I had no idea you would be visiting.”

Something in the words slightly annoyed him. Perhaps it was the apology. Perhaps it was the fact that she looked at him as though he had nearly been harmed. Or perhaps he simply did not like being reminded that she was already learning how carefully she needed to move around him.

His gaze dropped instead to the infant in her arms. Her cheeks were rounder now, her tiny fingers curled around a fold of Marina’s gown. Her eyes stared up at him with an innocence that made something uncomfortable grow inside his chest.

Ambrose wanted to touch her, and the urge was so strong that his hand moved before he regained his composure. From a young age, he had been taught never to come near infants. What if his hands could contaminate her? What if the child inherited his bad luck in some manner he could not prevent?

His jaw tightened. No.

He looked back at Marina, who was still watching him.

“This is precisely why I asked you to leave things be. I wish to be able to visit my niece whenever I want, without the possibility of sunlight burning me. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“It is not. But if you had let us finish our discussion this morning, this would not have happened.”

The defiance he had found so attractive now troubled him. She was right, of course. If he had not walked away because he felt unable to control his urges, this would not have occurred at all.

“You are determined to open the curtains, are you not?”