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“Your Grace.” At Ernest’s voice, he straightened.

The man looked around the formerly beautiful glass-enclosed room and shook his head. “My goodness, what vandals. She will be so heartbroken.”

“She cannot know,” Ambrose said. “Marina must not be told.”

“But Your Grace,” Ernest said.

“She must not know. She has endured people’s dislike for a long while, and with the whispers behind her back. I do not want her to be exposed to that again. We will collect everything we can. We will tell her that some of her items were damaged during transport. She will be angry at me, but that is better than her being heartbroken.”

Ernest nodded. “But eventually she will come here, and she will see it.”

“She will not,” he said, and shook his head. “She will not see it like this. Ernest, you and the men will salvage everything. Pay special attention to the items on her list. Meanwhile, I will ride into the village and see who I can hire to help with the repairs.”

“But if it was people from the village who did this…”

Ambrose nodded. “Yes. That is why I will not go to Crestdale. I will ride back into Ludlow. I will find someone decent there. We will arrange for everything to be repaired. She has no reason to come out here, especially not in the winter. By the time she returns in the spring, all will be well. You shall have to help me keep her away from here. I will also speak to Mrs. Dalton and Celeste.”

Ernest nodded.

“Now get to work. I will ride, and I will meet you back here in two hours.”

With that, he departed. Ambrose rode back into Ludlow, where he found a skilled carpenter.

To say that the carpenter had been surprised to see the Beast of Griffin himself march into his place of business was an understatement. However, Ambrose had put the fear and respect that were always attached to his name to good use and hired the man to make the repairs.

The carpenter had come with him to the cottage and surveyed the damage, though it was already dark. By the end of it, he had made a list of all the skilled tradesmen he would need to bring onto his crew for the repairs and given an estimate of early spring, depending on the weather.

Ambrose let Ernest deal with the details, but not before making sure that the carpenter understood that he, Ambrose, was going to come back regularly to inspect, and that not a word was to be breathed to anybody about the work they were doing here. There would be a handsome reward at the end if all the work could be concluded without the news of the damage spreading.

With that settled, he found one of the footmen, retrieved his list, and began gathering whatever could be saved. Marina, he was absolutely determined, would not find out about this hateful crime against her.

Griffin Manor emerged beyond the trees, and they rolled through the estate’s gates in no time.

Ambrose dismounted beneath the moonlight. His large hat was pulled low, and most of his face was wrapped in protective cloth. He let his gaze travel across the estate once, knowing he ought not to be searching.

He was searching for her. He raised his chin slightly, thinking perhaps she would appear at one of the windows. Perhaps he would notice those sapphire eyes of hers, followed by the familiar lushness of her long black hair as she leaned forward to catch sight of him. But he saw nothing, only a few windows left slightly open.

A footman approached, his steps respectful. “Shall we proceed inside, Your Grace?” the young man asked with deferential uncertainty.

The question was enough to dissolve the foolish thoughts that had possessed Ambrose. He straightened at once. Why was he behaving like a husband returning home to a ‘real’ marriage? Besides, he had been away for two days, not two years. And yet some ridiculous part of him had apparently expected his wife to come rushing toward him, perhaps with that smile of hers, perhaps even throwing her arms around him. He’d feel her breasts press against him again, smell her sweet scent…

His breathing had quickened at the mere imagining, and realizing it made him turn his face away. Good God. What had happened to him?

“Have the duchess’s belongings brought inside. Take it all to her chambers,” he ordered, his voice returning to its customary composure.

The footman nodded promptly. “Yes, Your Grace,” he acknowledged.

Ambrose gave a curt nod before turning toward the manor. The moment he stepped inside, he stopped. The house had changed.

He caught sight of plants in several corners of the corridor. There were even new lamps that cast their brilliance across walls that had been hidden beneath darkness for years. Portraits and paintings he had almost forgotten were now illuminated. Marina had done this. He had given her permission to open the curtains in select rooms, but she had apparently decided that if she could not have the curtains opened everywhere, she’d make sure there was more light.

He could not argue with it. He’d told her that candlelight did not hurt him.

His gaze traveled over the changes and then stopped upon a particular portrait. His father. The late duke stared back at him from the wall, his stern face captured with dreadful accuracy. He had the same green eyes Ambrose possessed. The same hard features. The same expression that had frightened him as a boy. And looking at his father for the first time in years brought back memories. His harsh words, his cold dislike. The isolation of his youth, the longing for love, for a hug, or even a kind word.

Ambrose’s jaw tightened. No. He would not return there. He drew in a breath, shoving the memories back into the darkness where they belonged.

“Put out every lamp in this corridor,” he ordered with restrained irritation, his gaze fixed upon the portrait. “Immediately.”