Page 73 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“I know.” He bent to kiss her cheek and tucked her hand neatly in his arm. “Just as the war will always affect me. But we should be aware of the challenges we each face. And with William.”

“I can look after myself,” she insisted.

“I know that too. And you can look after William, too. You’ve proven that. I just don’t want anything to get in your way.”

Silence sat between them, suddenly heavy. William had smiled at her today; he had looked at her with such love, and he had smiled at her, and now Andrew’s affection had turned into concern about what might happen to William if anything were to happen to her.

Did that extend to them? Was there a them, or was he merely acting this way in order to support her?

She opened her mouth to ask, then closed it again. If the answer were a negative one, better she didn’t know.

If all he would ever offer her was this, then she’d take it, and she would learn to live with it.

Andrew handed her into the carriage, and the journey to Irene’s house was a short, mercifully quiet one. If he knew he had said something untoward, that had crushed her feelings a little, he made no sign of it, and once again, his fingertips brushed the small of her back.

Jessamine took William from Lucy’s arms, and the butler showed them through to the drawing room. It had been weeks—months, even—since Jessamine had last been here, but it still struck her as so familiar. And so was her sister’s embrace.

“Do you mind if Andrew knows?” she murmured to Irene the moment they were alone, sending a meaningful glance at Irene’s stomach.

Her dress today hid the slight bump, and Jessamine knew Irene wanted to keep the news from the ton at large. Even now, there were so many things that could go wrong, and this was a secret that belonged to them.

But Irene merely took Jessamine’s hand. “Tell him if you would like. And tell me how things are progressing? He looked so smitten with you in the park, Jessie. Like you were your very own happy family. Like William was his.”

Jessamine’s heart squeezed a little. “I think he really does love him as a son. And a second cousin.”

“Oh, it’s confusing, of course. But the fact is—dearest, you have a taste of happiness. It’s within reach.”

Jessamine glanced over to where Andrew was speaking with Henry. Both men were relaxed, a glass of brandy in their hands.

“I think Henry likes him,” Irene said under her breath. “And you know Henry, he doesn’t like everyone. But Andrew is one of the good ones. You could have found a husband corrupted by gambling or some other vice.”

“I’ve never seen Andrew gamble,” Jessamine confirmed. “In fact, I’m not sure what vices he does have.”

“All men have vices. I suspect your husband’s might be a little more subtle than most. Has he talked to you about the war?”

Jessamine shook her head. “Very little. I understand he trained in various locations across England and went to France.” She recalled the vehemence in Baron Lorthey’s voice that one time he had approached them. “I think he might have lost some soldiers there.”

“Ah.” Irene breathed out slowly. “And then he came back, and he had lost his entire family all at once.”

Jessamine blinked. She hadn’t quite considered it in those stark terms. No wonder sometimes his expression went blank when something reminded him of a world he would rather have forgotten. And no wonder he was so angry with himself for not saving Rebecca when he had lost so much.

No wonder he was afraid of compromising William’s future, or putting her in a position where she could no longer care for William the way she had been doing.

“Go to him,” Irene said, giving Jessamine a little nudge. “And—oh, don’t mind us. Kiss him. Show him how very much you care.”

Jessamine needed no more encouragement. What they shared, she couldn’t put her finger on, but she needed him to know—right now, in this moment—that she saw him. That his pain was her pain, and that she would sit in it with him until he finally forgave himself for Rebecca’s death.

He glanced up at her approach, a question in his eyes. Although he was relaxed—for Andrew—he couldn’t compare to the easy way Henry slouched. And he straightened as she approached.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say,” she said, reaching for him, cupping his face in her hands and holding him as close as she dared, “that I see you.”

Then she kissed him.

Andrew held on to Jessamine in a daze, unsure what was happening. All he knew was the soft warmth of her mouth as it coaxed a response from him. And he had spent far too much time wanting her for there to be any doubt about his response, or the force of it. He briefly forgot about their company, the room, or anything but the fact that Jessamine was here, kissing him, and she had told him she saw him.

He doubted that. His soul was far too blackened for anyone as sweet and innocent as his Jessamine to truly see. But he appreciated the gesture all the same.