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CHAPTER 20

“Your Grace, I have come to fetch you for dinner. The Duchess awaits your company,” the butler announced.

Hector paused then his fingers deftly fastened the last button on his sleeve. “Not this evening,” he replied, shaking his head. “I would like to go out for a while.”

I cannot trust myself around my wife right now.

“Shall I summon the coachman, Your Grace?” Worthington inquired, already turning around.

“No need.” Hector dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I shall ride today. I think Blueberry and I shall benefit from some time away from the estate. Inform the stable boy.”

With a quick bow, the butler left to carry out the order, leaving Hector alone with his thoughts.

Hector gazed longingly in the direction of the dining room. He was almost tempted to stop there on his way out.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

He strode out of the house moments later, his boots crunching against the courtyard gravel as he made his way to the stables. He breathed in the scent of hay and leather and sighed deeply, finding comfort in its pure simplicity.

“Your Grace, Blueberry has been prepared for your ride,” announced Michael, the stable boy.

He seemed determined to accompany the Duke and was dressed in his riding attire.

“Good. I am heading south.”

“All right, Your Grace. I shall be right behind you.” Michael led the brown horse towards Hector.

Hector mounted his horse, patting Blueberry’s side gently. He leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Off we go, Blueberry,” before encouraging the creature into a run.

The horse neighed as though responding to his command and lurched forward. An exhilarated laugh broke out of Hector, and he inhaled deeply, slightly tightening his grip on the reins. The sound of hooves against the earth brought back the lessons his father had imparted, lessons that once filled him with pride.

Why did he have to surface right now?

Hector remembered the days when he looked up to his father and believed him to be infallible. The old Duke had once been a paragon of strength and honor. Hector had considered his father the finest rider in all of England, a figure to be admired and emulated.

He had taught Hector how to ride, and Hector in turn had taught Lydia, whose love for horses rivaled that of her father’s and brother’s.

But all illusions about his father’s greatness had shattered one fateful night. Hector had returned home unexpectedly late from a friend’s estate. He had wanted to surprise his parents, who had been away for some time. As he entered the house, he was met with a scene that would forever be engraved in his memory.

His father, the man he had idolized, stood over his mother, fists clenched, and rage distorting his usually kind face. The sound of his mother’s cries echoed through the halls and had haunted Hector for years afterwards.

He had been paralyzed by the sight, unable to reconcile his image of the caring, patient man who had taught him many skills and lessons and had shaped him into the person he had become with the monster that loomed before him.

Just as Hector tightened his grip on the reins and readied to spur his horse onwards, he spotted Juliet ahead of him.

He hadn’t been aware that she also liked to ride and had not been informed by any member of the staff that she might prefer to spend her time that way.

She looked graceful, her beautiful fair hair billowing softly in the wind as her horse trotted leisurely forward.

Juliet looked up with a wistful smile on her lips, only for it to evaporate as she set her eyes upon him. For a moment, neither of them said anything then she lifted her hand to wave at him.

“Perhaps we should ride in the other direction,” he said to the stable boy, instead of acknowledging his wife.

Hector did not feel he was in the right frame of mind to be around her.

“Hector, wait!” Juliet called after him.

Hector did not want to run from her, and he was tired of running from his thoughts.