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He cannae hurt me.

That’s why it didn’t matter if Auld Gus heard him speak.

Not for the first time, Olivia wondered what school had truly been like for Alistair. That must have been where this fear of humiliation, this desire to avoid embarrassment at all costs, had arisen. What had happened there?

He’d been a tall boy, although skinny and weak, when he’d left home according to his mother; only barely walking again. Alistair Kincaid, Duke of Effinghell, didn’t speak, but he trained and fought and didn’t give up. She could imagine what the other young men had thought of him.

His pain made it difficult to remember her vow not to cry. But she pressed his hand to her cheek and inhaled his scent, trying to keep her voice steady when she murmured, “No, Auld Gus can’t hurt you. And neither can those people who are even now arriving.”

Silver-gray eyes opened once more. “Society,” he croaked.

“Yes, Society. But they are just people. They are here because they are curious and want to meet the person whose words they’ve only read. So if you speak to them—what? Will you be embarrassed by your voice?”

Alistair’s gaze dropped to where she still held his hand, and she was afraid it was so he did not have to meet her eyes.

“Humil…iated.”

Humiliated. Not just embarrassed…worse.

Oh God, could her chest hurt anymore for him? “Alis—” Her voice broke on a sob, and when his gaze flicked back up to hers, then away, she forced herself to breathe, to calm herself.

To not let him see how her heart broke for him.

There was still so much to learn about this husband of hers, but she knew enough to be sure he didn’t want her pity.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She could think of some fairly terrible things. “Does their cruelty really matter? Overall, I mean? Even if they mock you, you will still be you. You will still be loved.”

His gaze jerked back to hers, although she couldn’t read the emotion in its depths. Hope?

“Alistair.” She softened her voice. “Your message is still important. Your crusade to help those less fortunate. If these people would make you feel less just because you don’t speak…” Scoffing, she shook her head. “Society’s words can’t change who you are. Your bravery. Your strength. Your heart.”

He stared, one palm pressed against her cheek, held in place with both of her hands. He just stared.

And she felt as if the world was holding its breath.

She sure as hell was.

“I know who you are. Your friends, your family knows who you are. You’re special, Alistair Kincaid, and not because you were born to be the Duke of Effinghell.”

And I love you.

But she didn’t say it, not because she didn’t intend to but because he used his hold on her cheek to pull her forward, claiming her lips.

It wasn’t a hot kiss, it wasn’t a deep or hard kiss.

It was a still kiss, a calm kiss.

A kiss which reminded her of home and all the best things in life.

I love you. I love you.

She tried to show him instead.

When he pulled away, he dropped his forehead to hers, still cupping her jaw. “Liv.”

Yes. Her fingertips caressed his temple. Yes.

Taking a deep breath, she sought safety in levity. “And besides, no one will worry about you, when they’ll be busy gawking at me. I mean, have you seen these?”