Page 185

H ECTOR brACED HIMSELF for his brother’s wrath once they were alone in their sitting room. But the onslaught of fury—fury he deserved—never came.

Robert dropped himself onto the plush Italian sofa Mother was so fond of and sighed. He’d dispensed with his jacket, and his silk waistcoat stretched over his tense body.

Hector shifted his weight from one foot to another next to the fireplace that was so large he could stand in it. He almost wished to be sucked into the dark chimney and come out when the nightmare was over. Yes, it’d be a cowardly thing to do.

Still clenching his hat, he took a tentative step forward after his brother didn’t utter a word. “Robert, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose and the wrinkled spot between his eyebrows. “Didn’t I ask you to wait?” His tone was calm. In a way, it would have been better if he’d shouted.

“You did.”

“Why didn’t you listen?” Exasperation radiated from Robert in waves.

Hector went through all the possible answers but couldn’t find one strong enough to make an argument with. All the answers were true—he was too eager; he needed the plant immediately; he was running out of time—but they sounded hollow now.

So, he simply said, “I made a huge mistake.”

“No. That’s not the point.” Robert rose, and even though Hector was taller, his figure demanded obedience. “The point is, you have no respect for the work I do.”

“That’s not true.”

“You mock the duties of a duke, considering them beneath your obsessive pursuit of science and knowledge.” Robert’s voice remained low but sharp. “You don’t trust my word and don’t respect me because you think you’re better than I am.”

“For God’s sake.” Hector was the first to lose his temper and tossed his hat on the sofa. “This is rubbish. I have only respect for what you do.”

“No. If you had, you would have listened to me.” Robert bared his teeth.

“The lives of many people depend on my work.” He thumped a fist against his chest. “Entire families count on me doing my job and protecting their interests from greedy politicians, to have a job and food on their tables. I must take care of my tenants, their houses, the land, and their trades while arguing at the House of Lords with old barons who are too scared of losing their privileges to change anything.” Passion burned in his voice.

“I’m not complaining. I have accepted the burden of the dukedom.

But it’s a job full of responsibilities, and if I make one mistake, someone might starve or lose their home. ”

Hector ground his teeth. There was some truth in Robert’s words.

Hector wasn’t concerned of his brother’s important documents and meetings, the endless chatter about the law or the necessity to be on friendly terms with the people in power, even with those he despised.

Hypocrisy and double standards weren’t Hector’s idea of a good life.

And yes, dammit, science was more important to him than signing papers.

“I never asked to be a duke.” Robert loosened the knot of his cravat. “I’d rather have a simple job and take care only of our shipment company. But no. The title and the damn responsibility are all mine.”

“It’s not my fault, though.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Robert fired him a glare that shook him. “I’ve never forced you to get involved. I left you free to follow your interests, and you repay me with mistrust and deceit.”

Hellfire. Put like that, Hector sounded like the worst scoundrel of the century.

“Never sneak behind my back, especially after I explicitly told you to let me handle it.” Even Robert shook now.

“I’m sorry,” Hector said again, aware of how useless those words sounded.

Robert pointed at the door. “Get out now. I’m glad you have your plant. I hope it’s worth it.”

Tears burning his eyes, Hector left the room. In one night, he’d managed to hurt a poor woman, destroy her dream, make a fool out of himself, and even ruin his relationship with his brother.

Three months later

Hector held the bouquet of roses harder as he waited to talk to Maddie.

His footsteps echoed in the hallway of Debenham House—a pretty townhouse with dark wooden floors and brocade curtains that made him think of a library.

He knew the house intimately by now. At least the hallway and the ground-floor parlour where he met Maddie whenever he could and whenever she felt so inclined.

He knew her bedroom after having worked with the builders to repair the window.

Robert had insisted on Hector joining the constructors as part of his repenting process, and Hector had wholeheartedly agreed.

Doing some physical work to repair the damage he’d done had helped assuage his own guilt.

A little. It’d also given him the opportunity to learn a few things about Maddie.

Her passion for painting matched his obsession for botany if the piles of remarkable sketches, unfinished canvases, and colours in her bedroom were any indications.

Even if she were a bad artist—and she wasn’t—he’d admire her hard work and resilience.

The way she captured a person’s emotion in a sketch had him in shivers.

But if he was going to be honest, the fact she was such a great painter made his guilt even harder to process.

He’d ruined the future of the next Turner.

His sin was inexcusable. Unforgivable. But today, he’d make amends and take his responsibility as Robert did.

Today, he was going to propose to Maddie and spend the rest of his life helping her. It was the right thing to do.

Three months had passed since the fateful, stupid incident, and many things had changed.

Some not for the better. Not that he could complain.

He’d got his damn plant, and now he was a fully respected member of the Royal Botanical Society, although the victory hadn’t brought him any joy.

But for Maddie, the past months had been a nightmare.

“Lord Wentworth?” the maid called him, interrupting his brooding. “Miss Madeline will receive you in the parlour.”

“Thank you.” He shuffled forward, his heart pounding faster in a combination of guilt, anticipation, and sorrow.

He knew what he was going to see, but the sight of her pale and gaunt face never failed to steal his breath.

She was reclining on a chaise lounge with a thick quilt covering her up to her chin.

Her clouded emerald eyes appeared bigger in her thin face.

The flowers he’d sent her in the past days were scattered around in vases on the mantelpiece, low table, and windowsills.

But the roses couldn’t cover her sweet lavender perfume.

He could pick it easily among the other scents.

He removed his tall hat and bowed, glad to be wearing one of his best afternoon suits. Not to show off his wealth. He wanted to make an effort for her.

“Ma’am.” He turned towards Mrs. Debenham who worked at her needlework in the armchair next to the fireplace.

She graciously nodded. “Lord Wentworth.”

He had to admit she was a stunning woman—although Maddie’s beauty was warmer and more angelic—but there was a coldness about Mrs. Debenham’s manners that reminded him of the politicians he’d met during one of Robert’s formal dinners. Not necessarily malicious, but it left him wary and tense.

He focused on Maddie. “Miss Madeline, how are you today?”

She coughed. The harsh sound caused her frail shoulders to shake violently. When she finished coughing, she exhaled, closing her eyes for a moment. “Dr. Wilton said I’m improving. The infection is finally receding.”

She didn’t look any better to him.

He placed the flowers on a table but didn’t get nearer to her.

The door was open, and her mother was present, but he’d behave as a perfect gentleman should.

He had to. It was likely too late for that since a gentleman shouldn’t climb a wall at night and above all shouldn’t deceive his own brother, but he was learning from his mistakes.

“And your hand?” he asked.

Mrs. Debenham gazed up from her work. She smiled only when she noticed he glanced at her.

Maddie coughed again. “I have to say I’m not particularly thrilled about the use of bromine. It killed the infection, but it’s so painful that I fainted yesterday. My hand and arm burn after each application. I shouldn’t complain, though. It could be worse.”

Yes, she could be dead because of the infection. Because of him.

She lifted her bandaged hand. It was with effort he didn’t wince at her incredibly swollen hand. It was nearly the size of an orange. Since she’d lost weight, her hand looked disproportionately big compared to the rest of her body. Still, her hand was indeed swollen.

The cut had got infected. The infection had brought a high fever, and the fever had forced Maddie to a bed for weeks amid excruciating pain and a constant risk for her life. For a few days, Hector had feared for her, cursing himself to hell. If she’d died, it would have been his fault.

Robert had interceded on her behalf with the academy, but in the poor state Maddie was now, she couldn’t present her work, attend the classes, nor could she paint. Who knew for how long? A complete disaster.

He swallowed past the lump of guilt lodged in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

She coughed in her handkerchief. “Lord Wentworth, you’ve apologised enough.

I’ve come to terms with my fate. To be honest, I’m just happy to be alive at this point.

” Despite her words, her eyelashes fluttered down, and a corner of her mouth pulled up in a bitter smile.

“Before doing anything else, I must get better. I didn’t realise how important and precious my good health was until it was taken from me.

” She fiddled with her handkerchief. “I won’t take it for granted ever again. ”

Lord, she was so strong. He’d be in tatters.