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N OT TO CATCH Hector shirtless again—alas, society and its rules—Maddie knocked on his door. “Lord Wentworth? It’s me.”

“Come in,” came his deep voice.

He was fully clothed. Unfortunately. No, she meant luckily. Yes, luckily.

“I’ve brought you some newspapers,” she said. “They aren’t fresh from the press, but I thought you might be interested in knowing what’s happening in London right now.”

He nodded, causing his curls to fall over his cheeks. Maybe she should cut his hair again. He was far too attractive...or wild with those luscious curls. Or a pomade perhaps to tame them. No, it’d be a pity.

“How is your skin?” she asked. “Still sore?”

He nodded.

“We should ask Dr. Landon to give you a lotion.”

“We.” A corner of his mouth pulled up. “Thank you.”

She paused shuffling the newspapers. “For what?”

“To include yourself in my predicament.”

“Oh.” She shifted her weight. “I want to help you.”

“Thank you.” He took one of the newspapers from her hand with reverence as if she handed him the crown jewels. He opened it and stared at the pictures. “Amazing. The pictures are better than I remember.” He flipped through the pages, inching closer to them. “Very detailed.”

“The press made progress.” She grinned, enjoying his outburst of enthusiasm.

“Who’s the prime minister?”

“Lord Salisbury. Again. Funny how some things change, and others stay the same.”

“Indeed.” Hector raised his eyebrows, focusing on an article. “The Irish are protesting.”

“They are. My father says the parliament should have followed Gladstone’s example when he was prime minister and granted financial independence to the Irish farmers who—” She fell silent, surprised by her own boldness.

There was something about Hector that pulled out the rebel within her. “I’m sorry.”

He lowered the newspaper, frowning. “What for?”

“Gentlemen don’t usually enjoy hearing me talk about politics. Mother says I’m too opinionated, and no one is interested in what I have to say.”

His frown deepened. “I am. What were you saying about Gladstone?”

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, but stopped when Hector stared at her with too much intensity.

She felt his stare all over her body. “He proposed to grant the Irish financial independence from the crown, which would mean fewer taxes and more equality for them. But the current parliament and prime minister are stricter than Gladstone. They think the government should tighten the sanctions on the Irish.”

He was utterly focused on her. “And what’s your opinion?”

“I think it’s poppycock. The government should support the Irish instead of punishing them. Repression will only lead to more riots.”

“I don’t know all the facts, but I agree with you.

” He skimmed through the pages again. “Robert was interested in politics. I confess I never paid much attention to the House of Lords or took his duties seriously.” He dropped himself onto the bed, even though she was still standing.

But she didn’t mind. “Would you read it for me, please? I’m not used to reading anymore. My head hurts.”

“My pleasure.” She took the newspaper and sat in front of him.

She read the political column, then the humorous one.

She skipped the sport column because who would ever care about a cricket game that lasted days, for crying out loud?

By the time she finished the scandal sheet where the wanton adventures of a certain Miss F had caused an outrage in London, Hector was asleep, breathing softly.

She lowered the newspaper. Sunlight streamed through the porthole and created a golden halo around him.

With his head reclined over his arm and his shirt open in the front, he looked indeed like an angel who was taking a nap.

His sculpted lips were parted, and a curly lock of hair caressed the tip of his chin. She couldn’t resist.

She took her sketchbook and a piece of charcoal and started drawing him.

Her stiff hand couldn’t catch the softness of his hair and the harshness of his jaw properly, but if she worked slowly, the lines almost obeyed her.

She held her breath as the charcoal traced the lines of his closed eyes, the eyelashes, and his straight nose.

When her fingers hurt, she paused to flex them, determined to carry on before he moved from his lovely position.

The light changed quickly as the sun set, but she captured the shadows on his cheeks and chin before the twilight fell over the ship.

Oh, his neck was a study in tendons and muscles, and what was visible of his chest was all taut skin and ridges.

She’d never paid attention to men’s Adam’s apples, but Lord, his was delectable.

Dusk crept through the cabin. She turned on a lamp to keep drawing.

Thank goodness he didn’t move. The way darkness fell abruptly at sea both startled and fascinated her.

London was always full of light. She’d never experienced complete darkness as on the ship.

The darkness made her sketching more intimate, like a secret.

Her sketch couldn’t do justice to the nuances of his features, harsh in some places and soft in others, but on the bright side, she’d drawn for longer than usual.

Normally, she’d stop sketching after a few minutes.

Having a living model and being worried about the light were good motivators to keep going.

She was drawing the shadows in his hair when he blinked his eyes open. She paused like a thief caught red-handed. Neither of them talked. They stared at each other—he, with the glow from the lamp dancing in his eyes, she, still drawing him with her gaze, caressing his lines.

“Are you drawing me?” he asked, remaining in his reclined position.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Why?”

She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “You’re beautiful.”

He lowered his gaze as if embarrassed, which was ironic, considering he’d started the whole ‘be honest’ affair. He rose from the bed, uncoiling his large physique. A little tremor went down her back as he approached her. He tilted his head to take a look at her work.

She handed him the sketch. “Here.”

He studied it for a few moments, brushing a curl from his face. “Is this how you see me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Beautiful, fair, and angelic?”

“An artist’s job isn’t to reproduce the real world. It’s to extract the hidden spirit from a scene or a person according to the artist’s sensitivity.” And yes, he was that beautiful, fair, and angelic.

He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, and she wished to have drawn that pose.

“I haven’t seen my reflection in a mirror in years,” he said in a low voice.

“Goodness me.” She rose and searched the cabinets. Every cabin had at least one hand mirror somewhere. She pushed aside bottles of tonic Dr. Landon must have left for Hector and found a round mirror. “Here.”

He hesitated before taking it, but when he did, his fingers brushed against hers.

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath before peering at his reflection.

Maddie waited for his reaction. He frowned and tilted his head, his features tightening. Perhaps it’d been a bad idea. She shouldn’t have—he burst out laughing, a full, warm laugh that made her laugh with him. The happy sound lifted a weight off her chest.

He put the mirror down. “I think I prefer your sketch.”

“You don’t see what I see.”

A corner of his mouth pulled up. “That’s something we have in common. You don’t see what I see either.”

Touché.

He picked up the sketch again and studied it until his smile vanished.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, worried he might not like her style.

“You stole something from me.”

“No.” She clamped a hand over her chest. “I didn’t touch anything.”

He chuckled again. “I mean with this drawing. You took a moment from me and captured it on the page. A little piece of my soul.”

“Oh.” She’d never thought about it. He was right. She’d caught his image without asking him first. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t mean it as a reproach.” He smiled at the sketch again. “You’re talented.”

Another compliment. Pity she didn’t know what to do with it.

He lowered the sketch. “Did you attend the academy?”

After all those years, the answer to that question still stung. “No. Your brother was kind enough to intercede for me with the director, but my hand took a long time to recover.” She stretched out her fingers. “Even now, my fingers are stiff and don’t follow my orders. Then your brother left…”

“I see.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you receive your allowance?”

“The new duke didn’t think I needed it, and I agreed,” she hurried to add when he opened his mouth. “My hand was useless. What was the point of taking his money?”

“The allowance was established by my brother.” He scowled. “Quentin should have honoured it.”

She should change the subject lest he become angry.

“On top of that, something rather peculiar happened to Mrs. Blanchet. One of her most appreciated paintings, The Lady of the Lake , was stolen from her London’s townhouse.

She organised a dinner party, and one of her guests somehow sneaked the precious painting out.

Gosh, she was furious. She couldn’t believe one of her guests had dared to steal from her.

I didn’t feel it was right to approach her and ask her for help after the incident.

To this day, no one knows where The Lady of the Lake is.

It was an unfortunate circumstance even for me, indirectly. It’s life.” She shrugged.

He kept frowning.

Bother, she’d made him sad again. “I can’t give you the piece of your soul back, but is there something I can do to make amends for my pilfering?”

A hint of a smile touched his lips. “There’s something.”

“Ask away.”

“May I hold your hand?” He was so honest she was always surprised by his direct manners.

“Please.” Why not? She’d seen him nearly naked and stolen a piece of his soul. Giving him her hand to hold was a small price to pay. In fact, it was no sacrifice at all.

He put aside the sketchbook and took her hand gently. He drew in a breath as he stared at her small hand in his with awe. Her skin tingled when he traced her knuckles with a gentle finger.

“So delicate. Soft. I know it sounds odd, but holding your hand gives me a sense of peace.”

She swallowed. “Not odd at all.”

He scowled at the scar. “This is my fault,” he said in a low voice. “I remember that night. I thought about it many times. I ruined your career, your life, and your dream.”

“No, it’s the past. It doesn’t matter.” She shivered as a phantom pain went through her.

He touched the curve of the scar, his brow furrowing. “Climbing to your window was my first mistake. I shouldn’t have taken that plant. I shouldn’t have left. My brother and my mother would be alive if I’d stayed.”

A riot of sensations burst within her. His touch was pleasant, but his words stirred the ugly beast of sorrow in her chest. “I encouraged you to go.”

“I wanted to.” He inhaled a shaky breath, stroking the scar. “If I hadn’t been so stupidly obsessed with my travel, my family would be alive today, and you’d be a famous painter.”

“Exploring was your dream.” She closed her other hand over his, feeling him shake. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Don’t torture yourself with what could have been. I did that, and it didn’t make me feel any better.”

“But what I did made me who I am now.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t know how to build my life in England again or how to make amends to you. And my family is dead. What am I going to do? I am the cause of so much pain. Including my own.” He sounded so scared she couldn’t keep her distance.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “It’ll take time, but you’ll be happy again.”

He leant against her touch. “I swear on my honour I’ll do everything I can to repay the damage I inflicted upon you since Robert couldn’t help you because of me.”

This time, she didn’t protest. If making amends was the reason he needed to build his life again, then she’d let it do it. Besides, he didn’t have anything else to grasp at the moment. Helping her was the only thread of his former life left.

He released her hand slowly and drew in a deep breath. “I’d like to take a walk. Do you think the deck is crowded?”

“The passengers should be in the dining hall now. Are you sure you’re ready?”

“If I can’t face the people on a ship, how can I face London? How can I help you?” He paled. “Would you come with me?”

“Yes.” She brushed his knuckles. “We’ll face the crowd together.”