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B EING CIVILISED WASN’T difficult. Hector had concluded that piece of wisdom after his second week of taming, as Quentin called his training.

All that was required of him was to stay silent as much as possible when in the company of other civilised people.

When he was alone with Maddie, he could be himself, but with others, he avoided talking, moving too much, or even frowning when someone said something he disagreed with. Wonderful.

Sitting at the table in Dr. Landon’s house, he sipped his tea and bit into a cream cake while the other guests talked about something he didn’t care about. Mrs. Debenham and Quentin were present as well, taking small sips of their tea.

“I’m glad to see you healthy and well-rested, Lord Wentworth,” Dr. Landon said, straightening his glasses to give him a clinical gaze.

“Being stranded on a deserted island must have been such an ordeal for you.” Lord Captain Naylor, captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, or maybe it was sixth, paused sipping his tea to focus on Hector with the same interest as a shooter aiming at his target.

Maddie gave Hector an encouraging nod. For a moment, her lips distracted him with the memory of the kiss they’d shared in the snow. Desire clawed its way out of his chest every time their gazes locked. Perhaps he was a savage indeed.

“It was.” He found it more difficult to navigate society than to live on an island, but he kept the comment to himself.

A happy squeal broke the moment as Albert, Lord Naylor’s son, ran around the room, laughing and putting in his mouth everything he found from a doily on a table to a pencil.

Hector was reminded of himself on the island when he’d tried to understand what was edible and what wasn’t.

He enjoyed watching the child be free and happy, and to hell with rules.

At least children could still do that. His smile froze when a young lady walked inside.

She was the young lady he’d rescued from Quentin’s unwanted attention.

“I apologise for my tardiness. I was busy…” She came to a grinding halt upon seeing him. Her lips parted in mute shock. She paled further when Quentin bowed his head to her.

If she worried he was going to blather about her misadventure, she was mistaken. Hector gave her the slightest shake of his head.

Lady Naylor waved the girl closer. “Don’t stand there, darling.”

The girl shuffled forwards, her gaze on the carpet. “Good afternoon.” She bobbed an unsteady curtsy.

“Everyone.” Lady Naylor pulled out a chair. “This is my daughter, Frances.”

A round of introductions and greetings followed, to which Hector paid little attention. Albert was a far more interesting subject. He was now looking inside an empty vase with a fascinated expression. Hector guessed Albert might become a scientist one day.

“Albert, darling, stop tasting everything. You’re too old for that.” Lady Naylor blocked her son from doing another round and putting a saucer in his mouth.

Judging by how Quentin scowled, he didn’t share Hector’s enthusiasm about children’s freedom.

Instead, Maddie smiled. Every time she glanced his way and their gazes met, she’d blush.

He wanted to kiss her again, feel her soft cheeks in his palms, and see how her skin tasted.

He wanted her in his bed, sharing heat and secrets until they fell asleep.

Frances studied him from underneath her thick lashes. Her hand trembled when she picked up her cup of tea. At least Quentin behaved honourably, not mentioning his acquaintance with Frances. Although his behaviour was surely due to a sense of self-preservation rather than chivalry.

“Is it true you fought against savages who tried to kill you?” Mrs. Landon asked.

She resembled her husband in her appearance. They had the same rounded glasses, short nose, and constantly rosy cheeks.

“No.” He savoured another oatcake. Delicious with a bit of butter. It was perfect.

Maddie raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to say more.

He cleared his throat. Answers that were too short or direct were frowned upon. “Not savages, but hominids belonging to a species of primates I know nothing about. Some specimens were over four feet tall and broad. Fierce opponents.”

“It sounds frightening.” Mrs. Landon offered him a pastry with custard and strawberries on top.

His mouth watered as he picked one.

“But Lord Wentworth is strong enough to fend off fierce opponents,” Mrs. Debenham said. “Doesn’t he look brawny?”

Frances blushed to the roots of her hair. “I believe you’re right, ma’am,” she said in a low voice.

Mr. Merriweather narrowed his keen gaze on her. Hector wouldn’t be surprised if the clever solicitor suspected something.

Oh, strawberries. A perfect balance between sweetness and sharpness. Hector went to snatch another pastry and stuff his mouth but caught himself in time and selected one gently. He’d dreamt of such delicacies for years.

“You should write your story,” Verity said.

“And Maddie would illustrate it,” Mr. Merriweather added.

Why hadn’t he thought about that before? “That’s a wonderful idea.”

Maddie didn’t return his smile this time. “I’m not a professional artist.”

“Your sketches are beautiful.” When he took her hand under the table, she let out a small noise she covered with a cough. “I can describe to you the plants and animals I saw. It’d be a good way to let your name be known.”

“I’m not sure.” She sipped her tea.

Mrs. Landon selected a different type of pastry from the china plate. “What are you going to do, your grace, after Lord Hector becomes the duke?”

Silence dropped like a theatre curtain. Even Albert remained silent on his mother’s lap. Mrs. Debenham smiled so widely he could see her back teeth.

Quentin seemed about to choke on his lemon pastry. He coughed into his closed fists and sipped before answering. “I’m afraid that day isn’t close, ma’am.”

“You’d never know.” Mrs. Debenham lifted her cup as if in a toast.

Hector half closed his eyes as the velvety taste of the lemon pastry hit his tongue. The cream was perfect. Not too tangy, not too sweet.

“But Lord Wentworth isn’t the savage everyone talks about.” Mrs. Landon grinned. “I’m a little disappointed, if I may say so. I don’t see why he wouldn’t find a champion. Any peer would be happy to support him and…” She frowned at the pastry. “This lemon pastry is terrible.”

Hector took another. Sweet and creamy, there was nothing wrong with it.

Mrs. Landon waved a hand, summoning the maid. “These aren’t good enough. Take all these away. Horrible.”

When the maid tried to take Hector’s plate, he held it. “My pastry is fine.”

Mrs. Landon huffed. “Nonsense. Too much lemon. That silly baker doesn’t know his job. Please, Lord Wentworth, put it on the plate. My cook will serve you something else.”

“I agree.” Mrs. Debenham twitched her mouth. “Rather tangy.”

“My pastry is good,” he said through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Landon sniffed, her glasses slipping down her short nose. “I assure you, Lord Wentworth, you’ll enjoy the other pastries more. These are going to the rubbish.”

“What?” he said. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

Maybe he overreacted, but why did they have to insist on taking the delicious pastry from him? It was like that time he’d fought the monkey over a large fruit. A battle had ensued, and the monkey had won. Except the monkeys had wanted to eat the fruit, not to throw it away.

“Lord Wentworth.” Dr. Landon scowled in the same fashion as his wife did. “I beg you.”

Albert watched him with childish admiration, or maybe fear.

Frances flushed red again. Lord Captain Naylor pretended to find his cup of tea fascinating, and his wife clenched Albert as if worried Hector might hurt him.

Everyone at the table fell silent. Even Verity and Mr. Merriweather showed matching, concerned expressions.

Maddie was the only one who gave him her support by holding his hand under the table.

Rage cast a shadow over Hector’s sight. “Do you know what it means to be starving? Having your stomach so empty it cramps? Fainting because you haven’t eaten enough?

These pastries are perfectly good, and you want to throw them away?

” His voice rose. He wanted to upturn the table and smash that silly pink vase on the mantelpiece.

He wanted to yell at the grey sky of London and tear his clothes apart—Maddie squeezed his hand.

“Perhaps you want to take a walk with me?” She stood up.

The gentlemen stood up as well. Mrs. Landon scowled, a hand on her chest. Dr. Landon shook his head. Mrs. Debenham’s smug expression turned into one of worry. Quentin smiled, throwing his half-eaten pastry on the plate for the maid to take away.

“Yes.” Hector scraped his chair back. “I want to take a walk.”

The noise of the wooden legs scratching against the marble floor caused the guests to wince. Without waiting for a servant to escort him, he strode down the corridor and pushed the front door open. As he marched down the pavement, the coal-smelling air didn’t improve his mood.

“Hector.”

Quick footsteps pounded behind him. He screeched to a stop on the pavement.

Maddie reached him, breathless. “Goodness me. You’re fast.”

“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t meet her gaze.

“Don’t worry. I caught you.” She took his arm.

“I mean, I’m sorry for raising my voice.” He stared at her small hand in the crook of his arm, feeling calmer.

“You had a valid point.” She resumed walking with him. “I understand your frustration. Throwing food away is shameful, although I agree with Mrs. Landon. The pastries were too tangy.” She pursed her lips in a tight ‘O’ , puckering them. “I think my lips will never be normal again.”

He laughed, releasing all the suppressed anger. “I didn’t mind.”

“Where are we going?”