“Your novel is excellent. Once it’s in print, it will be up to the book to find its audience. It’s going to be an instant success. You’ll see. I’m fully confident in this matter.”
“I wish I shared your confidence.”
“You don’t require me, or any reader, to tell you that your book is good. You must know it in your heart. Believe it.”
She paused. This wasn’t the way she’d envisioned their conversation going. She’d expected him to be his usual abrasive self, tobark orders and push her away. Then she would have been justified in leaving. Instead, he was encouraging her to believe in her writing. It was almost... sweet. A word she’d never thought of using to describe the duke.
“Even though I’m not the match you would have chosen,” he continued, “I swear to you that you shall want for nothing, you shall finish dozens of novels and become a celebrated authoress. I will help you achieve your dreams, Ana.”
“That’s all well and good”—she attempted to keep the sternness in her voice, even though he was softening her resolve to leave—“but I would set some rules of engagement if we are to go through with this.”
“Such as . . . ?”
“You can’t be so silent all the time. You must promise to speak in fuller sentences and to allow me to know your thoughts from time to time. I don’t even know what to call you. Am I to use Warburton, or Deckard, or do you want me to go around calling you Your Grace?”
“Dex. That’s what my friends call me.”
“I would also ask for your help in placing an advertisement in the papers, asking for information about my father. With a generous reward. Something to catch people’s eye and increase my chance of finding him.”
Was that pity in his eyes? “It will be done, I swear.”
“And I want to know about your past, what you were like as a young boy, things like that.”
“I was a right little imp. Anyone will tell you. I bossed my younger brother about and turned my nursemaid’s hair gray.”
“Did you always play with toy soldiers and dream of being a military commander?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“You’re a mystery for me to solve. The mystery of the duke who lost his smile. I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling. What made you the way you are.”
“Men don’t talk about their childhoods or divulge their innermost feelings.”
“That’s a shame.”
“We have unspoken communication.”
“In other words, silence. Do you know that my father described you in his letters as a handsome, charismatic, and fearless commander?”
“I was those things, at least that’s what everyone told me. I was coddled and flattered. It made me heedless and selfish.” He stroked his fingers over the back of her hands, making her knees go weak.
“Ana, you think there might be glimmers left of the man I used to be somewhere buried inside me. I’m telling you that man wasn’t worth saving. I thought I was invincible. I never considered that my actions might put others in danger. And the man I became after the war? Well, that man isn’t handsome anymore, certainly not charming or charismatic. And as for your father, he was a better man by far. A true friend. We played cards together most evenings. Whist. Piquet, when we couldn’t find enough players.”
“And who won?”
“Mostly he did, Ana.” He sighed. “It’s not good for you to dwell so much on this mad hope that he’s still alive.”
“I keep him alive in my mind. It’s what he did for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother died in childbirth, and he kept her alive for me by telling me memories, stories about her. I miss him so terribly. Ifonly he were here. He would give me advice about my novel. We would share all the dear familiar jokes, laugh until we cried.”
“I’m sorry, Ana.” He touched her cheek, wiping away a tear.
Her name said in his deep, rough voice felt right, somehow.
“He was a wonderful man, a friend and a stalwart soldier. The world is darker for his loss. I know your hope for his survival springs from a pure and loving place. And I also know that he would have been very proud of the woman you’ve become—inquisitive, talented, bright.”