No, not just any man—Hugh, her husband. She blinked grit from her eyes and sat up a little.
“My apologies,” he said, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to wake you. But you were shivering.”
Her candle had gone out. And the airwascold, but she still would rather remain here than return to her bedchambers. There, she felt like an imposter playing at being a duchess.
Here, she could just be Christiana.
“Did I disturb you?” she asked, peering up at him. He lit a lamp and placed it on a side table before sitting beside her. Far enough away that he preserved the distance between them, but she still felt his proximity. He had neglected to wear his gloves—no doubt assuming he would meet no one else at the dead of night—but she didn’t dare spare his bare hands more than a quick glance. Amelia’s story had made her more curious about his scars and the stories behind them, but she knew better than to ask outright.
“I should be the one asking that,” he said wryly. “Why did you come down here in the dead of night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She hesitated, then added, “My thoughts were too loud.”
“Ah.” He let the statement sit awhile, evidently comfortable with her silence. She felt comfortable in it, too. In this silence, there was no need for conversation, and the quiet was just as peaceful.
She yawned. Heavens, she was cold.
“Would you like me to build the fire?”
“Can you?” she asked before she thought better of it.
His glance was unreadable. “Is that question directed at me because I’m a duke, or because of my face?”
“Because you’re a duke. Although perhaps it ought to have been because of your scars.”
He huffed what might have been a laugh, and the tension in the room eased. “No. I learned when I was a boy, and I fancied it was a skill I ought to always have, particularly when there is not always a servant around to do the job.”
“Has that ever happened to you?” It had happened plenty of times for her; if she had not been taught how to make fires, they would have gone cold often enough over the winters.
Her father would never have stooped so low as to make his own fire. Instead, he would have piled his bed with blankets and complained in the frosty air while she shivered and froze.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Hugh studied her for a long moment from where he crouched on the blanket before the fire. “Not unless you count my unwillingness to wake the servants,” he said eventually.
“Oh, how considerate.”
“You say that as though it comes as a surprise.”
She considered that for a moment. After her tour of the estate, she had come to see that everyone beholden to the duke viewed him with a mixture of fear, awe, and respect. He had not earned that respect by being idle, she imagined. The tenant farmers, even during their short visit, had brought up a few complaints that Hugh had handled with care and consideration.
That was not merely for show. He cared about the people for whom he was responsible. However he felt about his duty, he still cared.
She watched as he deftly laid the fire, then struck a tinder and flint, blowing on the sparks until they caught. No matter what he had been through, he showed no visible fear of the flame. Had it always been like that, or had he taught himself to endure it out of necessity and sheer force of will?
He was a man who struck her as having great force of will.
“Are you often up this late?” he asked as he retook his seat. Coal dust coated his fingers; he seemed not to notice or care.
“Occasionally,” she admitted. “Not often. Not in a while. Are you?”
“Frequently.”
Without intending to, she offered more of herself. The intimate atmosphere between them encouraged such confidences; bathed in the fire and lamplight’s glow, it was as though they were the only two people in the world. The night carried a hush—all she could see was the light licking across his face, and all she could hear was his voice.
“When I was a child, I used to wake in the night and wander through the house. The servants would find me curled in corners of all kinds of rooms. Eventually, my mother took to locking my door so I couldn’t go anywhere.”
Hugh’s gaze moved to her face, his eyes hard. “I see,” was all he said.