The Duke Hadn’t Laughed Since the War

were a working man’s hands on a Duke’s frame, scarred across the knuckles, ink-stained at one wrist.

The right shoulder carried slightly lower than the left in the way of men who have been in the kind of war that takes a piece of them home without permission. Constance stopped.

She had the letter and she should have left, but she did not leave. He turned,continue reading …