I shrug softly. ‘It’s what I am, and I do what good I can with it. My grandmother was—is—the same. She saw it as a great privilege to have inherited the Dukedom. It was no small feat for my great grandfather to get the patent amended to allow his solitary heir, Granny, to inherit, heaven forbid a woman, a non-Royal at that, should be a duchess in her own right.’

‘It’s about time that whole nonsense changed anyway.’

I nod, relieved that he sees the rules of succession within the peerage as outdated and sexist as I do. ‘True, but it’s rarity meant extra press exposure and greater interest from the public, which Granny was able to work in her favour to help the causes close to her heart. She has done so much with her role and paid her dues thrice over.’

‘And now you want to do the same? Even though your brother will be the one to inherit the title?’

‘Yes. Just because he will be the Duke of Rushford it doesn’t

mean I can’t continue the work that I do. Our private fortune is to be split equally and I’ll carry on using it to help others.’

‘But don’t you want more? For you?’

My blood fires with irritation, sending my back ramrod straight, the peaceful moment gone. ‘What are you trying to say?’

He riled me when he touched on my public persona back at the bar, so I’m surprised he’s dared to go there again.

‘Nothing—I don’t mean to upset you.’

There’s the apology again, and I can see he means it, his eyes turning soft with concern, but my hackles are up and the need to defend myself is riding high.

‘I’m just trying to understand what it is you do...what you want to do in the future. What drives you?’

‘I want to help people, and with my family’s money and connections I can do that. I don’t have a degree, a career, a fancy job title. I’m me. Just me.’

He nods. ‘I get that—totally. And, yes, you do a lot of good. I know you have your charities and your fundraising efforts. I just meant what do you want for you, personally?’

‘Oh...’ My temper flares, his question poking at an age-old nerve. ‘I get it. You think someone my age must want to get married, have children, settle down. Is that it?’

His brow lifts. ‘Perhaps...’

I shake my head. I’ve had this conversation a thousand times over. With Granny, with Cait and, more frequently, with the press. I usually give my well-rehearsed answer, that I haven’t yet met the right man to sweep me off my feet. I don’t add the truth, that I’ve met enough to know he doesn’t exist.

Although now, staring into Ash’s eyes, I find that resolve wavers. Maybe it’s that realisation that has me blurting, ‘I want the impossible.’

He frowns. ‘The impossible?’

‘I want what my parents shared—a whirlwind passion and the love that stems from it.’ I look into my glass at the frothy topping and smile even as my cheeks burn with my confession. ‘You can laugh... It’s fine.’

‘I’m not laughing.’

No, he’s not. He sounds so goddamn sincere I can almost believe that he thinks the same and is feeling the same—it encourages me to explain.

‘My mother died when I was two,’ I say. ‘I only have her diary to go on, but let’s just say she was good with words. She loved my father and he never stopped loving her. The day he died he gave the diary to me—said I should learn what I could from her, that she was the role model I should aspire to.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I look at him, surprised. ‘Why?’

‘For the loss of your parents...for not having them with you now.’

I smile wistfully. ‘Life would be quite different.’

‘You wouldn’t have your brother, for a start.’

There’s an edge to his voice that startles me, and he looks away, leaning forward to place his drink on the low-slung table before us as he clears his throat.

‘At least you have him,’ he adds, deadpan now.

Tags: Rachael Stewart Romance
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