The Duke (Victorian Rebels, #4)

by Kerrigan Byrne

Perhaps he should have his head examined. “I believe you find your way out of the mire with small but consistent victories,” she mused, giving him a sad smile. “But you must look for the light, as it will not always find you. You must stop to marvel at commonplace miracles. You must find wonder in the mundane. To me it’s like weeding through a cacophony to find a melody, and then learning to hum along.” A brittle and bedeviled emotion coursed through him, and he had to gather his composure in order to meet her gentle gaze. She couldn’t possibly know, could she? The maelstrom of angst and rage he grappled with just to pry himself out of his restless bed. The despair that seemed heavier than any load that had previously tested the strength of his shoulders. The alarming and imaginary pain in his missing hand. The endless stretch of lonely days. He was a man who had everything. Money, power, influence, charm, and almost unparalleled physical prowess, despite his injury. And still he was filled with emptiness. Alone in a crowded room. A soldier without a war. A spy without a mark. Except here. Now. On this bench with this woman. The beast within him was still and perhaps for the first time since he’d returned from Constantinople he was … himself. Finally, he felt the sunlight break through the gray.