Forgotten & Remembered: The Duke's Late Wife (Love's Second Chance Book 1)

by Bree Wolf

  As though transfixed, he just stared at her. Then instead of complying with her request, he pushed her against the wall.

  Again Rosabel gasped, more in shock than pain. His nose almost touched hers as he pressed out through gritted teeth, “Why did you bring her here? Are you trying to destroy me?”

  Realization dawned, but for the life of her, Rosabel could not understand how Georgiana’s presence could have possibly caused his current state. What was he hiding? “Your daughter loves you−”

  The words had barely left her lips when a menacing snarl rose from his throat.

  Flinching slightly, Rosabel refused to be intimidated. Squaring her shoulders as best as she could with his hands still locked around her arms, she raised her chin and her lips slightly brushed over his, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine.

  Her husband, too, seemed startled, but before he could speak, Rosabel said, “And I know you love her too.” Another snarl echoed between them, but Rosabel chose to ignore it. “Why would you push her away?”

  Lips pressed together, he stared at her. “Do not speak of things that do not concern you, my lady.”

  Hearing the insult in his words, Rosabel recognized it for what it was, a desperate attempt to silence her on the matter. She knew she had hit a nerve; she could see it hurt him, and yet, she knew she had to continue. “They do concern me. She is my daughter.”

  “Your daughter?” he echoed her words as his eyes searched her face. “But she is not.”

  Not shaken in her resolve, Rosabel’s lips curled upward into a smile that touched her eyes as they looked into his. “She is. You told me I was to be her mother. Now I am, and that will never change.”

  The blue in his eyes seemed to grow darker, only not with anger but with emotion. For a second, Rosabel thought she saw the beginnings of a tear form in the corner of his eyes before he blinked, and the moment was gone. Again, he inhaled deeply and took a step back, his hands loosening, but not letting go. “Tell her to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  For a second, he stared at her as though choosing his words, “If she does not keep her distance, I…”

  Holding his gaze, Rosabel asked, “What will you do, my lord? Because there is nothing in this world that could keep her from you. You were too good a father to her!”

  As though slapped, he suddenly released her, stepping back. His face held more than just pain, and for a second, Rosabel saw how wounded he was. What had given him that wound? She wondered before a mask of bitterness once again hid his true self from her.

  Unwilling to let the moment just slip away, Rosabel stepped forward and carefully put her hand on his cheek. He flinched, and his eyes grew big, but he didn’t pull away.

  Rosabel felt a slight stubble under her hand, and the muscles twitch as though he was holding on by a thread. “She gave you her heart a long time ago, and it is yours now to keep safe from harm.” This time Rosabel clearly saw the tear that sprang from the corner of his eyes and then slowly made its way down his cheek until it touched her fingers. “Trust her with yours. She will not disappoint you.”

  Gently, she removed her hand, letting it glide to his shoulder and running it down his arm, feeling his muscles tense. When she reached his hand, she gave it a tender squeeze. “Good night,” she whispered, and with a last look, turned and walked away.

  ***

  As though struck by lightning, Graham stood in the corridor, staring at his wife as she walked away and then vanished into her rooms. What had just happened?

  Almost stumbling backwards, Graham was glad for the wall at his back, for it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. His eyes shifted back and forth from the wall before him to the closed door of his wife’s chambers. The way she had looked at him…The way she…

  Without conscious thought, his hand rose to his cheek, remembering the lightness of her touch. She had touched him, willingly, of her own accord. Did she not despise him? How could she not after what he had done to her?

  Remembering how her body had trembled under his hands, Graham once again raked a hand through his hair to keep from putting it through the wall. Had he scared her? He must have. But she had smiled at him. And those eyes! When she had straightened her posture, lifted her head, and her lips had touched his, he had almost lost control. A fire had gone through him, reminding him of desires he had thought buried for good. How could he find himself in the same situation again? Married to a woman who did not want him? A woman he loved, nonetheless.

  Shocked at his own thoughts, Graham frowned. Did he love her? How could he? He barely even knew her. And yet, Leonora had been in his heart from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  Leonora, he mused. She had been strong and determined, yet kind and caring. Just like Rosabel was now. Nodding his understanding, Graham finally saw how his new wife could possibly have affected him the way she had just now. It was Leonora, and the way she reminded him of her.

  Marrying Rosabel, he had thought to give his daughter a mother who would see to her needs in a loving way. At the same time, his subconscious had rejoiced at the difference in personality between his two wives. There would be no reminders, nothing to bring back memories that would certainly torment him. And now, here he was, suffering what he had sought to avoid. How had Rosabel changed so? And what was he to do now?

  ***

  Sleep just wouldn’t come. No matter how strongly Rosabel willed herself to forget what had happened in the hallway, her mind wouldn’t let her. Again and again she saw his eyes, full of pain and sadness, looking into hers. She remembered his breath as it brushed over her skin and felt his hands on her arms as they held her pressed against the wall.

  As much as the whole scene had saddened her, lying in her bed remembering, Rosabel did not feel sad. Instead, a shy smile played on her lips, and her whole body tingled with anticipation. Of what exactly?

  Although he had scared her before, he did not anymore. She had seen the depth of his pain and thought she knew that the cold she had always seen in his eyes and heard in his voice was nothing but a mask to hide the emotions that ran so deep, that had wounded him, even crippled him. In many ways, he seemed broken to her. And yet, she couldn’t understand why.

  Standing in the hallway, Rosabel had felt the almost desperate desire to comfort him. She had barely been able to stop herself from wrapping her arms around him and laying his head on her shoulder for comfort. Instead, she had merely touched her hand to his cheek. But it had been enough. A jolt had gone through her that she was sure he had felt too.

  Again, she felt the soft touch of his lips as she had lifted her head to meet his eyes. Sweet and tender, like at their wedding. Only this time, Rosabel realized she wanted more. Once again, her lips curled into a smile as she remembered standing under the mistletoe with him after the Christmas Ball.

  He still owed her a kiss.

  And one day she would claim it.

  One day soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Unable to Forget

  After the night their paths had crossed in the hallway, her husband seemed to be avoiding her even more, if that were possible. One time when she and Georgiana were out walking in the gardens, she actually saw him stop in his tracks when he beheld them. His face frozen like a grotesque mask, he stared at them. For a moment, he seemed hesitant, but then he blinked, and with long strides and no look back, he turned on his heel and hurried away. Grateful that a tall hedge had obstructed Georgiana’s view, Rosabel pretended nothing had happened.

  Inside, however, Rosabel had felt the burning heat of anger slowly rush through her veins and igniting a deep place within her. Reminded of Leonora’s portrayal of ‘their’ husband, Rosabel wondered how he could make her feel for him in one moment and then infuriate her the next. The man truly was an enigma.

  One she intended to solve.

  After a few days of never even glimpsing her father, Georgiana began to wonder. Turning sad eyes to Rosabel, she asked if she had done anything wr
ong or if she had angered or disappointed her father somehow. Rosabel immediately assured her that that was not the case, that only unexpected business was keeping him away. But in the little girl’s eyes, she could see her own lies.

  She had to do something. He was slipping away, and every now and then, she thought Georgiana was ready to give up hope as well.

  But then one late afternoon, Rosabel walked into the library, looking for an entertaining and hopefully distracting read before bed, and found father and daughter sitting side by side on a chaise. Leaning against her father’s leg, Georgiana had an open book on her lap, her little finger tracing line after line as she read, her sweet voice barely carrying the words. Again and again, she peered up at her father, seeking approval. And to Rosabel’s great surprise, he gave it willingly.

  One arm around his daughter’s small shoulders, he hung on every word spilling forth from her mouth. Occasionally he pointed at a word or line and then whispered something in her ear. All the while, a shy, yet content smile lingered on his features that Rosabel had never seen before. More than that, he seemed relaxed, at ease, not at all conflicted.

  Standing behind a row of bookcases, Rosabel watched them, transfixed, unable to move. A small voice whispered that she ought to discreetly leave the library, but her muscles wouldn’t comply. Frozen to the spot, she watched them, her heart beating, even jumping in her chest at the silent joy she beheld.

  Rosabel was sure at least an hour had passed before father and daughter put down the book and together exited the library. Keeping back, Rosabel followed them, careful not to cause any unnecessary sound that would draw their attention.

  Heading upstairs, they proceeded down the corridor toward the nursery, and Rosabel caught snippets of sentences, concluding that Georgiana had invited her father to join her tea party. As they reached the door to the nursery, her husband opened it and bowing slightly held it for Georgiana to enter. Then he fell in step behind her and−

  Froze.

  Following close behind, Rosabel almost bumped into him as she approached the room, unable to conceal her presence any longer and determined to ask permission to join their little gathering.

  As she could not see his face, Rosabel was at a loss as to what had caused this sudden reaction. Oblivious, Georgiana chattered on, but when her father didn’t move from the door, she turned and looked at him. Instantly, the smile died on her lips.

  Brushing past him, Rosabel saw his frozen features, eyes staring ahead, lips pressed into a tight line. Every resemblance of happiness had vanished, replaced by a seething anger boiling just below the surface. Following his line of sight, Rosabel flinched.

  Leonora’s portrait was staring back at them.

  Rosabel had completely forgotten the painting they had brought with them on their journey from Westmore. Used to sleeping under her mother’s watchful eyes, Georgiana had not been able to part with it, not even at the promise of seeing her father.

  “Where did you get this?” her husband forced out through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse and menacing. “Why is this here?”

  Feeling his eyes burn holes into her soul, Rosabel straightened, glancing at Georgiana. The girl looked uneasy back and forth between the two of them and her mother’s portrait, unaware of what had caused her father’s displeasure.

  “My lord, I suggest we talk about this in your study,” Rosabel suggested, eyes indicating the presence of his daughter. Sensing the anger ready to burst forth, she hoped to detain it long enough to remove Georgiana from the scene. “Please, my lord.”

  Her husband didn’t hear her though. “I ordered this painting removed,” he hissed, approaching her with slow steps, like a predator circling its prey. “How did you−?”

  Feeling little of the courage she hoped to portray, Rosabel lifted her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “Not here, my lord.” Then after ringing the bell, she turned to Georgiana.

  “Listen, your father and I need to speak to each other. But Bridget would love to keep you company during your tea party.” Gently, she brushed a lock behind the girl’s ear. “Is that all right?”

  Looking her in the eyes, Georgiana simply nodded, but the happiness that had been there mere moments before had vanished into thin air. Her small shoulders slumped, and her eyes had lost their glow.

  As Bridget entered, Rosabel excused herself and marched out of the room, hoping that her husband would follow. Not stopping to check, she headed straight for his study, knowing that they would have privacy there. As she came to stand before his desk, the door slammed shut behind her.

  Slowly, Rosabel turned around, finding her husband’s burning eyes on her. The scowl on his face spoke volumes before he even opened his mouth to say a word. “How did you get that painting?” he hissed, arm gesturing to the door and Leonora’s portrait they’d left behind in the nursery. “I know it was you. How dare you disobey me!”

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Rosabel fought to keep her eyes fixed on his. She would not yield! Yes, he didn’t scare her anymore, not like he did in the beginning, but there was something about him when anger took over that made her uneasy. Keeping her own voice as steady and unburdened by emotions as she could, Rosabel said, “I found the painting in the attic by accident. I did not intend to disobey you. You never mentioned the portrait, did you?”

  He knew she was right; she could see it in his eyes, a spark of reason, and yet, his anger could not that easily be extinguished. “You were not supposed to enter the attic in the first place! You−”

  “I did not know that.”

  He threw up his hands, shaking his head at her. “So you find a painting of my wife in the attic and decide to hang it in Georgiana’s nursery? What possessed you? Are you out of your mind?”

  Trying to stay calm, Rosabel fought down the spark of anger that ignited in her own core. “My lord, I did not mean to cause affront.” He snorted. “I had the painting brought to Georgiana’s room upon her request. She followed me to the attic one day and saw it. Could you have denied her?” Looking into his eyes, she saw his answer.

  He turned away then, and the tense anger that had held his body captive slowly dissipated. His shoulders loosened, and his head seemed too heavy to be held up.

  Feeling her own muscles relax, Rosabel said, “She was her mother. You cannot expect her to forget.”

  Again his shoulders stiffened, and he turned back to her, slowly, menacingly. It sent a shiver down her back. “This is none of your business!” He spoke so quietly that Rosabel had to strain her ears to hear him. “The painting will be destroyed! And you will never speak of her again!”

  Shocked at his words, Rosabel’s own thoughts instantly travelled to the little golden-haired girl. Losing her mother’s portrait would destroy her. It had given her such peace ever since they had put it up in her room. How could he demand such a thing?

  Rosabel shook her head, feeling her own resolve strengthened to the point of unyielding. “The painting will remain where it is,” she said just as quietly. Upon her words, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he stepped toward her. Before he could respond, however, Rosabel continued, “Your anger will not serve you, my lord. You need to make peace with the past.” His eyes narrowed into slits, and she could see that his whole frame trembled with barely contained emotions, and yet, Rosabel could not stop herself. “What happened with Leonora?” Saying her name out loud, and to him of all people, felt strange as though conjuring up a ghost.

  “I told you not to mention her again!” he hissed as he towered over her. “She is no more. You are now Georgiana’s mother, and that will be it! Do you hear me?” His head bent over hers, the blue in his eyes seemed almost gone, replaced by a black abyss.

  Feeling her body yield, Rosabel quickly shook off the urge and lifted her chin. Again her lips almost brushed his. “Yes, I am Georgiana’s mother now, and I am proud to be, but that does not make Leonora any less her mother.” A deep growl escaped his throat, and his hands closed around her arms o
nce again. “You cannot change that. No matter what you do,” Rosabel whispered, her eyes looking into his, noting that his own occasionally travelled down to her lips. Again a tremble went through her, and again it was not one born out of fear. “You must let your anger go, my lord.”

  “Why must you always fight me?” he hissed, staring at her as though she’d just declared war. “From the day we met, I have not have a day of peace. I did what I could to protect you, and yet, it was never enough, was it?” Rosabel frowned, unable to make sense of his words. Was he talking about her? But she hadn’t… No, he was talking about Leonora. Searching his face, she found his eyes distant as though he wasn’t really looking at her, but at a memory of his past, at Leonora. Uncomfortable, Rosabel tried to shake off his hands, but they only held her tighter.

  Lips pressed into a thin line, he looked at her, a hint of desperation on his features. “What will it take to make you forget him?” He stepped closer until the desk cut into her back. “What? Tell me!” He shook her, bringing his face even closer to hers.

  Rosabel didn’t know what to do. He clearly did not see her, trapped in emotions of his past. What was she to do? She tried to shove against him, but he was too strong, holding her pressed against him. At a loss for words, she searched his eyes, trying to make herself seen. But his gaze remained blind to her.

  “Tell me,” he demanded again, only this time his voice had grown softer. “Tell me how I can make you forget him.” He slowly bent his head, inching closer, his eyes traveling to her lips once more.

  Seeing his intention, Rosabel’s heart sped up even more. Would he kiss her? But it would not be her kiss, would it? Not really. In his mind, he was seeing Leonora. The woman he had loved his whole life. The woman who apparently had never loved him back. Knowing this, Rosabel still couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him.

  When his lips finally touched hers, a flame rose within her, and Rosabel felt herself respond. Kissing him back, she placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. His hands released their almost painful grip on her arms, and, brushing down her back, settled on her waist, pulling her closer.