Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke

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Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke Page 25

by Christi Caldwell


  He spoke, his words bringing her up short at the edge of the massive, mahogany piece.

  “There is something I would tell you, Daisy.” Auric’s words, barely a whisper reached her ears.

  She rested her hand on the edge of his desk. Her fingers brushed a piece of paper. “What is it?” she asked, as the first frissons of unease traveled along her spine. Those same, dangerous, volatile, knowing sentiments she’d known once in her life that spoke of inevitable doom. She forcibly shoved aside such inane panic.

  “I have withheld the truth from you.” He released her embroidery frame. The delicate, wood piece clattered to the desk.

  It was the reason Daisy glanced down and why she happened to note the page under her hands and why she then caught the handful of words scratched upon the sheet, in her husband’s handwriting. And it was why she saw those four words strung together.

  I killed her brother.

  A dull, humming filled her ears and she shook her head in a bid to make sense of the words on that page. With tremulous fingers, she picked the book up.

  “Daisy,” Auric said hoarsely and leaped to his feet. He reached for the page.

  She held it out of his reach and backed away from him. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, Daisy skimmed the page and then moved to the next. She gave her head a clearing shake. No. This was a mistake. A lie, dashed upon a page. Daisy lifted her gaze from the opened book. Her husband stood, stoic and unmoving, guilty in his silence. She returned her eyes to the page.

  I am sorry I killed you. I will fulfill the role of brother and promise to treat her as my own sister.

  Except, no matter how many times she read them, nor how many times she willed them gone, the dark ink remained the same. The silence threatened to drive her mad. “What is this?” she whispered, picking her head up once more.

  His face was a ravaged mask of grief.

  “What is this?” she cried, waving the page about, and then she glimpsed the words upon the opposite side. She flipped the damning sheet over and the air left her on a swift, exhale.

  I promise to wed her. Because she has long been neglected and uncared for. I know she requires protection. And also, how very lonely and sad her life is.

  Oh, my God. She recoiled. He’d wed her out of a sense of responsibility for his role in Lionel’s death. The room dipped and swayed under her feet and she sought purchase then found it against the wall. She borrowed support from the hard plaster, her ragged breath coming fast.

  “I can explain,” he said, his tone deadened. “I owed you the truth before we wed.”

  The truth? His words blended and blurred together. “What truth?” She hardly recognized that high, panicky cry as her own.

  He resumed walking and came to a stop several feet away from her. Daisy flipped her head back and forth, seeking escape. Oh, God, he’d killed her brother. The details of that night that no one knew of but Auric. She’d believed Wessex had remained shrouded in secrets and mystery and…

  “Do not look at me like that,” he pleaded, his voice a hoarse entreaty. “As though I’m a monster.”

  “What truth?” she demanded again, proud of the steady, unwaveringness in that question this time.

  He held a hand out to her and she recoiled. She’d spent her life loving him, desiring him, wanting him, and all along he’d been a stranger.

  “You were deserving of the truth before this.” He sucked in a slow breath and remained silent for so long, restlessness filled every corner of her being until she wanted to run from him, and this room, and back to last evening when he’d been simply Auric and she’d been Daisy, and they’d both been in love.

  Lies. Lies. Lies. All of it.

  “We went to a…” Auric flushed. “A place fit for no man or gentleman and certainly no place a lady should ever know about.” She cocked her head, trying to follow this disjointed exchange. “Lionel did not want to go. He wanted to remain in the fashionable end of London with…” He closed his eyes. “…the more fashionable light of loves.” Oh, God. “I insisted that we visit a…a…place,” he stumbled over his words. “I even paid the coins for the woman he went abovestairs with, and sometime during that,” He choked on his words. “exchange, he was stabbed.” A strangled sound, half-sob, half-laugh, escaped him. “All for a bag of coin and his gold timepiece.”

  Daisy groaned. The sound tore from her throat, painful. “No. No. No,” she moaned, tossing her head back and forth. She released the journal and clamped her hands over her ears to blot out his voice.

  A heavy sheen of tears filled his eyes, those useless, empty, meaningless expressions. More lies. “I didn’t kill him.” He dragged a hand over his face. “But he was there because of me…and, ah, God Daisy the guilt of that will always be with me.”

  Tears flooded her own eyes and she blinked them away. A drop streaked a path down her cheek, followed by another, and another, until the torrents opened, and she openly sobbed. She folded her arms about her waist and hugged herself tight, but it did little to drive back the pained agony threatening to rip her apart. She’d heard nothing more than faint whisperings about that dark night. For what had transpired had been too dark and too vile for even the gossips to boldly bandy about before polite Society. Now, she knew the truth. Auric and Lionel and Marcus had gone to the unfashionable ends of London…to know the pleasures of a whore and, in the end, her brother, who by Auric’s account had not wanted to go, had paid with his life.

  She pressed her eyes closed, her body wracked with silent sobs, as at last it all made sense. “Th-that is why y-you came around,” she managed to rasp out between shuddering cries. That loyalty, that sense of obligation to her, and Mother, and Father, had been his attempt at an absolution of his guilt. And ultimately, that guilt had led him to marriage—to her, neglected and uncared for, sad, lonely Daisy Meadows.

  Auric reached out for her and she swatted his hand away.

  “Is that why you came ’round all these years?” she demanded in a soft, steady voice.

  He allowed his fingers to drop to his side. “At first,” he conceded, his eyes tortured. He was tortured? He who’d lied, and then ultimately wedded her, out of guilt, was tortured? He cared nothing more than she’d discovered the truths of his deception.

  Daisy wrenched her gaze from his and alternated it to the book in her hands. “Of course, how stupid I was to not see,” she whispered to herself. “You all but threw suitors into my proverbial path, coming by with Lord Astor and speaking to me of marriage…because you felt obligated to see me cared for.” If she’d been married, then he’d not have to pay her visits.

  “I enjoyed seeing you, Daisy,” he said lamely.

  A mirthless laugh bubbled past her lips, scaring her with the vitriol there. “You enjoyed seeing me?” Her laughter redoubled.

  Auric took another step toward her and when she again held her hand out to stop him, this time he continued coming anyway. “Stop,” she pleaded. He captured her shoulders in a grip that was both gentle and firm, staying her retreat.

  “I’ll not lie to you.” He flushed again. “Any more than I already have. Guilt brought me to visit. When I saw you, I remembered everything I’d cost you and your family.” And still he’d wed her anyway.

  Goodness his guilt must be great. She slid her gaze away from his. Bitterness tasted rusty and dry in her mouth.

  Auric spoke on a rush. “Then I saw you at Gipsy Hill and initially I was fearful of your well-being, but then I saw you, Daisy.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I truly saw you. And I hated Astor and every other man who might be a husband to you, because I wanted that role.”

  She shook her head, dispelling more of his lies. How could he expect her to believe anything uttered from his traitorous lips?

  “I love you,” he said, lowering his brow to hers. “I always loved you, Daisy, even when you were a girl dogging my footsteps. It just took me a bit longer to open my eyes and see you’d become the woman I adored, the woman I could not live withou
t, the woman—”

  She wrenched herself from his grip and spun away from him, needing to put distance between them and the riotous emotions churning through her. “Stop,” she pleaded. For when he spoke he made her want to forget everything that had come to pass and continue on as the couple they’d been last night. Had it only been a night ago?

  Daisy retreated another step and another, until she’d placed the leather, winged back chairs between them. She glanced blankly down at the damning pages that contained more truths than anything else Auric, the Duke of Crawford, had uttered in the past seven years. “You didn’t love me,” she said softly, to herself. “Not truly. You never saw me as anything more than Lionel’s sister.” She closed her eyes. “Where I, I only saw you.” All these years she’d simply wanted someone to see her, truly see her, Daisy Meadows. She’d not wanted to be an object of pity or sympathy. In the end, with Auric’s obligatory offer of marriage, he’d consigned her to a marriage based on those very sentiments she detested. Daisy opened her eyes. Auric stood, commanding and powerful in all his masculine glory. She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, wanting him to say something, anything. Except no words were coming. No profession of love. As much as she would hate him for his deception, he would always own her heart. “What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered.

  “No.” That word emerged a garbled croak.

  Daisy tightened her grip on the leather volume. “You speak of love and obligation, but none of that was ever about me or love, Auric.” Her lip peeled back in a sneer. “It was only about you. It was about your guilt and your regret and trying to find peace inside yourself.” She tossed the book at him, where it landed ineffectually at his feet. The thick sheen of tears blurred his image and she swiped angrily at the flowing signs of weakness. “You sought to replace Lionel, failing to realize that I didn’t want a brother. I had a brother. I had a brother and he died.” Daisy held his gaze. “I wanted a husband, Auric.” I wanted you.

  “Please—”

  “Please what?” She arched a single, cynical eyebrow. “Forgive you? For lying to me? For Lionel?” With a rusty, broken laugh she gave her head a shake. “I won’t forgive you any of that, Auric, and I suspect that won’t matter much to you, anyway. The only one who can give you the absolution you need is you…and you’ll never find it.”

  With that, she swept from the room, leaving him with the remnants of her broken heart for his company.

  Chapter 21

  Daisy sat at the edge of the Serpentine River. Crimson red and hues of orange painted the dawn sky in a blaze of colors both majestic and sad. She looked down at the embroidery frame, the image of a heart at last perfectly captured. After seven years of struggling with the too small needle and her awkward fingers she had managed what she’d deemed an impossible feat. For so long she’d found solace and comfort in this skill that really was no skill; neither for her, nor the way it was for other ladies. When she’d lived, an invisible shadow in her parents’ household and missed Lionel, her embroidering had represented a challenge. Something so very difficult that it required her full attention and, in so doing, forced her attention on the inane.

  She set aside the wooden frame and drew her knees close to her chest. She rested her chin atop her skirts and stared out at the vast, empty grounds of Hyde Park. A spring breeze rustled the beech tree, stirring the leaves overhead. Now, the task was completed, and when her thoughts should be of Lionel and the aching hole that would forever dwell in her heart, she thought of another.

  A man, who by his admission, had killed Lionel. Her heart spasmed. Since she’d read those damning words on the pages of Auric’s journal and listened to his claims of guilt, she’d alternated between a mind-numbing shock and, God help her, hatred for the man who should have been a friend to Lionel, who had instead ushered him to his death. Her life, and the subsequent years of pain and loneliness she’d known, that he’d so casually written upon the pages of that book were secondary to Lionel. She would have traded every last smile if it meant she could have her brother back in her life for even one day.

  After a night of too many tears, she’d fled her new home and Auric, needing to put space between them so she might sort through her husband’s damning words. She’d lain abed, staring blankly up at the mural upon the center of the ceiling. How could she look upon him and see anything but the darkness of that night? A chill stole through her at the truths he’d uttered. And yet, in the clear light of day, even as she wanted to blame him for the loss of Lionel, she could not. As long as she’d known her brother, he’d never been one to go anywhere or do anything he didn’t wish to. He’d gone of his own volition and his death was a result of his own actions.

  Oh, there was little solace to be found in that. For there would always be a need to make sense of an unconscionable act committed against a man who’d been just twenty-two years of age. The wind tugged at her coiffure and loosened a single curl. It tumbled over her brow. She closed her eyes thinking of Auric and all the times he’d captured a strand in his hand, studying the lock as though it were the rarest of artifacts on display at the Egyptian Hall. Daisy opened her eyes. A pink pelican glided along the smooth surface of the river. It dipped its enormous head under the surface and emerged a moment later with a fish inside its enormous, orange bill. She could not hate Auric or blame him or hold him in contempt for that night of revelry and carousing. They’d been young and no different than most young gentleman out of university. They’d merely partaken in activities she’d never heard whispers of because of the scandalous nature of them.

  Daisy picked up her completed fabric and ran her fingers over the flawless heart. She could not, however, forgive or accept this marriage of obligation he’d forced upon her. A union in which he saw her as a responsibility, a debt owed Lionel, that now he’d spend the remainder of his life paying for in the form of marriage to lonely, unprotected her. Lies. Lies. All of it.

  I love you, Daisy. She winced. Had any of it been real?

  She paused with her fingertip at the dip in the red heart. She’d convinced herself Auric wedded her of love, and because he felt the same desperate emotions she’d long carried in her own heart. Only the truth was their marriage had been carefully constructed upon lies and deception and a tragic past. Where could there ever be happiness in such a union? A viselike pressure tightened about her heart. She deserved more of a marriage. Just as Auric deserved more. The golden haired beauty who’d captured his affections flitted through her mind. Lady Stanhope. The kind, lovely, flawless, English beauty was the woman he would have had in his life. Oh, on their wedding night he’d spoken of his love for Daisy and issued protestations of any real emotional regard for the countess.

  But she had been the woman he’d courted…and there had been no Lionel or guilt or obligation prompting his suit. The pressure tightened once more, squeezing off her airflow. Whereas Daisy always was and now, as his wife, always would be, an eternal responsibility.

  A little yawn cut into her sad musings and she looked over at her maid seated at a distance. The poor woman leaned against the base of one of those tulip trees, her eyes closed a moment as though exhausted.

  Guilt tugged at Daisy. She’d dragged the poor woman out at an ungodly hour. She looked to her maid. Agnes shoved away from the tree and rushed over. “Do you require anything, Your—” The young servant’s mouth formed a small moue of surprise. She looked to the embroidery frame in Daisy’s hands and then back to Daisy. “My goodness, you’ve done it, Your Grace. It is a heart.”

  Agnes had been with her for nearly six years. She’d seen those earlier attempts at a heart when they’d been more of an amorphous sphere, and when Daisy had required kerchiefs to blot digits wounded by her inept fingers.

  “I did it,” she repeated quietly. Where was the sense of accomplishment? Where was the joy? Daisy froze. Only was this truly joy? This empty scrap of fabric with her perfectly etched heart? The one sliver of happiness she’d clung to hadn’t been this or even the mem
ories of Lionel, but rather of Auric…as he’d been before, and who he’d been after.

  Everything between them had been false. Or had it? She thought of the accusations she’d hurled at him, the hurt she’d seen reflected in his eyes, eyes that were usually indecipherable masks that gave no glimpse of thought or emotion. Daisy drew in a slow breath. For the pain she carried over their marriage crafted upon obligation and responsibility, she needed to see her husband if for no other reason than to take back those horrific charges she’d leveled at him, holding him guilty for crimes that were no one’s but the person who’d murdered Lionel.

  “It is time to return home, Agnes,” she confided. She murmured her thanks as the young woman set to work folding up the blanket and packing up the handful of belonging they’d brought that morning.

  And what, then? What happened after they spoke? Did they simply become friends as they’d once been? She shook her head, clearing the thought. They could never have the uncomplicated, trusting relationship they’d once known. Or were they to be one of those polite, proper dukes and duchesses who attended polite, Society functions together and hosted the requisite dinner parties and balls, while never being anything more?

  “Are you ready, Your Grace?” Agnes asked.

  Daisy nodded and reached for her embroidery kit, relieving Agnes of that burden. They strolled in silence through the empty park. The soft morning cry of a kestrel punctuated the peace in the empty, expertly manicured grounds. She followed Agnes to the waiting carriage and allowed the liveried servant to hand her inside. He made to close the door. Daisy held her hand out, staying the moment. “The Marchioness of Roxbury’s first.”

  The driver nodded and a moment later, the carriage sprang into motion. She pulled back the curtain and peered out at the passing London streets. Empty and quiet, there was an almost eerie peace that allowed one to forget, if even for a moment, that they dwelled in the dark, dirty city of glittering falsity. She looked on as Auric’s carriage returned her to the familiar row of townhouses, before ultimately rocking to a stop before her former home. The driver pulled the door open and Daisy stepped down. “I’ll not be long,” she stated and then started forward.

 

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