by Devon, Eva
At the sound of her entrance, he turned to her, his eyes lighting. “You’ve told her, then,” Heath said.
Her whole body burned, dreading confessing the truth. “No,” she said. “I have not.”
He stilled. “You said you would.”
She licked her lips. “I tried, but she started speaking of me marrying the future Earl of Monteith, and I didn’t know how to tell her.”
He nodded slowly, but there was nothing comforting in his stance. “You didn’t know how to tell her you’d chosen a man like me, some scum from nowhere.”
She gasped at the pain coursing through him, a pain she’d never seen. “You’re not scum. Why would you say such a thing?”
He gave her a rueful stare. “Well, you couldn’t tell her, could you?”
She rushed in, “No, I didn’t know how to—”
“Mary,” he ground out. “I understand the difficulty of your situation. You chose someone who’s not from your society, who’s not from your way of life. You married down, and now you don’t know how to face it.”
“No,” she protested. Panic welled in her breast. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Why was he so. . . So, different? “That’s not true at all.”
“We can’t get an annulment,” he sighed. “There’s no way to turn our marriage back. But if you wish to live separately, I promise not to tell anyone. I’ll burn the marriage certificate. We can keep it a secret, and you can go on as if we—”
“What madness are you speaking?” she demanded, her voice nearly breaking. “Don’t say such cruel things. I love you.”
“You love me,” he agreed, his gaze hollow, unrelenting. “But you regret it. You regret marrying me. It was a vast mistake, and I’m sorry I even suggested we do it. I never should’ve whisked you away that morning. We were acting on foolish hope and the excitement of our first night together.”
She shook her head, desperate to go back to just a few hours before, when all was well. “I don’t understand why you’re saying this. Perhaps if you told all the secrets you have, too.”
“I don’t need to tell you my secrets, Mary,” he snapped. “They don’t affect this.”
“Don’t they?” she protested, not shrinking under his sudden wrath. “Don’t you think the wounds of your past are what’s driving you to say these things now?”
“No, I don’t,” he said with deliberate control now. “I made peace with those things a long time ago, but you’re not able to make peace with us. If you were, you’d be able to tell your mother now.”
“You’re asking for the impossible,” she cried.
“Am I?” He arched his brow, a cold gesture. “Well, if I’m asking for the impossible, which is for us to be free and for everyone to know it, then our marriage is impossible.”
She tried to understand what he was saying. And then she understood. “You can’t be leaving me,” she said. “That’s not possible.”
“Anything is possible, Mary,” he said, his lips curling in a hard smile before he looked away. “Or I thought so. This was a vast mistake.”
“You think I’m a mistake?” she rasped, her throat tightening.
“Don’t you think I’m one?” he countered, his broad shoulders as unyielding as any stone wall.
She matched him, shoulders back, head high. “No, I don’t.”
“You do,” he disagreed, his eyes narrowing. “Otherwise, you would be able to tell your family. You’d be proud to be with me. You’d be proud to be out walking the streets with me, to hold my hand. But you’re not. And that’s the truth.”
She swallowed back a wave of nausea.
Was that how he saw it?
He must.
She took a step towards him. “Please, I—”
He snapped up his hand, a gesture meant to keep her in her place. “No, Mary, I can’t talk to you right now. I have to think about this.”
“You have to think?” she repeated.
“Yes, perhaps you’re so used to getting your way in this world. Perhaps you think I shall just go on living in the shadows if you wish it.”
“Getting my way?” she repeated. “You know nothing of my life.”
“I know a great deal of it,” he replied without sympathy. “Yes, you suffered with your father, but you don’t know what it means to truly suffer, to be denied, to be abandoned. And now,” he said, “you’re abandoning me.”
Those words cut through the room like a knife. And her heart twisted in horror.
“I’m not abandoning you,” she insisted. “I’m here now.”
“Yes,” he growled. “You’re here now when it suits you, when you don’t have to tell anyone about it, as if I’m a dirty little. . . ” He stopped himself. “Please leave. I’m done with shadows.”
She could not breathe.
This was not how this was supposed to be. This adventure was not supposed to turn into a tragedy. That’s what Drake had said once, that they were not supposed to be a tragedy, but a love story.
“Richard,” she said, almost pleading as her heart broke.
“No,” he ground out. “I don’t wish to speak of this any longer. I asked you to tell them, you could not, and that’s my answer. I know how far you’re willing to go, Mary, and it’s not far enough.”
She bit back a cutting reply and said instead, “I understand I have disappointed you, but you have never let me in, and I don’t think you ever will. So perhaps we have disappointed each other. I want to know more about you, but you don’t want to tell me.”
“Then, we are far too alike,” he said, turning to the fire. “It’s best we end it now.”
It hit her then. There was nothing she could say to ease his pain or change is mind. Nothing that would defend her actions or lack thereof to him.
With that, she turned on her heel and headed out into the corridor, her heart pounding.
She could not think.
As she slid into the hall, a horrifying thought came to her. She was running away from him again.
When she looked back now, she knew that morning when that footman had knocked on Heath’s door, telling her of her father’s death, and she’d left him then, that that had been a coward’s choice.
This morning, when she’d walked out of her mother’s room without telling the truth, that was a coward’s choice too.
She was a coward, and she did not know how to face herself.
She walked down the long corridor back through the place that had given her so much joy over the last few months, feeling completely empty, completely alone, and she did not know what to do next.
Chapter 24
Mary did not go home.
She could not.
Her distress was roiling through her body like a storm. She could scarce sit still in the hackney coach as it raced through the London streets. She’d told the driver simply to go anywhere while she thought, but her brain spun and spun.
The word coward thundered over and over in her ears.
She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she was not alone in her cowardice. Heath too was afraid. He could not tell her the truth of his past or share it with her. He could not let her in.
Perhaps that was why she had been so afraid to tell her family.
But she could not be afraid any longer. Fear was ruining her life.
She banged on the roof of the hackney cab and gave an address. Within several minutes, she was sitting outside an elegant townhouse. The lights threw a golden glow on the square. She vaulted down from the hackney, giving the driver the few coins she had since money was not something people of her class generally carried.
She thundered up the stairs, completely unladylike, and banged upon the brass knocker. The door swung open, revealing a dignified butler.
“I’m here to see the Duke of Drake,” she announced.
The man arched a steely brow. “Who, may I ask, is calling?”
“Lady Mary, sister of the Duke of Blackstone.”
That gained her a qui
ck admittance even if the butler did look quite perplexed.
“One moment, one moment,” the fellow blustered as he smoothed his snowy-white cravat.
She paced back and forth in the foyer as the butler wandered off.
Within moments, the Duke of Drake strode into the foyer, across the black and white floor, looking most concerned.
“Mary,” he inquired, his gaze flitting over her to ascertain her state.
Then wordlessly, as he saw her distress, he ushered her into a side parlor. Its beautiful green silk paper, deep-cherry wood furnishings, and ruby Axminster rug had a distinctly masculine feel.
Quickly, he poured two sniffers of brandy, both far more full than they should have been. A stiffener if ever there was one.
He handed her one of the crystal-cut glasses.
“You look as if you’ve seen hell.”
“I feel as if I have,” she agreed, wrapping her cold hands around the elegant crystal. She gripped so hard, she could feel the pattern pressing into her gloved hands. “I have to tell someone the truth.”
“Then, tell me,” he said calmly.
“You urged me once to leap, and I did.” The words flew off her tongue in her desperation. “I’ve jumped into a stormy sea, and there’s nothing to cling onto.”
“There’s always something to cling onto,” Drake assured firmly. “We just can’t see it at first.”
“I’m married,” she proclaimed. Before she laughed. An almost frightening sound before tears began to slip down her cheeks. She couldn’t recall when she’d last cried.
“To Heath?” Drake queried gently as he whipped out his handkerchief and passed it to her.
“Yes,” she confirmed. She took the linen square, dabbed her eyes, and felt a complete fool.
“Well, my dear girl,” he teased. “You certainly do know how to plunge in.”
She gave him a watery look. “Yes, but now that I have, I’m completely at a loss.”
“What’s the bounder done?” Drake asked, even as a muscle tightened in his jaw, apparently ready to go off and defend her honor.
“It is not he, it is I,” she corrected quickly. “I cannot find a way to tell my brother and my mother about our marriage.”
Drake stared at her for a long moment.
“You’re afraid,” he stated without hesitation.
“Yes,” she groaned. “It’s terrible.”
“Fear is always terrible.” He took a deep swallow then palmed the snifter. “It always drives us to do the worst things. Has it driven a wedge between you?”
“It has,” she said, her voice catching before she took a sip. The brandy coated her tongue with cherries and oak before it burned its way down her throat. “He cannot forgive me for it. I can’t forgive him, either.”
“What for? What has he done?” Drake asked kindly.
She bit her lower lip then forced herself to admit, “He keeps so much of himself, hidden away.”
“Ah,” Drake said, nodding. “Then, he is afraid too. Both of you two terrified people in a marriage. It’s not the best way to go about things.”
“No,” she agreed, taking another swallow, feeling as though her world was ending.
Drake locked gazes with her.
There was no pity in his gaze, just determination. “Mary, there’s only one thing you can do, and you know what it is.”
She swallowed back the brandy again, her whole self feeling as if it might shake apart at any moment, given the mess she’d made of things. But she wouldn’t allow it. Not any longer.
She was made of sterner stuff than this.
“There’s only one thing to be done when one’s afraid,” he said.
“And that is?” she asked, truly hungry for Drake’s advice. After all, he was a bold man, who’d suffered for years and finally found the happiness she sought.
“To go forward,” he whispered, “one cannot go back. One risks too much stumbling in the dark. It is far better to just simply get it done.”
“How?” she asked in genuine dismay. “How do I tell them?”
“You sit them down, and you say the words,” Drake said.
She nodded. “I’m not sure that will be enough. Perhaps it is too late.”
“Sometimes it is too late,” he agreed. “But if you love him and he loves you, I do not think it will be.”
“I do not know.” She shook her head. “The way he looked at me—”
“The way he was looking at you, no doubt, is the way he was also looking at himself,” Drake cut in. “I know he’s a good man, but you have to understand the sort of life he’s lived. Everyone’s always abandoned him. I think he’s afraid you will abandon him too.”
“How could he be afraid?” she challenged. “He’s the most powerful man I know aside from my brother and you.”
“Well, Mary,” Drake said. “Consider where he’s come from. Born to no one, born to nothing, no friends, a brother that’s a rogue and a cad. No doubt, he’s clung to everything he had. Everything he had does not include family. He doesn’t know what to do with family. He has no map, no marker. You must be that. You must be his North Star in a land that is completely unknown to him. And then see if he follows.”
“It seems like a terribly big responsibility,” she said, still afraid but more determined to keep her love than ever before. She would not let it go easily.
“Yes,” Drake leaned against the fireplace mantle and cocked his head to the side. “But you chose that when you chose him, did you not?”
“I did,” she breathed, understanding finally dawning for her.
“So,” Drake smiled slowly. “You must hold firm while he cannot.”
She winced. “I feel as if I’ve been the one who’s been completely at sea.”
“Perhaps you have been, but now is the time to take a breath and swim.”
She gaped up at him, and suddenly, a plan began to form. She could swim, and she knew exactly what she had to do.
“How is it you’re so very wise?” she teased with a touch of seriousness.
“By making so many mistakes,” Drake replied cheerfully. “It’s the only way to learn. You just have to keep making mistakes.”
She frowned. “I feel like I’ve made so many of them.”
“Good. You’re on the path to wisdom,” Drake announced. “Now finish your brandy and go do what needs to be done.”
She did as she was told.
As soon as she consumed the last drop, she placed the snifter down. She smiled up at the duke who had also gone through so much, and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Mary. Now, go and get your happiness while you can.”
And so, that was exactly what she planned to do. And this time, nothing would stop her. Not even herself.
Chapter 25
Self-hatred pounded through Heath.
He’d ran away.
He’d ran away.
Just like the coward he insinuated Mary was.
Bloody hell. What an infant. What a terrible man. He’d learned nothing in all his years thinking he was so strong, so powerful. He was weak. He was worse than weak. He’d ran away from Mary, making it seem as if this was all her fault.
As if she was the one who had made their marriage fall apart.
That wasn’t the case.
It was his own doubts, his own fears. . . He’d let Jamie’s words confirm his inner certainty that no one could ever love a gutter rat like himself.
He knew it deep in his soul, and he’d driven her away. He’d made her feel terrible about herself. He was totally unworthy of her. He could never dare to hope now that she would look him in the eye and be proud of him.
Not when he’d done such a cruel thing. Not when he’d listened to his brother Jamie. God.
The coach rolled down through the countryside. He’d needed to get away. He needed the air. He needed to be away from London and its distractions. He needed to find a new path, a path Mary could be proud of if he was ever to hope to
have her again.
He was at a loss. He had no way to know which way was forward. A dark ocean surrounded him, and he could not see the surface.
As the coach finally rolled to a stop in front of his cottage, he stepped down into the darkness and felt the pain of being distant from her.
As he gazed upon the pathway up to his door, all he could think of was her and the moments they had shared here. He cursed. Was there nowhere he could find peace now?
He could not even have this place now, because it was permeated with her memory.
By the joy they had found together.
Was he incapable of holding on to joy? Was that it? Did he have to burn everything to the ground because he did not think he deserved it?
All this time, he’d been telling his brother that he was the one caught by emotion and unable to move forward. Perhaps it was Heath, in his iciness and callousness and control, who was frozen in the past. He was the one who was unable to move forward, who was unable to believe he was deserving of love.
Jamie had merely echoed his own thoughts and his own feelings.
Heath ground his teeth, his fear and anger and hopelessness rattling around inside him. Now, what was he to do?
As he stood in the darkness, he looked up to the stars. He longed to believe in them and their power, but right now, they gave him no guidance.
Could he find the words to make an apology? He was the first to know he could not take back the words he’d said, all the anger, all the foolishness, all the stupidity.
He had been absolutely stupid. He’d thrown her and her love away. For what? His pride?
He wanted things from Mary that she could not give, and he’d known it when he chose her. He’d chosen her, and he’d chosen all the problems that might arise. He had allowed himself to become so small.
His throat tightened as a galling thought took root in his brain.
Perhaps he had driven her away so she might find happiness because he clearly could not give it to her. That hurt worst of all. He’d promised he would give her strength. He promised he would make her feel free.
Well, he was giving her freedom, all right, but he had torn her down, chipped away at that strength, and made her feel. . . He closed his eyes and shuddered. He was worse than her father because he had tried to hand her strength and then he had taken it away from her. Her father had only ever torn her down, but at least, it had never been a false promise.