Chapter 28

William had just reached the top of the driveway when he noticed a carriage coming in his direction. One of his own, which puzzled him somewhat, for Anthony was not at Stonebridge and neither was his mother, as far as he knew, so who would be leaving the estate?

He stood in the driveway as the carriage came closer, and the driver pulled the horses to a halt.

"Who is your passenger?" William asked.

The driver frowned as if he did not understand the question. "It's the Duchess, Your Grace."

"The Duchess?"

A sudden shudder ran down William's spine as he hurried to the side of the carriage and tried the handle, but someone had locked it from the inside.

Undeterred, he rapped on the window, though the curtain had been drawn, and he wondered what on earth was going on. Why would Lydia be leaving the estate? She was supposed to be coming to the lake for breakfast. If not that, then she was supposed to be fast asleep in the bed where he had left her, after holding her close all night.

"Who goes there?" came Lydia's small voice.

"It is me," William replied, struggling to keep his voice even. "Why are you departing Stonebridge? Is there something you require? I can accompany you to fetch it if you would open the door."

The curtain was pulled back, and Lydia slid the window down. "I am leaving because I have had time to consider our situation, and I believe you are correct—we should have a distant marriage. Indeed, one so distant that it is not a marriage at all." She took a shaky breath. "I would like an annulment, Will. It is the consequence of you breaking my rule."

"Pardon?" His chest seized as if she had kicked him and knocked the wind out of him entirely.

True, he had hoped to get her to see that a marriage of convenience was the best way forward for them, despite knowing that nothing about his feelings for her was convenient, but annulment? That was the very last thing he wanted. He would have taken a love match over an annulment.

What is this madness?

She had… transformed from the divine, content woman he had made love to last night into a cold, flinty-eyed creature that he barely recognized as his wife.

"Last night should not have happened, but I was…confused by what we did and how it made me feel. Thankfully, I have seen sense with the morning light," she went on. "My price for breaking my rule is an annulment. It is what I always intended to ask for, and I would have made that known if you had not… enchanted me with your seductive tactics. I will be at Bruxton Hall, awaiting your correspondence after you have spoken with the bishop. I do not care what excuse you give to the bishop for wanting this annulment—though I would suggest coercion or fraud—but ensure it is done as swiftly as possible. Driver, please proceed!"

William held up his hand. "No, do not proceed!"

He gazed up at Lydia, convinced that he was in the midst of a nightmare. Or perhaps she was merely proving him right—that no woman, not even the one he cared for, could be trusted. Was that not what he had been telling himself all morning? Was this not what he had wanted? To be proven right?

"You do not get to dictate such things, Lydia," he said firmly. "You do not get to have so much power over me, nor do you get to make up the consequences after the rule has already been broken—with your permission, I might add, unless you had forgotten that part?"

"Power?" she scoffed. "I have no power, but I can do this. I can make things right, and that is what I shall do. So, either you can write to the bishop, or I shall gather together the dukes that I know, and I shall have them speak to the bishop on my behalf. But the reason that I give will not be as kind as me giving you the opportunity to choose one of your own."

William threw his hands up. "But I do not know the reason, Lydia. Where has this change of heart come from?"

Anthony had warned him that he would lose her if he was not careful, but that was before he had ridden all the way from London to be with her and to smooth things over. How was it possible that things had become so tangled and messy again? Everything last night had been so… perfect. What had changed?

"It is funny to hear you speak of hearts, Wolfie," she said quietly. "I had hoped that yours was merely guarded, but now I fear you do not have one at all."

William stared at her with increasing frustration, the heat of the morning sunlight adding to the sweat that beaded on his brow and made his collar itch. Ordinarily, he knew what he had done wrong, and the worst that could happen was that his name would appear in the scandal sheets.

But at that moment, he had no idea whatsoever of what he had done to deserve such scorn from her. Nor did he understand the hurt that flashed across her face.

"Is it because I left you alone in your bed?" he asked, clutching at straws. "Did you not find my note?"

She smiled, but it did not reach her stony eyes. "I found it, but I had already made my decision." Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. "Once you have requested the annulment, you may return to life as you imagined it. The Great Rake can terrorize Society once more."

William blinked, stung by her words. He fought to keep the hurt from his face, though it throbbed in his heart like a fresh bruise. As he continued to stare at her, he waited for this to make sense, waited for her to suddenly burst out laughing and inform him that it was a misjudged jest. Even if she had said that she just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, it would have been a relief.

"Why are you behaving as if you are the one injured?" he asked when she said nothing. "You welcome me into your bed, you sleep at my side all night, and then you suddenly wake up and decide that you want to be as far away from me as possible. How are you the wounded party?"

She sniffed. "Come now, do not pretend as if you are hurt. Even if your pride is a little bruised, you will recover."

"My pride is not bruised, but… you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Was I an experiment to you?" he asked coolly. "Did you decide you wished to sample a taste of what gentlemen could offer you, and now that you have, you have seen that taking lovers might not be so awful after all? Or was all of that nonsense about fidelity a ruse from the very beginning? I can certainly see how it might be, considering how we met."

"I beg your pardon," she hissed, her eyes narrowing as she opened the carriage door.

"Well, you can hardly be as virtuous as you claim to be when you kiss strange pirates at random balls, can you? I would not be surprised if you planned it, following the guide of one of your sordid books," he shot back, his pain and confusion making his tone jagged and fierce. "What novel were you recreating, hmm? Shall I read it to know what character I was meant to?—"

She slapped him twice as hard as she had slapped him in the library the first night they met. The shock of it rippled across his cheek, but his instincts were quicker than his mind. He grasped her wrist and held her, glaring with all of the pain she had inflicted on not only his heart but also his character. Toward her, he had never acted disloyally, and he still did not know what he had done wrong.

"That is quite enough, Lydia," he growled. "If you are leaving, then leave, but I shall decide if your behavior warrants an annulment."

Lydia wrenched her hand free of his grip and returned inside the carriage, slamming the door. "Since the beginning, you have constantly judged my trustworthiness, believing me to be something that I am not. Yet, it is you who is untrustworthy. It is you who has lied. It is you who has tricked and deceived, and if you are looking for a reason for my ‘change of heart,' it awaits you at the manor." She paused, her voice wavering. "My feelings no longer matter."

With that, she slid the window up and banged on the inside of the carriage. The driver cast a look at William, who could not decide what to do—whether to let her leave, as she wished, or to insist on her remaining until this could be resolved.

But he had witnessed enough arguments to know that nothing could be ironed out when one party was in such a heated condition, much less both, and he knew he had spoken spitefully too. Perhaps distance would clear both of their minds, and at least he knew where she would be. Bruxton Hall was as safe a place as any.

With a sigh, he nodded to the driver.

The carriage pulled away, heading through the gates. William stood and watched it leave, watched his wife abandon him, and could not ignore the grim satisfaction that swept through his brain.

You see, she is no different. She has done you a favor.

So why did it feel so dreadful? Why were his feet itching to take off after the carriage, to bring it to a halt and drag her out until she could tell him plainly what the matter was? And why did his heart hurt so much?

He was the one who had insisted that there would be no love, he was the one who had been about to set new rules for the pair of them to prevent their marriage from becoming romantic. What right did he have to feel so… crushed?

"My feelings no longer matter."

Her parting words lingered like a nettle sting in his mind. What were her feelings, and why did they no longer matter? Of course, they mattered. Indeed, he wished he knew what they were as he cursed himself for not demanding an explanation.

But the carriage was too far away now, and as she had said that the reason for her abrupt departure awaited him at the manor, he had no choice but to return. It was the only way he would be able to get to the bottom of this peculiar, injurious morning.