Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

“ T he fight,” Alexander hissed at Horace, “what happened?”

On his way out, he passed Horace. He caught his friend’s shoulder, forcing him to a stop.

“I sent my missive but I have handled it with the guards. Alexander, it was quite awful. They had guns! They are getting bolder in here. I had the guards escort the men from the premises right after I sent you the letter.”

“The threat is eliminated?” Alexander checked.

Horace gave him an exhausted smile. “Friend, is the threat ever fully eliminated? We give a gambling landscape to greedy, ruthless noblemen. For now, everything is calm. If I need anything I shall send word.”

“Do not hesitate to,” Alexander growled before he stalked out of the Raven’s Den.

In a rush of action, he was back on his horse, digging his heels into its flank, and racing back towards his townhouse.

His heart raged, his mind tripping over and over with thoughts of Madeleine, of his strong, courageous wife.

But as quickly as he thought of her smile, those eyes that captured him no matter how hard he had tried to deny it, he then saw blood soaking into her blonde hair.

He could hear her bell-like voice, how it rang beautifully when she sang under her breath. He heard the choking sounds his mother had let out as she died.

His breath came short with anger, forced into a position where he would lose Madeleine either way—but only one way kept her safe. She had been lonely with Donald, but at least she had been safe. No man had ever knocked on her door to take revenge.

With Alexander, she risked such a thing without even realizing.

Is the threat ever fully eliminated? Horace’s words rang through his mind.

“Madeleine,” he cried out as he rode back to the townhouse, his heart aching for her.

When he arrived, he slid off his horse and went into the house, trying to steady both his heart and nerves.

He rarely felt nervous or anxious. He was a composed man, had prided himself on his impeccable composure. But to say the things he needed to say… he was truly undone.

His wife was in the parlor, her feet tucked beneath her, a book open in her lap. On top of a table next to her was an empty wine glass.

“So you have returned,” she sighed. “John has already left for Halthorpe.”

“I left you alone,” he said quietly. “I am sorry.”

Whatever she heard in his voice made her look up from her book, her sharp eyes softening when she saw him. Did she see the danger he brought with him?

Her expression became alarmed as she stood to her feet. “Alexander? What is wrong?” She moved to him but he stepped back. “What happened at the gambling hell?”

Alexander shook his head, his mouth tightening. “Heavens, you should not even speak of such a place. I should never have forced your tongue to sully itself with talk of my gambling club. I should—I should have never given you such a concept to associate yourself with.”

She let out a confused laugh. “Husband, what foolishness are you speaking?”

“I…” he hesitated, drawing further away from her when she reached for him. “There was a fight at the Raven’s Den. Horace had made sure the men were removed before I could get there, but he stated they had guns. Guns, Madeleine. Aristocrats do not simply carry guns around. The fights have grown increasingly bad over the last few weeks. Knives, fists, and now this. There is no end to it—there will never be an end to it.”

He did not dare to mention Donald being there. No, he could not bring himself to.

Madeleine moved close to him again. Her hands raised to cup his face in the way she did when she comforted him over a vulnerable moment. “Husband?—”

“Do not,” he said quietly, turning his face away from her. But he did not avert his gaze quickly enough to not notice the sadness spreading over her face. Sadness, confusion—it all collided together until he was asking himself do you see what you cause her ? “Do not comfort me.”

“You have never turned your face from me,” Madeleine said, her voice hushed. “Why will you not tell me what is wr?—”

“Madeleine, we cannot be together.”

The confession came out of him, harder than he wanted to be, and yet softer than it should have been for both of their sakes.

“Alexander?”

He finally looked at her, finally heard the hurt in her voice, the sadness pinching her brows.

Look at what you cause her. You protect her and bring her pain. You do not protect her and you still bring her pain. All it ever is, all she will ever feel with you, is pain.

His chest was too tight to breathe but a mask had always been the thing he was best at wearing. “You heard me. We cannot be together. I will—I will leave Silverton for your use?—”

“I do not understand,” she insisted. “Is this to do with what has happened at the club? The Raven’s Den does not scare me, husband. Surely, after everything we have been through, you know I would not baulk at something like this. I will stand beside?—”

“It is because of your strength that I must say this,” Alexander cut her off. “It is because of your insistence to remain at my side, even in peril, that I must let you go.”

“Let me go?” Her voice was a pained, tight whisper. Her head shook, and those intelligent eyes glistened with tears. “Do not speak like this.”

Alexander’s jaw clenched. “You are not safe with me. The life you deserve… it is one far, far away from me. It should be spent in flowered meadows, where you will laugh and be safe, not constantly looking over your shoulder because of who your husband is—because of the past I come with.”

“I am not afraid of your past. I do not need meadows or whatever life you have decided for me in your mind. I need you . I would rather face a hundred dangers at your side than see safety without you.”

Alexander could not help but drink her in, one last time.

He took in the sweep of her hair, the flush in her cheeks, the stubborn, strong mouth that threw wickedness at him at the most unexpected times. He took in the freckles that came out during the summer across her nose and under her eyes.

He took in every inch of his wife, for the last time.

“You are my weakness, Madeleine, and I cannot afford to have one. I need you far away from me.”

He tried to laugh, but it sounded too pained, so he forced his voice to go cold, to bury his heart as he had once done, for he could not dare to have it bared so greatly.

“I thought I could be selfish and have you, that I could keep you safe. But you are my undoing. You do not belong in my world.”

He lifted a hand, as if to brush back her hair, but he clenched his fingers into a fist and lowered it instead.

“And that is all?” Madeleine asked. “I am simply expected, for the second time, to leave a husband? To find elsewhere to live? You swore to me protection, that I would be safe.”

“And I can no longer provide that.”

“You are not a coward, Alexander, so you must tell me what has gotten you so scared that you will push me away.”

She tried to move closer but he outright pushed her away. Madeleine stumbled back, her shocked gaze lifting to her.

Betrayal and hurt tightened in her face, and he watched as she, too, put on her own mask. It was one he had not seen since they were investigating Donald’s disappearance.

He loathed himself for making her look that way—a pretend strength, something to hide her tears.

“You truly wish for me to leave?”

His heart hardened, buried far where he could not be hurt by it. “Yes.”

Madeleine’s lower lip trembled for a brief second before she inhaled sharply through her teeth.

“As you command.”

But he saw the tears slide down her face the second before she turned away from him, fleeing the room.