Chapter 12

T he moment Glain exited Abaddon’s library, Glain wanted to turn and run.

She’d believed there couldn’t be anything worse than being discovered by the Duke of Strathearn, until she hastened from the library, and found her father with his hands clasped behind his back, standing beside his black lacquer carriage.

The Duke of Devonshire lingered his hawk-eyed gaze on her slightly mussed tresses then he moved his focus to her face.

Cold and horror of the moment lent her teeth a noisy chatter, and Glain prayed the duke attributed the winter’s chill to the color in her cheeks.

And then he locked his focus on her mouth, her swollen mouth. Her lips felt full and heavy from Abaddon’s kiss…ten minutes? ten years? a lifetime ago?

She wanted to flee back inside and into Abaddon’s arms, and away from this moment.

Alas, the decision was made for her—stolen from her.

“Get inside, Diamond,” her father ordered.

Glain remained rooted to the pavement, wanting to tell him to go to hell, wanting to tell him even more explicitly what he could do with his ducal commands.

“Unless you want me to see this bloody library closed forever, I said get in,” he said in a voice, his fury tightly controlled.

Glain sprang into movement. Resisting the urge to steal one last glance at Abaddon’s circulating library, she accepted the driver’s help, allowing him to hand her inside.

The duke joined her a moment later.

Glain made a show of staring out the window at the passing streets.

He knows.

From the moment she’d spied him there, she just knew. The Duke of Devonshire had gathered there’d been more of Glain’s meetings with Abaddon. She’d seen it in his eyes.

Her father didn’t again speak until the carriage lurched into motion. “Where is your maid?”

She kept herself motionless, refusing to tremble under his icy stare. “I was just finishing up and sent her on to my carriage.” The lie slipped out surprisingly smooth and easy, considering the tumult inside.

This was bad. This was dire, indeed.

For her. But worse for Abaddon.

And for your time together.

As if sensing the lie, knowing one when he heard one, even one that had been effectively delivered, her father narrowed a sharp stare on her, and she remained still through this latest scrutiny.

“Let me see it, Diamond.”

It took a moment to register he spoke to her. Because in these past weeks with Abaddon, she’d ceased to be Diamond and had come alive as only Glain, a woman capable of laughing and smiling and knowing love…

And also unfortunately, knowing great hurt.

“I said, let me see it,” he barked, and she jumped at that unexpected loss of control.

With trembling fingers, she turned over her bag.

He tipped it over unceremoniously and her books tumbled to the floor of the carriage. Her precious volumes, hand selected by Abaddon who’d come to know so very well precisely what she loved to read, lay in a sad, sorry heap between her and her father’s feet.

The copy of her Mary Wollstonecraft lay open on its spine, putting the title on full display. Never had Glain felt more exposed, more vulnerable than she did in this moment.

Her father grabbed his cane, and as if he were Perseus dealing with Medusa’s serpent locks, he jabbed at the leather volume. “What do you think you’re doing, Diamond?”

“They are just books,” she said dumbly, wishing she had a greater defense than those words, particularly as they were so very much more to her.

“Just books?” he echoed. “Just books ?” His voice climbed, and she felt her pulse rise, too, for the duke never showed such displays of emotion. He never showed any .

Bending down, Glain hastily returned the titles to her satchel. Her fingers trembled so mightily, she fumbled with that simple task.

As if recalling himself, the duke sucked in a slow, noisy breath through his flared hawkish nose.

He slapped the tip of his cane down on the lone title she’d not managed to tuck away from his wrathful stare.

And then he reached for that leather volume and took it from her. He robbed Glain of that beloved book, with the same ease all mercenary fathers and leaders everywhere, snatched rights and freedoms from their daughters and wives.

Glain wanted to rail. To snap and hiss like an angry cat. She yearned to rip that cherished copy from his fingers, shove the door open, jump from the fast-moving carriage, and run as fast and as far away as she could to another place and another time where no one sought to keep a woman from reading whatever book she so wished.

“Look at me, Glain,” her father ordered, a frost to match the winter’s day coated that demand.

Damn him. Damn him and his orders and his bullying her and her sister and brother, and their mother whom he’d banished from their lives.

For the first time ever, Glain met his gaze squarely, and glared at this man who’d sired her, with a lifetime’s worth of hate.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I can’t take one look at you and know you’ve been conducting yourself like a wanton?”

Oh god. In an instant, she faltered, drawing back sharply into herself. Of course, she’d known he suspected but something in his speaking it aloud made it all the worse. “I’ve always known you had your mother’s streak in you,” he said crisply, snapping off his gloves. He beat those fine leather articles together. “Wicked in every way, she was.”

And Glain knew she should be measured, she knew riling him was the absolute last thing she should do, and dropping her eyes, and being demure the first and only thing. But as he droned on, a harsh soliloquy on the woman who’d given her life, Glain’s rage kindled like a slow-building ember that fanned, and grew, into a blazing conflagration of fury. “Your mother—”

“My mother was not wicked. She loved to read and explore topics men are free to study. She challenged me to do the same. She was a good woman,” she said sharply, relishing in the way his brow flared with shock. “The very best.”

He sputtered. “Your mother was fortunate I was magnanimous and did not see her shut away for what she did.”

“What she did ?” she repeated. “What did she do other than teach me to laugh and love and live? And for that, you did send her away. Not to a hospital but to a place in the country.” Where he’d only ever visited the duchess until he’d managed to get an heir on her, in a final pregnancy which had taken her life.

“Your mother had outrageous thoughts about a woman’s place.”

He may as well have called Glain’s mother a faithless whore for the vitriol contained within his words.

“I’ll not have my daughter conduct herself in that same manner.” He glared at her. “You are done with that bookshop that caters to all manner of riffraff.”

“ Library. It is a circulating library and its doors are open to all people, regardless of station.”

“Precisely. It is—”

“It is as the world should be, Your Grace.” One where a person’s lineage, nor gender, mattered. Where people were all welcome and united in a shared love of literature.

Rage tightened his features. “You are done with that man. Am I clear?”

He couldn’t be clearer, and yet…

“No,” she said, in this continued show of defiance, the first she’d ever displayed against the duke and his dictates.

His eyebrows climbed.

Who knew how very exhilarating a show of rebellion in fact, was? Her euphoria lasted but a moment.

“I will see him ruined, Glain,” he said, almost bored sounding. “If that is what you wish.”

Her lungs constricted. Moments ago, she’d have sworn there could be no greater pain than when her mother had been ripped from her life, and the duke had begun his full oppression of Glain. But this? Knowing Abaddon would suffer at her father’s hands gutted her inside. She’d spare Abaddon every pain if she could.

Even if it meant the death of every happiness that came in just being with him.

She bit the inside of her cheek hard, scrabbling with that flesh, wanting to cry and rail and shout. In the end, she knew that would only add to her father’s fury, and that she risked Abaddon’s paying an even higher price.

The interminable carriage ride ended, and she made herself sit still, until the door had been opened for her, and a footman reached a hand inside to assist her down.

“Glain?” her father asked, staying her.

She glanced back.

The duke held a gloved palm out, his meaning clear.

Glain looked between that hated ducal hand and the satchel. He’d deny her not only seeing a man whom she desperately loved, but he’d assert himself even in interfering with what she chose to read?

“Now,” he demanded.

She tugged her satchel close. “No,” she said quietly. “You may determine where I go and don’t go, but I’ll not allow you to dictate what books I read.”

His snowy-white eyebrows snapped together in a line as shock stamped his features.

He quickly found himself. “Very well,” he said matter-of-factly, but she was not fooled by that uncharacteristic blasé response to her show of defiance. “You can enjoy your titillating, trashy books. I will take my displeasure to the bookshop owner peddling—”

Glain slapped her satchel in his hand.

“Very good, Diamond,” he said coolly. “Very good. That is all.”

That is all.

How casual he was about stealing literature from her, how matter of fact he was about exerting control over her. Hatred burned in her veins, threatening to set her afire from within.

“Damn you and your efforts to stamp out joy,” she said tightly.

She yanked her attention away from this man whom she so despised.

The footman held his fingers out once more, and this time she took them, ignoring the pitying glimmer in the servant’s eyes.

She made a slow, purposeful march up the stone steps, sailed through the front door, and climbed the stairs, feeling her father’s eyes upon her the whole way.

Only when she reached the hall, did she let her shoulders sag, and with a silent sob, Glain took flight, racing as fast as her legs could carry her. She yearned to run away from this place, and her father, and the threats he’d made, and from the pain of having her relationship with Abaddon severed…and the misery of not even having the freedom to read whatever books she wished to read.

Glain stumbled into her chambers. The moment she was inside, she collapsed against the solid oak panel of the closed-door borrowing support where she could.

Her chest and shoulders heaved, as she fought to breathe through the pain of it all. She’d believed all men were like her father. That they all sought to control and prevent a woman from having any freedom to exercise her thoughts and mind.

Until she’d met Abaddon. He’d not only challenged her to think more broadly but to explore philosophers and authors whom she’d never, ever thought to read, because she’d not known those works could make her feel as they had: her mind free and at the same time whirring with the magic of newly discovered ideas and thoughts she’d never before considered, because of her previous ignorance. Abaddon had introduced her to thinkers and theories that made her see the world and her place in it, in a whole new way—which was no doubt why, weaker men wished to bury those books and starve women of the possibilities presented on those pages, so that they never hungered for more.

After all, one could not know the sweetness of chocolate without having tasted it upon their tongue.

Abaddon didn’t seek to oppress Glain but rather, encouraged her to find her voice, and speak it freely. He had debated with her, and talked with her, and for the first time, since her mother had been ripped from her life, she’d felt free to share parts of herself with another person.

Tears welled in her eyes, and this time, she didn’t fight them. This time, she welcomed the freedom that came in simply feeling and surrendering to her pain at the inequity that was a woman’s life. At losing her books.

At losing Abaddon.

A tortured moan slipped from her lips, and she hugged her arms close, tightly around her middle, squeezing herself in a bid to tamp out some of this misery.

Her efforts proved futile.

She would never stop wanting him nor loving him. Because yes, she did love him. She didn’t even fight that realization. She—

A hesitant knock sounded at her door, and she straightened. Her father.

“Glain?” her sister ventured, and some of the tenson left her.

She smoothed her shaking palms over her face. “Enter.”

The panel opened, and her brother and sister stepped forward hesitantly. When Opal closed the door, she looked at Glain. “I…” Her words faded. “You’re crying,” she whispered, and their brother blanched, tugging sharply at his cravat. “I…I’ve never seen you cry.”

Yes, because she’d buried away all emotion.

No more.

Her father might control her in so many ways, but he’d not have this hold over her, too.

Flint looked over his little shoulder at the door covetously and grunted when Opal grabbed him by the arm and jerked him forward. “What is that for?” he demanded.

“You look like you want to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he groused, shifting back and forth on his feet. “I’m Glain’s brother. It’s my responsibility to protect her.”

No, it was her responsibility to protect them, and that was what she’d been doing all these years, and she’d never stop.

She reached out, grabbed them both, and pulled them into her arms. Opal and Flint immediately folded theirs about Glain.

“Whaffsthatfor,” her brother’s muffled response came buried against the fabric of her dress.

“I was wrong,” Glain whispered, drawing them closer, clinging to them. About so much . “I…Mr. Grimoire, and his library…” She made herself release them from her arms but placed her hands upon her sister’s little shoulders. Glain crouched slightly so she could look the smaller girl in the eyes. “I want you to continue going there. I will…protect you.” She might not be able to return but her sister could…and more importantly, her sister would. Glain looked over at Flint. “I’ll protect both of you.” Soon enough he’d return to Eton but until he did, and while he was here, she’d look after him, too.

“Hey, now,” he said gruffly. “That’s my job.”

“Our job,” Opal shot back, tossing a glare her brother’s way.

“It’s not,” Glain said gently, both touched and grateful for the evidence of their love.

Opal drew back. She passed a stricken gaze over Glain’s face. “But what about you ?”

She forced a smile, the gesture feeling strained on her muscles. “I saw everything I needed to see,” she lied. “It was enough.” It would never be enough.

Fire lit Opal’s eyes. “I don’t believe that. I believe you care very much about the library and Mr. Grimoire. In fact, I believe you’ve fallen in love with him.”

Her sister’s words hit Glain squarely in the chest, and she recoiled from hearing another person—her sister—speak them aloud. Something in that made it more real and hearing this particular someone say it aloud only reinforced how impossible it was to love Abaddon, as nothing more could come of that relationship.

The fight and life drained from her being, and Glain slid slowly onto the floor, borrowing support from the door panel.

Opal hesitated, and then joined her on the floor, with a reluctant Flint sliding onto the other side of Glain.

“You…don’t deny it,” Opal ventured tentatively.

It wasn’t a question, and even if it had been Glain didn’t have the emotional energy to answer.

Opal rested her head upon Glain’s shoulder, and Glain closed her eyes, angling her head towards her sister’s. Alas, her sister hadn’t ever been comfortable or content with silence. “You should marry him, you know.”

A sharp, pained laugh exploded from Glain’s lips.

“What?” Opal said defensively. “You should.” The girl looked to their brother. “Isn’t that right, Flint?”

“Quite. He makes you happy and there’s nothing more important than—”

“You and Opal are more important. And if I marry, I won’t be here with you.”

Her sister proved relentless. “But we don’t want you to be here just because of us. Isn’t that right, Flint?”

The boy nodded. “Certainly not.”

“See,” Opal said earnestly. “We don’t want you to not marry the man you love—”

“It is done, Opal,” she said with a gentle insistence. “It is done,” she repeated as much for herself as for her sister and brother.

It was done.

The memory of the books she’d read and the time she’d spent with Abaddon would be enough.

They had to.