Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Ian ran after her, but Charlotte sped out of sight on horseback. He had enjoyed the walk out to the wall at dawn by himself, but now, by the time he returned to Stonehurst on foot, she had packed and left.

He dropped his hands on his knees and bent over, struggling to catch his breath in the drive as the footman stood at the door and watched.

“When did she?” he struggled, panting. His heart raced in his chest, and a chill rose up from his toes before he turned and cast up his accounts by the stone light flanking the steps up to the home.

“Your Grace, the duchess left approximately thirty minutes ago.”

“Ready the carriage. No,” he quickly corrected, “my horse. That will be faster.”

“Your Grace? You haven’t anything.”

He spun quickly, biting back the panic that pummeled his chest. “My horse, now. Please.”

Before long, he mounted the horse and rode after her, searching the road and the shops of towns. Then checking the taverns and inns for several hours as he rode toward London.

He couldn’t lose her .

And yet, he couldn’t bear the thought of her running from him either as if he were a monster.

A few hours had passed, and still, Ian spurred his horse forward as the hot summer sun was quickly overtaken by a black, threatening sky. He once had prided himself on his control, and loving Charlotte had only taken that away, leaving him now with a racing pulse and even faster, anxious thoughts flooding his mind.

Without warning, there was a sickening crunch, and the animal faltered.

Christ .

He quickly dismounted, then inspected the damage. The horse had thrown a shoe. With a pat on the horse’s neck, he walked the animal to the nearest home, passing it off into their temporary care until he could return.

He would have to continue on foot, knowing full well how precious this delay would cost him.

Two hours later, deep into the afternoon, the first drops of rain began to fall. First, a mere shower before a deluge poured from the sky. He tipped his head down and pressed forward, his boots sinking into the soft earth with each step.

He crested a small hilltop, pausing beneath the cover of a large oak tree before he spotted an inn in the distance.

She had likely passed here already, or worse, as the ache throbbed in his chest, her carriage could have wrecked in the rain. He couldn’t stop his search.

Then as if through sheer will, the outline of a carriage emerged, pulled off to the side of the road not far from the inn ahead. Squinting through the rain, he could just make out the familiar crest emblazoned on the side.

Charlotte .

Ian quickened his pace, the mud no longer an obstacle but a challenge he was determined to conquer. Every step brought him closer until he approached the carriage and discovered it empty.

Darkness was setting in, and a bright flare of hope burst in his chest .

This was merely a lover’s spat. A misunderstanding.

He would apologize, and they would spend the night together and return to Stonehurst in the morning. Surely.

Nearly twenty minutes later, he gripped the brass handle to the inn, water streaming down his top hat and jacket, puddling at his boots against the stone landing. With a determined push, he flew inside, tumbling onto his arse in an unceremonious entrance.

The crowded room fell into silence, everyone suddenly had eyes on Ian, and he pushed up to his knees and caught his breath, dripping onto the polished floors.

“I…” He looked around, wiping his eyes. Every part of him was soaking wet, and he struggled to compose himself. “Apologies, ladies.”

He had interrupted a knitting circle of all things. Skeins of yarn in every hue imaginable were scattered among half-finished scarves, socks, and what appeared to be an ambitious attempt at a multicolored blanket.

His gaze darted around the room, searching for the one face he desperately longed to see, but Charlotte was not among the group of women brandishing their knitting needles with apprehension.

“Good heavens!” An older woman adjusted her lace cap. “Sir, are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Highwayman!” a little girl cried, peeking out from beneath a table.

“Do you need us to call for assistance?”

Two women threw down their yarn. “Was there a carriage accident? How exciting!”

“I don’t see any blood,” the girl answered, dancing around Ian as if he were a maypole.

“No, no,” Ian said, tossing his arms up to quell the tide of questions. “I am searching for someone. Is there a woman here by the name of Charlotte?”

A ripple of amused murmurs weaved through the group, followed by knowing smiles.

“What have you done, sir?” the silver-haired woman asked.

“Oh, love!” The girl twirled, then stopped, suddenly bopping him on the nose, then rushed off to disappear behind the table once more .

Ian stumbled backward before standing, cautiously keeping his eyes on the little girl.

“Charlotte?” An older woman hunched over some intricate lace work, straightened, a large blinking eye staring back at him from beneath a piece of magnifying glass. “Aye, she came in looking for a room to escape the weather.

“A room?” He glanced around, searching for the stairs. “Whereabouts?”

“Last door on the left. I just served her some dinner. Would you care for some as well?”

He shook his head.

The little girl raced out from behind her cover and pushed him toward a darkened entrance by the bar. “You best be nice, now.”

He turned, half giddy, feeling as if he were floating, and bowed, thanking the ladies before he raced up the stairs, then froze in front of her door.

Ian sucked in a breath, shuttering his eyes, and knocked on the door.

“I asked not to be disturbed,” her voice answered from inside. “Please.”

It was a coward’s move, but he knocked once more, unable to speak past the knot in his throat.

“Please,” she insisted once more.

Very well.

“Charlotte, please open up. I need to see you’ve arrived safely.”

He heard a chair scrape back against the wooden floors inside. “Ian?”

“Please, Charlotte. Don’t run away. Open the door and let us talk. Were you hurt?”

“Go away,” she shot back. “I have nothing more to say. You’ve proven you can’t listen, and I don’t trust you.”

“But you cannot leave as you did. I need?—”

“I am fine. I will write to you once I reach London. I told the footman as much.”

Ian spun and slid down the door, collapsing onto the floor, flooded with relief. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the pain in his chest, like someone was squeezing his heart, that he lost Charlotte.

“I can’t… you…”

The door cracked open. Ian spun onto his knees, gazing up as Charlotte poked her head out.

“You look well enough,” he said, half reassuring himself that she had arrived at the inn without any grave injuries.

“Contrary to what you believe, I am an excellent horsewoman, Duke. I will not break my neck every time I…” She trailed off, wiping her eyes. “Come in before someone sees you.”

“I love you,” he shot out, still on his knees. He didn’t care about anyone else. “I love you, and I would have ridden straight to London to tell you if it meant I could see you again. I’ve loved you since that night I saw you across the ballroom and you slipped your hand into mine because, Lottie, I knew then what love felt like. I never rid you from my heart, never rid you from my mind. And I knew, without any trace of doubt when I rode back with you in my arms to Stonehurst this winter, I would love you until my dying day, and then whatever lies beyond. My heart has been and is yours, always, unconditionally.”

Charlotte opened the door wider, peeking into the hallway and placing her hand on his cheek. “Come inside.”

He pressed against her palm, starved for her touch. Desperate.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and followed her inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. Charlotte stood before him in the small, rented room, playing with the end of her plait in her fingers, a crease deepening between her brows.

“I shouldn’t have left as I did. Still, I wish to continue on alone. I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.”

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing up toward the ceiling. “Christ, Lottie. Please, hear me out.” He stretched out his hand toward her, but she recoiled.

Ian pleaded, “I love you,” he said, “and I may always say the wrong thing. I was damned selfish at the start, but I love you, and that is the only thing I know in this world. That, and I know you love me.”

“Did you come back for an heir or for me, Ian? ”

“I stayed for you.”

“And if your mother hadn’t passed away in Italy before you returned? Would you have remained traveling, avoiding me and this grand love you have spun up in your head.”

He shook his head, taking another step forward. Charlotte remained, her shoulders turned away as if he had lost her already, and perhaps he had. “It’s not spun up. It’s not something new for me, Lottie. It never was.”

She held up her hand, stemming his words. It trembled, and Ian felt the last whoosh of air leave his lungs.

“I am having a hard time reconciling your love for me and your behavior. You cannot love me in slivers, Ian. It is not enough. I deserve to be seen. I know that now, and I can’t accept?—”

It was more than that. It was that Ian wasn’t enough.

He choked back on his tears, taking another step forward.

“I’ll grant you the divorce.”

She whimpered, drawing back from him, pulling her hand back to her side. “What?”

“I asked for you to stay with me through the summer. But I don’t just want this summer, I want all your summers. I want to watch you when you’re an old woman in the garden tending bees under the sun and hear that laugh of yours when I’m stung because I can’t wait to be with you, and I’m too stubborn to stay back. I love you with everything I possess, and if that is still not enough, then I will let you go because I love you, Charlotte. I love you. Not the idea of you, not because you are my duchess. You .”

Ian used the heel of his hand to wipe at his face.

“I want you to be happy, and I cannot in good conscience sentence you to a life with me where you will move through the world pretending you are so. You have done that for far too long already, and because of my mistakes. I cannot take that back. But I can see that you will never have to do so again in the future.

“I will see that the school doesn’t lose its funding. I will support you, but I will no longer force you to be my duchess if you are not happy. If that is what you truly want. If that’s what you wish, I will give up my life for the comfort of yours. I will make a fool of myself and ruin my good name if it means you have half a chance at happiness. I will let my title die with me if that means you will go to bed every evening knowing that you are loved, and the bed is warm beside you with someone who loves you back.”

Charlotte stumbled back a step until she fell to the mattress and buried her face in her hands. Ian quickly strode across the room and bent down, resting on his knees.

“Ian.” Tears brimmed in her eyes when she peeked through her hands. “I was furious with you before you arrived. I think I still am.”

“I have stayed with you, for you, because I wish to spend my life with you and make up for the time we missed because of my decisions. Whether that includes an heir, I no longer care. You”—he struggled, and he reached for her face—“I am here only for you, and I will let you go if that is what you wish.”

She closed her eyes, her shoulders rising and falling as her warm, salty tears slipped down his fingers. He sniffed back his own, realizing, in one quick moment, that this could be the last time he embraced his wife.

“I have cursed your name for far too many nights,” she said, “spending them alone, waiting. I fell in love with you that evening, like you me, the difference is I stayed and faced the good and bad?—”

“Nothing was ever bad?—”

“Losing our baby and dealing with that shame alone most certainly was. Thinking you blamed me.”

He grabbed her hands and kissed the back of her knuckles. “I only meant?—”

“I know what you mean, Ian. I understand that too because however imperfect our love for each other has been, I have spent a beautiful spring with you. I will forever be thankful for the love you have shown me since you’ve returned.”

“Lottie.” His voice cracked as he pleaded, knowing she was about to break his heart. And yet, it was hers and only hers to break at that moment .

“It’s not enough for me, Ian. Please go,” she said at last, opening her eyes to meet his. “I will write when I’ve reached London.”