Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

It felt as if she were drowning as Charlotte struggled to inhale. Her body ached, and she felt… foggy. As if she were half in a dream. She struggled to open her eyes. They were too heavy, as were her limbs. Her heart raced in her chest.

She had been on her horse, jumping the wall, and the duke had been furious with her.

The way he had shouted her name…

Another spike of fear pulsed through her.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Susan. Her lady’s maid voice. But it seemed so far away.

“You’ve had an accident. You are back at Stonehurst and are recovering.”

Finally, Charlotte opened her eyes. Susan stood beside her with a tray and a damp rag. She placed the tray down and wrung out the cloth, then placed it on Charlotte’s forehead.

She attempted to talk, but her mouth was far too dry. She licked her lips and searched for water. Susan helped her drink a small sip of water before Charlotte fell back on the pillow.

Wait…

She wasn’t alone .

It wasn’t only Susan here, waiting.

This wasn’t her bed, and she wasn’t in her room.

She shook her head, the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t wish to face him, couldn’t begin to explain…

“Lottie!” Nathaniel exclaimed, walking in with a book tucked in his arm. “Welcome back. What a scare you gave us.”

“ Us ?” she croaked.

She moved her head slightly, surveying the duke’s shadow on the opposite side of the bed. He leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. Maybe it was because everything was still blurry before her, but he looked terrible.

Her heart squeezed.

She was certain she hated him.

Charlotte couldn’t look at him fully, instead closing her eyes and swallowing. Everything ached, and there was a terrible throbbing behind her eyes.

“What’s happened?” she asked at last.

Susan cleared her throat, then excused herself, leaving Charlotte with the duke and Nathaniel.

The duke’s brother smiled, then backed away toward the door. Charlotte tried to reach for him, afraid to be left alone with her husband.

“Brother, tell her, and then you should finally have some rest. I will be back later to see if you need anything, Lottie.”

The room fell silent, yet Charlotte could feel his stare burning into her.

“Tell me what?” She squeezed the sheets and glanced up at the ceiling mural of angels playing among the clouds. It seemed a rather odd choice for such a cold-hearted man.

“It’s been nearly a week,” he said, clearing his throat. He remained still.

A week? She had been in this bed for a week?

Charlotte pressed her face against the pillow to turn and see him better. It hurt far too much to roll onto her side.

“You heard me riding after you and attempted to jump the wall. You were thrown from your horse and tumbled into the river. You suffered from a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, and have a nasty cut on your head that became infected. They suspect you have pneumonia now from the water which entered your lungs in the river.” With another shaky breath, he reached up and rubbed his eyes. “It will be a long recovery.”

She shouldn’t be here in the duke’s bed in Stonehurst, she should be in Scotland, laughing with Kate and playing with Maisie and Lorna.

The duke rose from his seat beside the bed and walked around, coming to sit on the edge of the mattress beside her.

The man she hated, loathed in fact, appeared… affected . There were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t shaved in a few days’ time, and the dark stubble covered his strong jaw. His shirt didn’t fit quite right, and there was a loose brown button in a row of black buttons.

He looked out of sorts.

And the way he looked at her now was altogether puzzling.

He had chased her on horseback, furiously calling out her name.

She had been terrified as he chased her down, not knowing what would happen next. She pressed her horse to jump…

“Daisy?” she asked, though the way he shifted his weight was answer enough.

“She was lame.” He tilted his head, gazing at her with his normally dark, expressionless eyes, but they weren’t filled with fire, only sadness.

Deep sadness.

Charlotte was certain if she didn’t feel the way she did, her heart might break. But he had been responsible for breaking it some time ago.

“I loved that horse,” she said at last, closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

She waited a beat, uncertain what to say. His apology didn’t wipe away his sins. She was running from him because if she remained, she was certain she would wither away. And yet, she didn’t blame him for the accident. She had known there was a risk of jumping the wall. Nate had warned her against it as well. But between the chance of not making it or remaining with the duke, she had chosen to take her chances.

“Why are you still here?” she asked, she attempted to push up to her elbows, her body aching. Instead, a sharp, stabbing pain radiated up her side, and she winced.

The duke leaned forward and reached behind, adjusting her pillow. She froze, closing her eyes as a different pain throbbed in her chest.

That had been the closest he had been in years. Some twisted part of her wished to reach her hands back and run them along his shoulders and bury her head against his chest. To pull him close and feel a sliver of calm in a world that was upside down.

Instead, she allowed him to adjust her pillow without saying a word. She kept her distance. She learned it was best to never have hope where the duke was concerned.

“I’m not leaving, Lottie. Not now.”

Lottie .

He hadn’t called her that in years.

But not now? As in, if she hadn’t suffered from an accident, he would be leaving?

She was growing tired, her mind fuzzy once more. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

Charlotte shifted her hips over the mattress, attempting to move away from the duke. But it was difficult with her arm in a sling and her ribs bounded.

“You’ve abandoned me like everyone else in your life. Please, just let me go, Ian.”

He leaned over, sweeping back her hair from her eyes. One stolen touch. Another day it might have scorched her, might have made her curious, or left her wanting. But today, she cried.

“I know I’ve made a mistake. Several, in fact,” he said. “You don’t need to believe me when I say I’m staying. I will prove it to you. Every day. ”

“You don’t wish to be married to me, and I wish for someone…”

She stopped herself. Her stomach soured at the very thought of pleading with her husband to love her. Plenty of marriages were successful without love. But at the very least, she wished their union to be tolerable and built on respect. Returning to demand an heir wouldn’t suddenly restore her faith in him.

It was difficult to remember the man she had agreed to marry when faced with the one staring at her now with such reckless hope and sadness.

He had written all those beautiful letters before their marriage vows. Had brought her gifts and taken walks with her. He had once wished to know who she was, not out of duty, but because he had claimed her clever and interesting when the rest of London thought her an indifferent wallflower.

She sniffed back her tears, too tired to wipe them away. She wouldn’t hide them any longer from him.

“Lottie,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I lost you…”

Her heart somehow cracked once more, her chest swelling with the urge to scream. Some other day. Right now, she was tired.

“You have, Ian.”