Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Selene held her breath as she rapped on the door to the duke’s study. Her heart in her mouth, she waited, clasping her hands behind her back to stop them trembling. She had received the summons from him only ten minutes ago and hadn’t had time to compose herself.

She heard a gruff voice on the other side of the door. “Enter.”

He was sitting behind his desk, his quill scratching against parchment, as he wrote. He didn’t look up as she entered the room.

“Your Grace,” she said, dropping into a low curtsy.

The duke finally deigned to raise his eyes, his penetrating gaze pinning her to the spot. She felt a shiver course through her body, from uncertainty as well as desire. He didn’t look pleased to see her at all, even though he had sent for her.

“Miss Bomind,” he drawled, his deep voice resonating in the study. “There you are at last.”

He is not calling me by my first name any longer.

A rush of sorrow swept over her. She swallowed hard, willing her voice not to quiver.

“Yes,” she breathed at last. “Here I am.” She cleared her throat. “What did you wish to discuss with me, Your Grace?”

Her heart quivered with longing for him, aching with need, but the intimacy they had experienced together appeared to have vanished entirely. She sensed the distance in him, the desire to keep her at arm’s length, to banish entirely the fact that he had made passionate love with her and been as close to her as it was possible for another person to be.

Was it the fact that she was the governess? Or that he truly was planning to marry Lady Gwen? Or was he just incapable of truly giving himself to anyone anymore?

I will probably never know the truth of it. And now, we are master and governess again, and it as if the love we made together never happened at all.

The duke’s eyebrows arched. “I would like a report on my daughter’s educational progress,” he barked. “You are the governess, after all. Are you capable of that, Miss Bomind?”

His words stung, but she steeled herself, looking straight at him.

“I am afraid that Lady Lenore has not been applying herself well,” she stated, meeting his eye. “There have been many interruptions and distractions when she has been working.” She paused. “Lady Gwen has been disturbing us in the library and dragging my lady away from her lessons for tea and cakes.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing his stern features. He rose from the chair, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. Selene fought the urge to take a step back as he approached, his tense presence overwhelming in the small space, even as she longed for him.

“And you allowed these distractions?” he questioned, his voice low and dangerous.

Selene’s heart raced, but she held her ground. “Your Grace, I have attempted to dissuade Lady Gwen from interrupting the lessons,” she replied. “But she will not listen to me. And I cannot refuse her when she wants to take Lady Lenore away. I would be overstepping my position entirely.”

The duke’s jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. He turned abruptly, pacing the floor, in front of the grand fireplace.

“I see,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “It seems I must have words with the lady.”

Selene watched him, transfixed by his strong hands, noticing how the veins were slightly raised. She wanted to trace them with a finger, to feel them pulse beneath her touch.

Stop it. I must not think this way about him any longer. He does not wish it. And he will never marry me. He cannot marry me.

Her eyes flickered to his face. “If you could discuss it with the lady that would be most agreeable,” she replied eventually, swallowing a lump in her throat. “But that is not the only reason for Lady Lenore’s inattention and her continuing restlessness. I have discussed with you before that she has conflicted feelings about her late mother.”

“Stop, Miss Bomind,” he growled, taking a step closer to her. “I have already warned you that the topic of my late wife is out of bounds, and yet, here you are, deliberately bringing it up again.”

Selene felt her breath catch in her throat as he advanced toward her, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. She knew she shouldn’t have brought it up again, but her concern over Lenore had momentarily overshadowed her caution.

He had told her he wanted to know about his daughter’s progress, and it was her duty to tell him what she thought hampered Lenore’s progress, even if he didn’t want to hear it.

The duke stopped mere inches from her, his imposing figure looming over her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of sandalwood and leather that clung to him. Her heart thundered in her chest. Hastily, she dropped her eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

“Look at me, Miss Bomind,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Slowly, Selene raised her eyes, gazing into his own, feeling like she was drowning in the depths.

His eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and he let out a long sigh.

“Your devotion to my daughter is admirable,” he conceded, his voice gruff. “But you must learn your place, Miss Bomind.”

“I know my place,” she whispered, desperately trying not to lose her train of thought. “But I would be remiss in my duty if I did not mention this, and I must reiterate that you should speak to Lady Lenore about her late mother, so that she can understand that the lady did not choose to leave her, and that what happened was no one’s fault…”

“Stop!” he said again, in a low, ominous growl. He was so close to her that she could see the faint black stubble beneath his chin. “You are skating on very thin ice!”

Abruptly, he turned away from her, resuming his pacing of the room. She heard him swear beneath his breath. She knew that it would be safer to apologize, to back down, but she just couldn’t do it, even if it finally cost her position here.

He stopped, turning to face her. His face was deathly pale.

“You truly want to know how my daughter lost her mother?” His dark eyes looked so haunted that she had to resist rushing to him. He gave a bitter laugh. “Well, they do say that confession eases the soul. And perhaps, if I tell you the truth of it, you will finally know why I cannot speak to my daughter about the day she was born… and the day she lost her mother.”

Selene watched him, her heart skipping a beat, seeing the enormous struggle within him, the push and pull of it, He didn’t want to speak about that day, but she knew that he needed to do it. She waited, filled with tension.

The duke’s shoulders sagged, the weight of his unspoken burden visibly crushing him. He turned to face the window, his silhouette stark against the fading light of the day. For a long moment, only the soft ticking of the ornate clock on the mantle broke the silence.

“As you know, it was Christmas Day,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “My wife was heavy with child. I…I insisted that we travel to her family for the traditional luncheon.” His hands clenched into fists at his side. “She begged me to let her rest, telling me that she was tired, but all I could think about was that we were expected. I was a fool. A damned fool.”

Selene stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe as his words washed over her. She watched as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging the pane.

“The carriage set out early in the morning on roads that were treacherous with snow and ice,” he continued, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window. “It was on the way home that it all started to go so terribly wrong.”

He fell silent for a moment, looking like he was lapsing into a trance, still staring numbly out the window.

“What happened?” Selene’s voice felt like an intrusion into the silence. Mrs. Kittles had told her the story, but she knew it wasn’t the whole truth. Or, at least, it was only one version of it, and he was the only one who could tell it how he had experienced it.

The duke’s shoulders tensed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the windowsill.

“We were halfway home when Mary began to moan,” he whispered, his voice filled with remembered anguish. “At first, I thought it was merely discomfort from the rough road, but then I saw the fear within her eyes.”

He turned to face Selene, his eyes filled with pain. “She clutched at her belly; her face contorted with agony. ‘The baby,’ she gasped. ‘It is coming.’”

Selene’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“I ordered the driver to stop,” the duke continued, his words coming faster now, as if a floodgate had opened. “I recall that the snow was falling thick and fast. I helped Mary from the carriage, thinking that it might help her to walk, that the pains might stop.” He closed his eyes. “I can still hear that bitter wind snatching her cries.”

He lapsed into silence again, his mouth thinning. The pain in his voice was palpable when he resumed the tale.

“We managed to get Mary home, though every bump and jolt of the carriage elicited cries of agony from her lips,” he whispered, opening his eyes, which were cloudy with unshed tears. “I carried her into the house myself. She felt so delicate in my arms. I remember screaming for help, my voice echoing through the halls. Servants scrambled, fetching towels, hot water… anything that might aid us.”

He paused, running a hand through his dark hair.

“The next five hours were the worst of my life,” he whispered. “The midwife and physician arrived, both looking grim. She was not due to have the baby for another month.” He paused. “Mary’s screams filled the house, each one tearing at my very soul. I paced outside the bedchamber, feeling utterly helpless, praying to a God that I was no longer sure I believed in.”

Selene stood transfixed, her heart aching for the man standing before her.

The duke’s eyes grew distant, lost in the painful memory.

“When the physician emerged from the bedchamber, his face ashen, I knew. Before he even spoke a word, I knew.” His voice broke, a tremor running through his powerful frame. “He said simply—and I will never forget the words—‘I am sorry, Your Grace. But Her Grace is gone.’”

Selene felt tears pricking behind her eyes, trying not to cry.

“Something inside me shattered,” the duke continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “A primal rage consumed me, and I… I lost all sense of reason.”

He turned from the window, pacing the floor again, his movements agitated.

“I tore through the house like a man possessed,” he said. “The beautiful Christmas decorations that Mary had so lovingly arranged became targets of my grief and fury. I ripped garlands from banisters, scattering pine needles and holly everywhere.” He paused. “I cursed God above. Everyone stayed out of my way. The only sound in the house were my screams of pain and the thin, mewling cries of Lenore, howling for her dead mother.”

Selene couldn’t bear it any longer. She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around him, wanting more than anything to heal his pain. He stilled, freezing, as stiff as a wooden marionette. His muscles were filled with unbearable tension. For one moment, she thought he was going to push her away—even throw her bodily across the room.

But then, very slowly, she felt his muscles soften. She caressed him, crooning softly, as if to a very small child. He grew limp. She could feel the tension draining out of him. She cradled his face in her hands, gazing deeply into his eyes.

“It was not your fault,” she whispered. “It was her time. That was all.”

His eyes filled with pain again. “No,” he moaned. “It was my fault. I should never have forced her to travel that day, and that is why I cannot—must not—tell you…”

There was a sudden rap at the door. They jumped apart, like scolded cats. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Enter.”

The butler entered, announcing Captain Redford, who came bounding into the room, before abruptly stopping, staring at them, as if he sensed the tension in the air.

“Miss Bomind,” he said, fishing in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a letter. “You are just the person I need to see.” He handed the letter to her. “Miss Wellington wanted me to give this to you.”

Selene took the letter, thanking the gentleman, even though she could barely speak. She curtsied briefly, leaving the room. She didn’t look back at the duke. Her heart was overflowing with emotion. She leaned against the wall outside the study, closing her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself.

“Miss Bomind,” said a feminine voice at her elbow. “You look rather fraught.”

She jumped, her eyes flying open. It was Lady Gwen, staring at her coldly. In her confusion, Selene dropped the letter. The lady picked it up, handing it to her.

“Excuse me,” mumbled Selene, with a quick curtsy. “I... I am needed in the kitchen.”

She turned, walking quickly away from the lady. When she glanced back, Lady Gwen was still in the same position, watching her intently. Selene felt a shiver of foreboding, before pushing it aside.

All she could think about was the duke and his agony. The agony that never left him. He blamed himself for his wife’s death and she knew, with a stab of pure sorrow, that nothing she could ever say would dislodge that idea from his mind.

She shuddered. And she knew, with another stab of pain, that Mary could never be replaced in his affections. She was deluding herself entirely if she ever thought it was possible.