Page 67 of A Bride for the Cruel Duke

“I think you know what...” She forced herself to look at him. Unsurprisingly, he was watching her without blinking, his expression flat, his eyes brimming with a sense that he was prepared to lash out if necessary. He rarely became truly irate. The only time she could think that he had been was when this exact topic was last breeched. “What they call you. The Cruel Duke. Is there any truth to it?”

“What do you think?”

“I think...” She hesitated, still meeting his eyes so he could see that she did not fear him. “I think they are lying. In fact, I do not think you are half the monster you seem to want people to assume that you are.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.” She nodded. “Unless I am wrong...” A nervous chuckle. “In which case, maybe being out here alone with you is not the smartest of ideas.”

“You are not what you seem,” Anthony said after some time, breaking his stare and looking away. “Although, I suppose you are. The real you, I mean, not that which you pretend to be in front of your family.”

“We are both good at pretending.”

He snorted. “And if I am not pretending?”

“I think you are,” she said bravely. “What is more, I think you like that people fear you.”

“Do you?” he asked her. “Fear me?”

“No,” she said. “And I never have.”

To that, he smiled. It was soft, a sense of relief hidden behind it. And when he looked at her again, it was done so in a way that seemed designed not for him to see her, but for her to see him. The real him. Not a monster. Not someone to be feared. Rather, someone who wanted to be loved, but had never thought himself deserving.

“You are right,” he said softly. “About my mother. I loved her. It was never enough, for she deserved more than the life she was cursed with by my father. But I did what I could to show her that I cared.”

“I am sure you did...” She shuffled across the blanket, putting herself right beside where he sat with his legs spread. Then, she rested a hand on his right hand, and he didn’t pull it back.

“My mother fell ill shortly after my father died,” he continued, speaking into his chest now, his voice low as if the memory itself brought him pain. “I hated my father for that—stupid, I know. But when he passed I had hoped she might have the rest of her life to live as she always wanted. Free of tyranny,” he chuckled darkly. “But she fell ill and, being the good son I wished to be, I had her move in with me.”

“You did not force her?”

“I did,” he admitted. “But for her own good. I certainly did not lock her away as people say. Sadly, her sickness became worse by the day and within mere weeks of moving in with me, she was bedridden. Infectious too, the doctors told me, meaning I was not allowed to bring her visitors. The poor thing was trapped in her room, and I am ashamed to admit that I became distracted with my new duties as duke. I should have stayed by her bed daily. I should have been there for her always. Only...” He shook her head. “I was not.”

“It is not your fault,” she said, squeezing his hand.

“I know it,” he admitted. “And I did everything to keep her alive. For years, I managed it, forced to watch her wither, forced to keep her locked up and out of sight. The truth is, I did not even know what people were saying about me until after she passed...” Another dark chuckle. “And when I found out, I was beyond the point of caring. They wanted to believe that I had locked away my mother, and I did not see much point in correcting them.” He sniffed. “It was not as if it would bring her back.”

“Oh, Anthony...”

“I suppose a part of me liked it,” he continued, still looking away. “When she passed, the last thing I wished was to speak of it to anyone. And I found that people were less likely to ask me about her if they thought that I was the reason that she had died. A tad shortsighted, I will admit but...” He shrugged. “As I said, it changes nothing. She died, never having known the happiness which she deserved.”

“Anthony, that is...” Caroline felt her heart breaking. “That is not true.”

“It is.”

“No.” Her tone became hardened. “She knew that you loved her, and that would have been enough. You did everything for her and I know she would be proud of the man you have turned into.”

He laughed, but it was not with humor. “The man I have turned into? And what man is that?”

She shuffled in closer again so she was right beside him. Then, she reached out, resting a hand under his chin and forcing him to look at her. He was sad, she could see that in his eyes. But she saw something else. Was that relief? Found at finally having unburdened himself with a secret that she suspected nobody knew but him.

“A man...” She considered, not sure if it was the right thing to say but deciding in the moment that she was through playing it safe. She had wanted to know what kind of man her husband was. Was he cruel? Was he evil? Or was he simply misunderstood? She had her answer and in that, Caroline took a chance. “A man who I am starting to fall in love with.”

“Caroline...”

“I know this marriage did not start how either of us intended it to, but that does not mean it needs to finish that way either. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe...” She laughed softly. “Maybe I am misreading what this is—what I think we are both feeling. And if I am, tell me now because I need to know. But if I am not...” She held his stare so he could see in her eyes that she was speaking the truth. “...then I think we both know where this night ends.”

She held her breath as she waited for his response.

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