Page 75 of Taken By the Duke of Stone

It hadn't been a dream.

He turned his head sharply and glanced at the empty space at his side. There was no hint of a brown haired minx at his side and his heart gave a painful clench at her absence.

"Where is she?" he roared at his valet and the man jerked with shock.

"Where is who, Your Grace?"

He jumped out of bed and reached for his trousers, kicking them on hurriedly. It was as he began to pull his shirt on that he saw the hint of white peeking out from under his bed.

Frowning, he picked up the paper and stared at it with confusion before opening it up. It was three lines of text and thirteen words, but they managed to nearly bring him to his knees. His eyes swept over her flowing script over and over again and then he brushed his fingers over the paper like he could feel her on the page.

I'm sorry.

I have fallen in love with you.

I cannot marry you.

"Your Grace, are you quite alright?"

He stared up at the man wordlessly. No, he wasn't. He felt like someone had taken everything he knew about life and turned it upside down.

She loved him.

It almost seemed impossible but it was true. He couldn't be hallucinating the words on the paper and neither could this be a dream. No dream had ever succeeded in causing such a sharp pain in the place where his heart was.

"She's gone," he whispered.

He watched the valet open and close his mouth, at a loss of words and then finally the man said, "I am sorry, Your Grace."

Victor tugged on his shirt and shoes and raced down the stairs, the letter clutched tight in his hand. He found his mother in the breakfast room sipping her cup of tea daintily, a book I her other hand.

"Victor, dear," she tutted. "What has possessed you to run around the house in that state. I do hope you are not planning on leaving the house looking like that."

Before he could respond, his sister walked in and took a seat at the table, "I would not be surprised. After all, he has lost his senses. What else could possibly make him turn Patrick away."

"Georgie!" his mother chastised, then, "she has a point dear. I heard about you refusing Patrick."

Victor wasn't in the mood to talk about his sister's crazy, whirlwind romance with his best friend. They could run off and shackle themselves together for eternity and see if he cared. He had more pressing problems than them as far as he was concerned, and a burning grudge against the world.

He waved the letter about, "Lavinia is in love with me."

It was Georgie that snorted, "poor girl. Does she know that you traded in your heart for a barrel of beer years and years ago?"

"Georgie!" the dowager duchess cried, " Do not be so insensitive."

The girl's expression turned mulish, "well forgive me if I am unable to scrape out any sympathy at all for him. I am afraid that I have exhausted all of mine on myself."

The older woman decided that ignoring the aggrieved girl was the best course of action. She turned to her son, "I do not understand. Why do you sound mournful about something as beautiful as love?"

"I really did think Miss Proctor had more common sense than to give her heart to a blackhearted man like you!" Georgie roared, jumped to her feet and dashed away, tears running down her cheeks.

"You have hurt your sister greatly," his mother said. "What do you plan to do about that?"

"I was only trying to protect her, the same way I've been trying to protect myself," then he smiled bitterly. "You, on the other hand, you must be relieved to see the last of her."

She stared at him silently, an unreadable expression on her face, "Believe it or not, Victor, but I have only wanted what was best for you and that is a life full of love and joy. But when I saw you were so closed off towards the possibility of love, I became intent on seeing you be at least content."

He dropped into the chair his sister had vacated and began to brush the back of his fingers over Lavinia's words. "What am I going to do?"

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