Page 78 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

Emma felt oddly detached from her surroundings, her mind reeling with disbelief. But the mention of the Marquess brought a sudden clarity, a sharp jolt that pierced through her shock.

“There has to be a mistake somewhere,” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. “This letter cannot be real. George wouldn’t do this.” She shook her head vehemently, clinging to a desperate hope.

“You’re foolish enough to be in denial now?” Her father quirked a brow, regarding her as though she had lost her senses.

“IknowGeorge. He wouldn’t do this,” Emma insisted, though her voice wavered, betraying her uncertainty.

“Do you, now?” Tristan’s derisive brow arched even higher. “If you wish, you can compare this letter he wrote to the marriage contract he signed and see for yourself,” he suggested with a confidence that chilled her to her very bones.

Emma followed him to his study, her heart pounding in her chest. Her father retrieved the marriage contract George had signed and laid it before her. With trembling hands, she compared the penmanship.

It was identical. Her heart shattered, the truth sinking in like a lead weight. George had indeed written the letter.

“It is all right,” her father said with a chuckle, his tone dripping with mockery. “At least you have the Marquess who is willing to accept a compromised bride.”

“I am not marrying Neads,” Emma snapped, her voice sharp with defiance.

“Oh, but you have nowhere else to turn,” Tristan laughed, the sound echoing with cruel satisfaction. “You see, having a choice is a luxury you lost a long time ago,” he added, his words cutting through Emma like a knife.

The next twenty-four hours were the worst of Emma’s life. The heavens poured with such vengeance it was practically a reflection of her agony. Each clap of thunder seemed to echo her despair, each flash of lightning a reminder of her shattered dreams.

Emma stood by the window, watching the relentless downpour. Perhaps the storm was her ally in this dark time. If only it held the answers she sought so desperately.

Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to escape the suffocating confines of her father’s control. But she felt paralyzed, trapped by her own fears and the overwhelming weight of uncertainty.

The butler’s voice broke through her thoughts, announcing visitors. “In this storm?” her mother exclaimed.

Emma turned as Olivia and Lady Amberton walked into the drawing room, their faces etched with concern. They were closely followed by Alexander, his expression rigid and solemn.

“Oh, Emma,” Olivia said softly, her eyes brimming with tears. “We heard what happened.”

Emma tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She felt the overwhelming urge to break down, to let the flood of emotions pour out, but she held herself together by sheer will.

"I cannot believe George would do this." Olivia shook her head as she took a seat next to Emma on the sofa. Jane settled on the other side, each woman grasping one of Emma’s hands, their comforting squeezes offering silent support.

"This is unlike George," Alexander said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "He wouldn’t do something like this. Not the brother I know," he added.

"I cannot understand his actions either," Jane declared.

Alexander’s expression hardened then. "I shall go down to Dorset as soon as the weather allows. I am going to drag George back by his hair if I have to."

"No." Emma finally found her voice, a broken whisper that silenced the room. "You do not have to. I understand his reasons.” She did not want anyone forcing George to marry her. It would only sink her deeper into sorrow and misery.

"But Emma, we must try. Even for the slightest chance that he’s making a mistake in his decision," Olivia insisted, her grip tightening on Emma’s hand.

"I agree with Alex and Olivia. George needs to return and fulfill his responsibility," Jane said vehemently.

The mention of responsibility only pained Emma more. That was all she’d ever been to George. All she ever would be. Amere responsibility, one he’d now discarded without a second thought.

“I am grateful to all of you for your concerns,” Emma forced herself to meet their somber gazes, “but it is enough. Do not force him into anything. I am fine with his decision,” she lied, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

The sympathetic looks on their faces only deepened her sorrow. She couldn’t bear to see the pity in their eyes. With a deep breath, she rose from the sofa, her movements slow and deliberate, as though every step required immense effort.

“Emma, please—” Olivia began, her voice choked with emotion, but Emma held up a hand to forestall any further pleas.

“No, Olivia. It is better this way. Thank you for your kindness.”

With those words, she turned and exited the drawing room, her heart bleeding. Each step away from them felt like a step deeper into her sorrow. She reached her room and closed the door behind her, the silence pressing down like a suffocating blanket.

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