Page 78 of Duke of Fyre

Elias's head snapped up, his gaze blazing as he fixed her with a look of utter disbelief. "Strike a gentleman?" The words came out in a harsh whisper. "What gentleman?"

"Lord Blackwood," Silas replied, his voice carefully neutral. "There was… an unfortunate incident. Lydia attempted to intervene in a private matter between him and Diana."

"Intervened?" Jane's voice cut in from the hallway, sharp with anger. She stepped into the room, her expression fierce as she glared at her mother. "She stopped him from dragging Diana into an alley. He's been stalking her for weeks, harassing her, making her afraid to leave the house."

"Jane!" Prudence hissed, her face flushing. "That's quite enough! Lord Blackwood is a gentleman of means who has shown a keen interest in Diana. If Lydia hadn't interfered…"

"If Lydia hadn't interfered," Elias's voice was soft but lethal, "your youngest daughter might be dead or worse. And you dare stand there apologizing for my wife's behavior?"

Both Prudence and Silas recoiled slightly, exchanging uncertain glances. Prudence's mouth opened and closed, her expression a mix of shock and indignation.

Elias rose slowly to his feet, his full height and commanding presence forcing both of them to take an involuntary step back. His hands were clenched at his sides, his fury barely contained as he continued, each word precise and cutting. "She has been doing your job," he said, his tone cold, "protecting her sisters when you would sacrifice them to the first ‘gentleman of means' who showed interest, regardless of his character or intentions."

Silas stiffened, his jaw tightening as he drew himself up. "Your Grace, that accusation is entirely uncalled for. You can hardly blame us for…"

"I can and I do," Elias replied, his voice icy. "But not as much as I blame myself. My wife—my brave, loyal, and selfless wife—left the safety of our home because I was too much of a coward to fight for her. And now she lies here, hurt and helpless, because I failed to protect her."

"Your Grace," Prudence began, her voice wavering as she attempted to regain her composure, "surely you can't mean to encourage such unladylike behavior? A proper wife would never?—"

"A proper wife?" Elias let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "My wife is more noble, more worthy of respect, than anyone in this room. She saw someone in danger and acted to protect them, regardless of the cost to herself. That is true nobility, madam, not your shallow concerns about ‘proper behavior.'"

He turned back to Lydia, taking her hand once more, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. He felt a fierce, protective anger rise within him, mingled with the painful guilt he had carried since the day she left. "Now get out," he said quietly, his voice like iron. "All of you. I wish to be alone with my wife."

"But—" Prudence began, her eyes widening in protest.

"Out!" The single word cracked like a whip, and the tone was so commanding, so filled with authority, that even Silas seemed momentarily cowed. Without another word, he took his wife's arm, leading her from the room. Jane hesitated, casting a worried glance back at Lydia before following them, her expression grim.

As the door closed behind them, Elias sank back to his knees beside the bed. He pressed Lydia's hand to his cheek, feeling the faint warmth of life still lingering in her skin. For a long moment, he could only sit there, holding her hand, his chest tight with regret and self-recrimination.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For letting you go, for not seeing what was right in front of me, for being such a stubborn fool. Please, Lydia… please wake up."

A faint sound caught his attention, and he looked up to see her eyelids fluttering, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Slowly, her eyes opened, and her gaze met his, confusion clouding the green depths.

"Elias?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and weak. "What… why are you…?"

"Shh." He reached out, his free hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair from her forehead. "Don't try to move. You've been hurt."

Her brow furrowed, and a flash of memory crossed her face. "Diana?" The word was urgent despite her weakness. "Is she safe?"

"She's fine," he assured her quickly. "Thanks to you. Though when I think of what could have happened…"

Lydia's gaze focused on him, and he could see a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she took in his disheveled appearance. "You came," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder as her eyes searched his. "I wasn't sure…"

His throat tightened at her words, the simple statement carrying a weight he hadn't anticipated. "Of course I came," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

She was silent for a moment, studying his face, as though searching for something in his expression. "After everything… I wasn't sure," she admitted finally, her voice barely audible.

The admission struck him with a force he hadn't expected. That she could doubt him, that she could question his care for her, was unbearable. And yet, hadn't he given her every reason to doubt?

"Lydia," he began, but she cut him off with a slight shake of her head.

"Could you…" She winced at the movement, her face contorting with pain, and he instinctively tightened his grip on her hand. "Could you ask everyone to leave us alone? I need to speak with you."

"They're already gone," he told her, his tone gentle. "I sent them out."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "How very ducal of you," she murmured, her voice carrying a faint trace of her usual humor.

He returned the faint smile, his thumb gently tracing over her knuckles. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them filled with unspoken words, with the weight of all that had been left unsaid. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his touch lingering.

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