Page 89 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
“I am not in love with your brother,” she finally said. “I could never love someone who refuses to let me in.”
“I know he is difficult to love—” Juliette started.
“He is not difficult to love,” Theresa cut her off. “He is downrightimpossible.”
“He has been through more than you can imagine,” the Dowager Duchess interjected. “Do you think that it was easy for him to break off his betrothal? To live through the horrors of war?”
“I do not presume to know what it was like for him,” Theresa said quietly. “He has not let me in enough to know what he feels. All I know is that he is in love with someone else.”
“You are mistaken, my dear.”
“It is obvious to everyone in thetonthat he and Lady Isabella would have made a better match,” she insisted.
“She was not what he needed. He needed someone who was not wrapped up in the high life. He neededyou.”
“He did not need me,” Theresa scoffed, rising from the table.
She could not bear to hear anything more about what Aaron might feel for her. Not if he could notshowit to her.
Not if he could not take off his mask and let her in.
“You will have to excuse me,” she said. “I must prepare to take my leave to visit my family today.”
She hurried out of the breakfast room, just as her tears spilled over. Once she was out of view and knew no one could see her, she hiked up her skirts and ran to her rooms.
She collapsed into the armchair by the fireplace and buried her face in her hands.
She would not be able to get through the day if she broke down in tears every moment someone said something she did not like. She would need to toughen up and stop giving in to emotion. She was a duchess, after all.
As a duchess, she commanded power. She was expected to hold herself together, no matter the circumstances.
Not wanting to dissolve into more tears, she took a deep breath and sat up. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her gown and rolled back her shoulders.
No more of that now.
She turned her attention to the packed trunk. With a calm that did not betray her inner turmoil, she put in the last few items she had forgotten the night before. A couple of nightgowns and a silver mirror she favored.
As she was putting the last items in the trunk, she heard a small meow. She turned around to find her kitten stretching out in the corner of the room. She had not noticed him until now. He must have been sleeping when she came in.
She walked over to him and bent down to pet him.
“I will miss you, Ashball,” she said quietly, scratching behind his ears.
Suddenly, something colorful caught her attention. She looked beyond the kitten to see a canvas propped up against the wall.
She recognized Aaron’s work as soon as she saw it, even though it was different from his usual paintings.
This was not an angry painting. No reds and blacks that showed the war raging within him.
No, this was a sweet painting, rendered in colors Theresa herself might have used. It was a picture of her kitten lounging in front of a fireplace, which she recognized as the one in the tower.
She understood that this was a peace offering. Aaron was changing, but not fast enough for her liking.
She sat in front of the painting, bursting into tears when she thought of his hands making this picture. She wanted to believe that he would come around in time, but she could not wait. For them to have a marriage, he needed to trust her now.
But that was simply beyond the realm of possibility. Aaron had made that much clear to her last night, and every other night they had spent together. Even her fondest memories of him were tainted by his mask and his refusal to show her what lay beneath it.
Theresa stood up and wiped her cheeks. She picked up the kitten and cradled him against her chest, where she could feel his heat and his heartbeat next to her own.
