Page 10 of When her Duke Returns
“There is nothing to be said of great import that we cannot say in front of all those here. I am glad to see you yet live, Your Grace, though I fear you will not find what it is you seek within the halls of Summerhead.”
“What is it you believe I seek, My Lady?” Alexander asked, all too knowing of her answer.
“I would not dream of imposing such thoughts upon you, Your Grace. I fear they would not do you justice nor any kindness.” She turned then to Francis. “I would ask that he stay, brother. At least until the ball is concluded, and he has a change of clothes. It would not do for us to send away such an eager celebrant.”
He noticed then that she dared not look upon him, and that avoidance betrayed any show of confidence at which she attempted.
“I thank you for your offer, My Lady,” he said upon her silence, “but I must decline your naming me a celebrant. I shall never endorse this engagement, let alone greet it in celebration. I fear it would be beneath me.”
“You would paint yourself the villain, then?” It was Antony who spoke at last, and Alexander noticed how the man had seemed to shrink to half his size, his lip quivering in fear. “Beast!”
The Earl of Burkley was a man with whom Alexander was most familiar. That he should reveal himself the claimant of the Duke’s betrothed was a twist of circumstance beyond Alexander’s comprehension.
“You must know much of being villainous, Burkley. I am passed but half a year, and already you seek to claim the spoils left in the wake of my death,” Alexander replied. He could feel his anger rising, held at bay only by the self-knowing of his odiousness. “When I heard Hatton utter your name from outside, I thought it a most unfortunate mistake. But all has become clear: you are no more my friend than my enemy; no more a man than a snake.”
“I would not test the limits of our Lady’s hospitality, Your Grace,” Francis insisted. “You are not so welcome here that we will not send you off.”
“The years have not done much to dull my affections for Lady Mary. If she wills me to go, I shall see it through. But I would speak that which much be spoken first.”
Alexander turned to Mary then, who took a step back. As if out of instinct, Harry placed an arm between the two. While he was clearly more receptive to Alexander than the rest of the men in attendance, he was not without doubt. The Duke could hardly deny him his caution.
“Mary,” the Duke said softly so as not to scare her further. “What I have said is of great truth. Not a day has passed in my years at war that I have not fought to return to you. I swear, I place no blame upon you for what has transpired… I fear I shall never be equipped to loathe you for anything. But you must see this man for what he is; youmustsee how desperately I want you returned to me.”
Mary seemed to think for a long moment before speaking again, and it unnerved him. They were not as they had been before his departure, that much was certain, and he was no better at reading her now than he had been when they were strangers.
“Your Grace,” she began, her voice laden with disdain, “I fear therein lies the catch. I am not a thing one can take or return.”Alexander fell back a step as the weight of her words fell upon him.
“I would ask that the festivities resume,” she spoke upon the Duke’s silence. “There is no reason for us to deny our guests more dancing. Though, I fear, I am quite exhausted and should retire for the eve.” With her words spoken and one final glance toward Alexander, she turned on her heels and walked away.
Antony stepped forward, his body wracked with fear. It brought no small amount of joy to Alexander. “What the Lady Mary lacks for, in boldness, she most certainly makes up for with reason,” Burkley said quickly as if preparing himself to run. “I have merely acted on the call of my heart, and I should be no more judged for it than you.”
Alexander regarded the man and felt his eyes settle into a dark, uncaring stare. He let out a low groan and felt the world close around him. With no room left for rationality, he drew his fist back as far as he could and planted it straight into the Earl’s face with all the strength he could muster.
Gasps rang out from the ladies around them. Antony fell to his knees and cupped his face, a stream of blood running from his nose and through his fingers. Without much more than a contented sigh, Alexander retreated into the dark of night.
* * *
He made for the stables and promptly saddled his mare to depart. His hand burned from the pain of his punch though it compared in no way to the pang of grief in his heart. That he should be refused by his love outright with unprecedented coldness would harrow him more, he knew, than any battle he had endured at war.
It was upon this pondering that he heard a voice ring out into the darkness.
“Is it really you?” he heard from behind him as he prepared to mount his horse. With a gulp and a gasp, he snapped his head around and caught sight of Mary edging toward him. He had been so consumed by his longing that he had not heard her approach.
She looked even more ravishing under the soft moonlight of the night, and he longed to take her in his arms. Her hair had fallen out in the time since they had shared words, and it lapped now at the soft skin of her shoulders and jaw.
“I know my mother will curse me for chasing after you, but I must know whether you are real or a phantom, or if this is all a dream.”
Alexander breathed deeply and stepped toward her. To his surprise, she did not flinch. “I am real, My Lady. Though I myself cannot attest to the trueness of this moment. It feels too great a gift to be real.”
“That is precisely what a daemon would say. Perhaps I have gone mad. Perhaps this has all been too much, and I am only now feeling the true effect of the thing,” she said through an unsteady laugh. “It would certainly explain your terrible change in countenance.”
Alexander reached for her then and placed a hand on her face. He half expected to pass through her or for her to slink away with a shriek. When he did not—whenshedid not—he felt her freeze first and then sink her cheek into his calloused palm beneath a fluttering of lashes.
As if awaking from a dream, she tore her face away and looked at him with resolve burning in her eyes. “Make no mistake, Your Grace. I am not returned to you so as to confess any long-buried affections nor to throw myself at your feet and make away with you in the night.”
“I would never ask of you what you are not willing to give.”
“Good because that is the way of things, and I must not waver.” Her face twisted in a scowl though she kept her eyes wide. “You are not dead, then?”
