Page 119 of The Wolf of Mayfair
He’d blamed himself for having encouraged Evander to go skating with him and saw himself as responsible as opposed to understanding it’d been a tragic accident.
Only, in the end, everything Anthony had taken as fact and feared—even as he would never dare admit to that emotion—had come true.
He’d been so very close to letting down all his walls and trusting and smiling ... and then pain and heartache and loss had revisited this household, all because of Helia.
Or that was how Anthony was likely to see it. And why shouldn’t he? The entire reason for the duke’s explosion had been because Anthony had married her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and hugged herself even more tightly. Once again, her efforts proved futile. The memories of the duke’s violent row with Anthony, the thunderous shouts, the breaking glass, the toppling furniture; it all came rushing back.
What now?
Cowardly as it was, she didn’t want to know. She wanted to remain hidden away in this room, shut away from Anthony, and what was to come.
The hinges of the door squeaked as the panel opened.
Let it be a diligent maid. Let it be a footman. Or ... or any servant. Just do not let it be ...
Anthony.
Alas, the universe wouldn’t even grant her a slightly longer reprieve.
From where he stood in the entryway, her husband, wearing a dark frown, did a sweep of the room.
Helia hunched her shoulders and made herself as small as possible.
She should have known better.
Her slight movement instantly beckoned Anthony’s notice.
His gaze sharpened on the corner she’d made hers for the better part of the morning and afternoon; Anthony frowned.
“Helia?” he said, pushing the door closed behind him with a quiet click.
He was across the room and at her side in three long strides.
Her gut clenched. She hated his frown as much as she cherished, craved, and loved his elusive smile. “An—my lord,” she quickly corrected, in tremulous tones.
His scowl deepened. “‘My lord’?”
Oh, God. The worst had happened. “Your G-Grace?” she whispered. She made to climb to her feet and pay proper due in the form of a curtsy to her husband.
“What are you doing down here?” he demanded, and joined her on the floor before she could even stand.
Because duchesses behaved a certain way and that most definitely did not include hiding in corners.
She couldn’t manage anything but a question of her own. “Your father?”
His jaw tightened. “Lives, but not in any sense he’d want to.”
Helia stared confusedly at him.
“He suffered a catastrophic apoplexy,” he said flatly. “It has robbed him of the ability to speak, walk, or use his hands.”
Her gut roiled. First he’d lost his brother, and now his father had suffered perhaps an even worse fate.I’m going to be sick.
“I am so, so sorry, Anth—my lord.” She got past the thick ball of emotion in her throat.
He stared at her like she’d sprouted a second and third head. “Why in hell are you calling me ‘my lord’?”
