Page 104 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Wilhelmina inhaled sharply. She did not flinch, did not allow the woman’s malice to pierce her façade. She knew her worth. Beauty had been a commodity, yes, but intellect and strength of will—these were hers, unassailable.
Then Lord Farnmont, who had remained largely a shadow until now, moved.
Wilhelmina caught the subtle shift: his jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. His usual mildness was gone. His eyes were dark, focused, molten with a simmering rage.
“No, darling,” he said, the words low but cutting, dripping with menace.
A chill slid down Wilhelmina’s spine. She had never seen him like this. Not ever. The polite Viscount of society, gentle at home, now all gone. Replaced by something raw and dangerous.
“He was never yours,” he continued, voice like a blade. “Even if he had lived to witness your failings, he would still have never been yours. You would never have had him. Never.”
Gasps echoed through the room. Wilhelmina’s hand flew to her chest. Her pulse hammered as she glanced at Gerard, whosesteady presence at her side was a lifeline. Heat and fear mingled in her veins.
“W-Why?” Lady Farnmont stammered, her voice cracking.
Wilhelmina’s heart froze as the next words fell from Lord Farnmont’s lips.
“Because I killed him.”
The room seemed to collapse inward. The chandeliers hung heavy above, glittering like shards of frozen light. Music stopped mid-strain. Wilhelmina felt as though the walls themselves were closing in. Her stomach twisted, a cold tide washing over her chest.
“K-Killed him?” Lady Farnmont’s voice faltered, her precious fan clattering to the floor.
“Yes,” he repeated, each word deliberate, heavy. “I killed Lord Slyham.”
Wilhelmina’s mind struggled to grasp the enormity of it. Robert, the man who had been her closest friend, her secret confidante, the one whose name had been used as a weapon against her, was killed by this man right here. This man, who moved and mingled in the ton right under her nose.
She wanted to recoil, to scream, to rush forward and shake the truth from him. Instead, she froze, every nerve alight. The roomwas a furnace of whispers, horrified gasps, and stunned silence. Eyes darted, mouths parted, hands clutched to chests.
And in the midst of it all, Gerard’s hand found hers.
“Say it again,” Gerard commanded, his voice low, steady, impossibly fierce.
Wilhelmina felt the tension in his body, the rigid lines of his shoulders, the slight tremor of controlled fury. She clung to his presence like a lifeline, letting his strength anchor her in the storm.
“I killed him,” Lord Farnmont said again, the words like a hammer, echoing in every corner of the ballroom. “I was sick of hearing his name! Sick of your obsession! Even after we had our children, you compared me to him! You breathed his name as if it were a prayer, over and over, until it haunted me!”
Whispers erupted into cries. Someone sobbed. Wilhelmina’s throat tightened, a cold lump forming that made it hard to draw breath. Her knees threatened to give way, but Gerard’s grip on her arm kept her upright. Every beat of her heart hammered with grief, shock, and a visceral, raw anger she had never felt in her life.
He had taken Robert from this world. All because of sick jealousy.
The world seemed unreal, as though the chandeliers and gilded walls were part of a tableau meant to torture her. She drew in a shaky breath, pressing closer to Gerard, needing him, needing something solid amidst the chaos.
“You…” Lady Farnmont gasped, pale as porcelain.
Wilhelmina barely registered her rival’s terror. The truth had shattered the room.
The masquerade of civility, the polite murmurs of the ton, even the self-righteous malice of Lady Farnmont…none of it mattered now. Only the terrible, unflinching reality of what had happened pressed down, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“How could you?” Wilhelmina choked out, her hand flying to her mouth.
Her chest heaved, the words trembling on her lips before she could steady them.
She was not obsessed with Robert the way Lady Farnmont was, but she had loved him, truly. He had been her friend, her companion in quiet rebellion. He had made her feel like herself in a world that never gave her permission to do so. Together, they had carved out a little paradise in her home, a refuge where laughter, mischief, and whispered confidences reigned.
“You… you murdered a kind soul. You murdered kindness itself.” The words slipped past her lips with a terrible ease, as though the truth had been waiting, desperate to escape.
