Page 98 of His Grace, the Duke
Without looking up, he tucked the letters back inside his waistcoat.
Fresh tears stung her eyes. “You told me you require honesty, but you’ve picked the one thing I’m not at liberty to tell you. And now you can’t look at me—”
His head shot up, his face a mask of frustration. “I’m looking at you. Alright? I’malwayslooking at you. I can’t look away.”
On instinct she reached out, her hand curling around his arm. To feel him stiffen made her heart ache. “Please, James. You said it yourself, we must move past this. My walls are down, I swear it to you.” He tried to pull away but she tightened her hold on him. “Head and heart, James. I will tell you anything you want to know. Please, just ask me.Please—”
His eyes darted as he took in the features of her face. “How many men?”
She blinked, dropping her hand away from him. “What?”
“How many men have you been with? You want to play the truth game? Well, that’s what I want to know.”
No walls. No lies. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying she was doing right. “By choice?”
It was his turn to blink in confusion. He quickly recovered. “Goddamnit,” he cursed, dragging both hands through his hair instead.
“Well... which number do you want? You must be more specific.”
“Choice,” he muttered, not looking at her.
“Five,” she whispered. “Burke and Tom you already know.”
He swallowed. “And did you love them? The other three?”
She sniffed, crossing her arms again. It was the smallest kind of comfort, even if all she could do was hold herself. “I thought I did... with two of them, at least. But I was young and foolish... and very alone. It never lasted long.” She blinked back the memories, letting warmer ones fill her mind. Slowly, she let herself smile. “There is no comparing what I had then to what I have now. It’s like having droplets of fresh rain land in your palm and then claiming to hold the ocean.”
“Burke is your ocean, then?”
“He is part of it... yes,” she replied, willing him to look at her.
“And . . . the other number?”
“Two.”
He made a noise in his throat. “How old were you when...”
“Fifteen,” she whispered. “It was in the months just before my father died. That’s when he got the most creative... the most desperate in how to buy time with his creditors and try to cancel debts.”
James cursed again.
“I couldn’t read the bills,” she admitted, gesturing to the bulge in his waistcoat. “I was afraid I might find one from... I didn’t want to find any proof of a canceled debt.”
James looked down slowly at his chest. In a flash, he reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out the stack of letters. He turned and dropped to one knee in front of the hearth, placing the stack on the grate.
“What are you doing?”
He stood and snatched a candle off its stand.
“James, don’t—” She watched James touch the flaming tip of the candle to the edge of the stack. In seconds, the top letter caught fire. Smoke billowed up the chimney as all the evidence of Francis Harrow’s wasted life burned to ash.
James stood and replaced the candle. Giving his waistcoat a little tug, he watched the letters curl and burn.
“That was evidence,” she chastised.
“I don’t give a damn. The debts have all been paid. You’re free of him. He and all his creditors can burn in hell.” Slowly, he turned, reaching out for her.
“Don’t—touch me,” she rasped, backing away.
