Page 46 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
He lapsed into silence again, his mouth thinning. The pain in his voice was palpable when he resumed the tale.
“We managed to get Mary home, though every bump and jolt of the carriage elicited cries of agony from her lips,” he whispered, opening his eyes, which were cloudy with unshed tears. “I carried her into the house myself. She felt so delicatein my arms. I remember screaming for help, my voice echoing through the halls. Servants scrambled, fetching towels, hot water… anything that might aid us.”
He paused, running a hand through his dark hair.
“The next five hours were the worst of my life,” he whispered. “The midwife and physician arrived, both looking grim. She was not due to have the baby for another month.” He paused. “Mary’s screams filled the house, each one tearing at my very soul. I paced outside the bedchamber, feeling utterly helpless, praying to a God that I was no longer sure I believed in.”
Selene stood transfixed, her heart aching for the man standing before her.
The duke’s eyes grew distant, lost in the painful memory.
“When the physician emerged from the bedchamber, his face ashen, I knew. Before he even spoke a word, I knew.” His voice broke, a tremor running through his powerful frame. “He said simply—and I will never forget the words—‘I am sorry, Your Grace. But Her Grace is gone.’”
Selene felt tears pricking behind her eyes, trying not to cry.
“Something inside me shattered,” the duke continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “A primal rage consumed me, and I… I lost all sense of reason.”
He turned from the window, pacing the floor again, his movements agitated.
“I tore through the house like a man possessed,” he said. “The beautiful Christmas decorations that Mary had so lovingly arranged became targets of my grief and fury. I ripped garlands from banisters, scattering pine needles and holly everywhere.” He paused. “I cursed God above. Everyone stayed out of my way. The only sound in the house were my screams of pain and the thin, mewling cries of Lenore, howling for her dead mother.”
Selene couldn’t bear it any longer. She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around him, wanting more than anything to heal his pain. He stilled, freezing, as stiff as a wooden marionette. His muscles were filled with unbearable tension. For one moment, she thought he was going to push her away—even throw her bodily across the room.
But then, very slowly, she felt his muscles soften. She caressed him, crooning softly, as if to a very small child. He grew limp. She could feel the tension draining out of him. She cradled his face in her hands, gazing deeply into his eyes.
“It was not your fault,” she whispered. “It was her time. That was all.”
His eyes filled with pain again. “No,” he moaned. “It was my fault. I should never have forced her to travel that day, and that is why I cannot—must not—tell you…”
There was a sudden rap at the door. They jumped apart, like scolded cats. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Enter.”
The butler entered, announcing Captain Redford, who came bounding into the room, before abruptly stopping, staring at them, as if he sensed the tension in the air.
“Miss Bomind,” he said, fishing in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a letter. “You are just the person I need to see.” He handed the letter to her. “Miss Wellington wanted me to give this to you.”
Selene took the letter, thanking the gentleman, even though she could barely speak. She curtsied briefly, leaving the room. She didn’t look back at the duke. Her heart was overflowing with emotion. She leaned against the wall outside the study, closing her eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself.
“Miss Bomind,” said a feminine voice at her elbow. “You look rather fraught.”
She jumped, her eyes flying open. It was Lady Gwen, staring at her coldly. In her confusion, Selene dropped the letter. The lady picked it up, handing it to her.
“Excuse me,” mumbled Selene, with a quick curtsy. “I... I am needed in the kitchen.”
She turned, walking quickly away from the lady. When she glanced back, Lady Gwen was still in the same position, watching her intently. Selene felt a shiver of foreboding, before pushing it aside.
All she could think about was the duke and his agony. The agony that never left him. He blamed himself for his wife’s death and she knew, with a stab of pure sorrow, that nothing she could ever say would dislodge that idea from his mind.
She shuddered. And she knew, with another stab of pain, that Mary could never be replaced in his affections. She was deluding herself entirely if she ever thought it was possible.
Chapter 24
Ian gazed out the window of his study, lost in contemplation of the soft snow falling outside, blanketing the world in white.
His stomach was still churning with emotion from when he had last spoken to Selene—and broken down entirely, confessing his guilt about the day Mary had died. And how he was culpable.
So many emotions were churning inside him that he felt like jumping out of his own skin. He was used to living with the guilt and shame—they were his constant companions. But alongside them, a raw tenderness was there, newly hatched, the glow of it growing and expanding, overtaking them. Tenderness toward her. Selene.
His heart skipped a beat. Before Redford interrupted them, he had been about to confess to her that he thought that he could never love again, but that now, with her, he thought it might actually be possible. His heart filled with relief. Thank God that his friend had chosen that moment to visit—or else he might have actually told her.
