Page 77 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Fortunately, he’d been marked as the dirty man he was and… Charlene heaved for air… it was a way to keep him apart from Adam after all. Thanks to that vase. David was not like Adam—at least not on the outside.
But Adam had kept the truth from her.
But then again, Adam had also been the one to help her that night. It hadn’t come cheap for him to ensure the hosts of the evening did not learn of the matter.
And he had never told a soul about the humiliation.
Being compromised for nothing—no sparks, no love, not even the slightest bit of affection. David Cross was a man who only loved himself.
And he hurt people.
Hurther.
One hand pressed hard against her mouth as a shuddering sob escaped, stolen into the cold air. She felt foolish, utterly undone. This was why she kept herself guarded, why she had promised herself never to invest in tender words and trustingsmiles again. And yet Adam had cracked through her wall, his steady kindness leaving her exposed to shattering heartbreak.
Somewhere deep within her, she knew he wasn’t truly to blame, that David was the source of it all. However, that man’s shadow hung over her life like a dark omen, filling every quiet moment and every new glance from a gentleman with the fear of the past repeating itself—it had been so for a year until that night at the masquerade ball.
David had left wreckage in his wake, as relentless and cruel as a storm. And now he had returned, dragging that chaos into Adam’s life, and by consequence, hers.
How was she to distinguish between the chaos in Adam’s life versus David’s? And where would she fall into all of that?
She didn’t.
She wouldn’t.
But that didn’t lessen the sting of Adam’s actions tonight. Whether David’s reappearance was beyond Adam’s control or not, it didn’t change the fact that he seemed to have hidden things from her while knowing how much his brother had already stolen from her.
Another sob broke free, her lips trembling as she hurried faster down the street, her reflection flickering in the dim shop windows she passed. Her cloak flew behind her, catching the wet evening breeze, but she barely noticed. She turned another corner, her footsteps echoing in the narrowing lane. The familiar sight of her townhouse came into view, but the relief she expected didn’t come. It only dragged down the lump in her throat, making her feel more isolated than before. Adam’s words replayed in her mind, treacherous and warm, as if she could still feel the deep timbre of his voice.
She gritted her teeth, her eyes finally dry from tears. He had lied. He had lied to protect her, perhaps, but a lie was a lie,and she was left to face the consequences of his silence. All over again.
You don’t know that.
Didn’t she?
At last, Charlene stepped onto the marble tiles of the entryway of her home, her breathless sobs replaced by shallow, uneven breaths. The footman, alerted by the sound of the door, swung it open for her, his brow furrowed in polite concern. “Milady,” he murmured, but she only acknowledged him with a nod. Her mind screamed for solitude, for her bed, for the safety of her own locked door. She clutched her cloak tighter, intending to rush past him and up the staircase without looking back.
She stopped short, her slippers scuffing against the floor as her gaze darted toward the hall bench. A dark figure stood, his shadow stretching long beneath the low chandelier. When he turned, stepping fully into view, Charlene blinked at the sight.
“Mr. Grafton,” she gasped, surprised. She dropped her damp gloves into her cloak pocket hastily and wiped at her cheeks, hoping he couldn’t notice the red-rimmed state of her eyes.
Probably a hopeless wish.
Just like she had wished David Cross would never step foot in England again.
Mr. Grafton inclined his head, his expression gentle, but his eyes sharp and watchful. A gentleman through and through, he wasted no time acknowledging her distress but did not remark on it directly. “Lady Charlene,” he said gently, his tone well-practiced and steady. “I beg your pardon for intruding, but I wished to speak with your brother this evening. It seems he has yet to return.”
Charlene’s hands trembled as she stepped farther into the hall, the soft click of the door closing behind her causing her to flinch. “You might find him at White’s,” she replied, hervoice lower than usual and unsteady despite her attempts at composure.
“Forgive me,” Henry said softly, stepping forward in measured movements, keeping a distance that felt respectful rather than intrusive. “But I sense you’ve had a rather trying encounter.”
Charlene swallowed hard, her throat raw. She tilted her chin, digging desperately for a shred of pride. “It is of no importance,” she murmured, blinking back the tears threatening once again to spill. The lie felt hollow even to her.
Henry studied her for a long moment, his aristocratic features drawn in quiet understanding. He gestured toward the bench he had occupied, as if offering her a place to sit, but made no moves to coax her into it. “If you’ll allow me to venture an observation… sometimes the importance of a thing isn’t always apparent in the moment. And yet, if left unspoken, it festers.”
She bit down on her lip, hard, a few wayward tears slipping down her cheeks, no matter how turned away her gaze. There was no use pretending here, not beneath his discerning, deeply kind eyes. “It is…” she began, the words faltering before she cleared her throat and tried again. “It is…” She didn’t dare tell him about David. Couldn’t even if she tried. “A man…” The words trailed off, and Charlene wanted to kick herself for sounding so utterly wretched.
Henry’s expression remained calm, though one eyebrow rose. “Of course it is.”
