Page 118 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Nor could he ask her to give up the carefree life she craved. As his duchess, she would have more responsibilities heaped on her than she could imagine. He had to let her go, give up his own hopes, plans, dreams in order to ensure her happiness. He understood it fully now, the sacrifice, the pain of setting aside everything one wanted in order to ensure that someone else realized his or her dreams. It was odd that in the ache of loss there was also some joy in knowing that she would be happy. That she would not feel like a slave or a whore.
That by sending her away, he would ensure that she not awaken each day feeling beholden to him.
As he headed to his library, he knew that if he weren’t a selfish man, he would have taken her to the railway station the day before, but he was a selfish man and so he’d given himself one more night with her, one more night of memories that he would carry with him for the remainder of his life. No woman would ever replace her. He knew that as well.
In the library, he went to the window and looked out on the garden. When he returned later in the day, he would lock the door and drown himself in drink. Perhaps tomorrow he would fill his residence once again with loose women and young swells who only wanted a good time. They could frolic naked in his fountain—
No, he wanted them nowhere near the fountain. He wanted nothing that would tarnish his memory of Rose standing there striving to explain to her brother how naughty the stone couple in the fountain were. He had posed for the blasted sculptor. He’d thought it a grand idea at the time. Funny, how now when he looked at the woman carved there, he saw Rose. She had not been the model, and yet she was the one he saw.
He feared he would see her in everything. A silly thing to fear when it was what he wanted: to never forget her.
“My trunk is being loaded,” her soft voice said behind him.
Turning, he caught sight of the clock on the mantel. An hour had passed. How had that happened?
“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she said, her voice flat, unemotional. The swindler who could make him believe anything, even that she didn’t care that she was leaving, stood before him. If she had torn up the tickets, objected to his offering, he might have asked her to stay.
“It was nothing.” His voice was equally flat. But then he’d spent a lifetime mastering the art of not appearing to care.
“Well, then, I’ll say good-bye.”
“I’ll accompany you to the station.”
For a moment, she almost appeared panicked, but then once again all emotion was wiped from her face. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I insist.” Although things between them were strained, he still wanted a few more minutes with her. Offering his arm, he was surprised when she slid her hand around the crook of his elbow.
Uttering not a word, they walked from the room, down the hallway. It was odd to feel this unnatural tenseness between them when they’d never had it before. From the moment they had met, whether he was angry or irritated with her, he’d never felt this widening chasm. He knew that in short order it would be too broad to breach. It was for the best. He told himself it was for the best. It was for her.
In the coach, he sat opposite her. If he sat beside her, he might find his resolve weakening. It was bad enough with her scent filling the interior, taunting his nostrils. He could see only her profile, because she was looking out the window as though the passing scenery were infinitely fascinating.
“What will you do with yourself?” he asked.
She looked at him. “I don’t know, but I do recognize that you have given me a great gift. My life is a blank slate. I shall take advantage of that to do something worthwhile. Perhaps I’ll teach. Or write. Although unlike Harry, I would want to write fiction. The truth is too sobering. What will you do with yourself?”
“Return to the pleasure gardens.” It was a lie. Going with her had ruined them for him. He would see her there. Everywhere he looked.
“What of the responsibilities to your title? You should marry. Have an heir.”
So easily she could give him to another when it nearly killed him to think of her with another man. “I have a cousin. He can see to them.”
“You should do it.”
That would involve marrying a woman he didn’t love, because he couldn’t envision that he would ever love another.
Finally they arrived at the railway station. The footman saw to her trunk. The others were waiting on the platform. Avendale stood to the side while she greeted them with exclamations of joy and long, hard hugs. That would be her life: joyful reunions and friends.
Merrick approached him, craned his head back to hold his gaze. “You’re not such a bad sort.” He stuck out his hand.
Avendale shook it. “High praise indeed.”
“We can never thank you enough,” Sally said.
“My pleasure.”
“If you ever need anything,” Joseph said.
He needed Rose, but he couldn’t have her, not under the circumstances to which they’d agreed. Even with declarations of love, the debts were there.
