Page 87 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
After a few moments, Laurence collected himself and looked around.
His study was a mess. It would take several maids to clean it.
He ran a hand through his hair. He needed a way to fix this. Not just the situation with Lord Hargrove. Tilly’s sobs and Edith’s stricken, anxious face wouldn’t leave his mind.
Slumping down in the chair at his desk, he willed his heart to slow down. He needed to breathe, but his lungs felt like they were on fire. His hands gripped his hair, and he could feel the roots trying to disconnect from his scalp.
He had put them both in danger. If he had lost his temper any further, he could have hurt them. Not intentionally, never intentionally, but if he lost control…
The idea made him nauseous.
He was a duke. He was supposed to be in control of himself. If he wasn’t, he was a danger to his duchy and the people around him.
“You are a disgrace to the duchy.”His father’s voice rattled around in his mind.“You are weak. Weak men are forgotten. You are unworthy of everything I have built.”
Laurence gripped his hair tighter, grinding his teeth so hard they almost cracked.
“Enough,” he whispered. His eyes brimmed with tears he refused to shed. His chest was so tight it burned.
After several minutes, he became aware of the chill in the room. Clouds had formed over the moon, blocking the light. He swallowed hard.
Tilly and Edith would be looking for him soon. If he didn’t calm himself, he would infect them with his darkness.
He would never forgive himself if he did that to them.
The chill began to seep into his skin, but it was a welcome reprieve from his burning rage and fear.
He didn’t hear the first quiet knock at his door. When it started to open, though, he heard the creak of its hinges. He turned with a sharp breath, ready to rebuke the intruder.
Tilly.
“Your Grace, are you a?—”
“Leave me be, Tilly,” Laurence muttered, rubbing a hand down his face.
The little girl hesitated, glanced around the room, then looked back at him. “Your study is a mess…”
“I know,” Laurence replied.
“I could help you clean it.”
“No.”
“Or I could help?—”
“Tilly, please go,” he whispered.
She hesitated and looked behind her into the hallway, but didn’t leave. “You’re really upset.”
“Tilly—”
“Is it because of the mean things Lord Hargrove said?”
“This isn’t the time,” he insisted, standing up.
“Please don’t blame yourself, Your Grace. Lord Hargrove was being cruel. Nobody believes that you’re in the wrong for hitting him like that,” she said, stepping closer to him.
Laurence turned away from her, looking for the flint and steel. He hoped that if he ignored her, she would leave.
