"What—what did you say?" she asked, leaning closer so she could hear him better. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears as she anxiously awaited his response.
"Arthur?" he slurred, more clearly this time. "It should have been me." His words sent a shiver down Selina's spine, leaving her feeling even more confused and uneasy.
"What do you mean it should have been you?" she asked softly, trying to maintain her composure as she searched his face for any sign of clarity. But Arthur continued to stare blankly past her, lost in his own world of pain and alcohol-induced haze.
"Arthur, please," she implored, laying her hand on his arm gently. "Tell me what you mean. Let me help you."
Her touch seemed to ground him momentarily, and his dark eyes met hers with a brief flicker of recognition. But just as quickly, it vanished, and a sudden change washed over Arthur's features, his black eyes clouding with an unrecognizable darkness. With a guttural growl, he looked past Selina and yelled, "Get away from me!"
Selina froze in her tracks, her heart pounding against her ribs as she stared at the man before her. This was not the Arthur she knew. He had changed. This man was a stranger, his anger and pain twisting his handsome face into a mask of agony.
"Your Grace?" she whispered, stepping back, fear gripping her.
In that moment, it seemed as if a veil lifted from his eyes. The fury vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind only confusion and vulnerability. His eyes spoke of regret. Yet, despite this plea, the shadows she glimpsed behind them stayed with her.
"Selina? Selina, wait," Arthur pleaded, reaching out to touch her arm. But she unconsciously recoiled from his touch. "Please, let me explain," he implored, desperation etching itself across his features. But she had seen enough; she turned on her heel and fled the room.
Rushing down the dimly lit hallway, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks and her breath coming in short quiet gasps. The guilt she felt was overwhelming. She had gone from escaping a marriage to ensnaring someone else in another. She choked up, feeling as if she were drowning, suffocating under the weight of Arthur's sudden anger and her own confusion.
"Am I truly such a burden to him?” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. As she reached the door of her bedchamber, she wavered, her hand hovering over the doorknob. A sharp inhale entered her lips, and she was about to retreat into her room when she felt a strong hand on her wrist, spinning her around to face its owner.
“No.”
"Arthur," she uttered, her voice caught in her throat, startled by his sudden appearance. The feeble orange glow of the hallway lamps threw shadows over his face, deepening the dark circles beneath his eyes and accentuating the rigid lines of tension creasing his forehead. She felt her breath trap in her lungs at the vision of the man before her.
"Miss Vo—no, Selina," he said gently. The sound of her name on his lips brought both solace and pain. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was out of it. Please, forgive me. I did not know it was you."
She stared at him, her blue eyes searching his black ones for answers, but found only a reflection of her own turmoil. For a moment, she was rendered speechless, unable to find the words to mend the growing rift between them.
"Who even are you?" she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're not the man I thought I knew."
"I—" Arthur began, but then he paused, seemingly lost in thought. He released her wrist and took a step back. “I don’t—Perhaps, I should go.”
But something inside her cried out in protest, unwilling to let him simply disappear without a fight. "Wait!" Selina called, reaching out to grasp his hand before he could leave. Their fingers intertwined, currents surging through their joined hands. "Please, don't go."
He turned to face her again, his voice thick with emotion. "Look, I—I want to make things right. I just... I need time."
"Then take it," she whispered, her gaze fixed on his. "Just promise me you won't push me away anymore."
Arthur seemed to hesitate as he stared beyond her for a moment. Eventually, he whispered, “I promise.” He drew in a deep breath, filling the silence that hung between them. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with genuine remorse. "For avoiding you, and for everything else. I haven't been fair to you. I am the one who proposed the union. The responsibility of it rests squarely on my shoulders. It is just…"
Selina blinked up at him, her heart pounding, awaiting his next words.
"I'm not the same person you once knew, Selina," he continued, his dark eyes searching hers for understanding. "Years of living alone have changed me. I've grown... unaccustomed to people. To considering others' feelings or navigating relationships. But I can change. Just tell me how I can make this up to you. What can I do to prove my sincerity?"
Her eyes shimmered with a sudden spark of mischief as she considered her next response. "Breakfast," she declared, her tone both inviting and challenging. "Join me for breakfast tomorrow morning, and the morning after that, and every morning beyond. And... stop avoiding me."
"Breakfast?" Arthur’s dark brows lifted in surprise. "Is that all you need?"
Selina's gaze turned tender as she reached up to brush a few stray locks of her hair behind her ear. "For now.”
CHAPTER13
The preparations for the wedding of the Duke of Valebridge were completed efficiently and without incident. Marcus set his London solicitor, Mr. Elliot Russell, the task of securing a special license and other arrangements. He had no concerns that the relatively young man, operating a one-man practice for a single client, would not be up to the task. Nor did he have any questions about his loyalty.
On the sixth day since Selina’s arrival, they were sharing breakfast once again. Their first breakfast together had been awkward, filled with stolen glances, small talk, and shorter mealtimes. Selina had decided on the servings in a clear attempt to impress him and the subtle pokes of whether the setting was fine and the food was to his taste was proof enough of it. It was also a gladly accepted diversion from the inquiries into his supposed ‘past’. After that, it wasn’t long before she had him sitting with a napkin tucked into his cravat, and abiding by rules of etiquette he had last followed when he was a mere child, organizing dinners with his brother at Lancelot’s round table.
By now, however, breakfast had become customary.
