She didn’t wait for his response, simply turned and walked toward the door. She heard his footsteps behind her, steady and unhurried.
Outside, the evening air was cool against her flushed cheeks. Joan rounded on the Duke the moment the door closed behind them.
“Why did you say that? About being a suitor? My brother has misunderstood?—”
“I’m not joking.”
Joan’s words died in her throat. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery or teasing.
She found none.
“You can’t mean that,” she whispered. “You’ll make the young lady you’re engaged to misunderstand. You’ll hurt her.”
The Duke frowned. “What young lady?”
“The one who clung to you at the ball. Miss St. Vincent.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Octavia? She’s like a sister to me. Nothing more.”
“But she seemed so?—”
“On my honor,” the Duke interrupted firmly, “I have nothing romantic with Octavia St. Vincent. I never have, and I never will. She is my friend’s sister. That is all.”
He took a step closer, and Joan found herself backing up until she hit the door. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“I am not interested in Octavia,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I am interested in you.”
He took her hands in his, his thumbs stroking across her knuckles in a gesture that made her breath catch.
“I want to court you, Joan Sinclair. I want to be your suitor.”
Joan’s heart hammered against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to say yes, to lean into this moment and let herself believe in the possibility of happiness.
But doubt held her frozen.
“How can I trust you,” she asked quietly, “when you’ve been hiding things from me?”
The Duke’s brow furrowed. “Hiding what?”
“I know you can see.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
She watched the shock ripple across his features, saw the moment he realized she’d seen through his deception. She found out at the ball when he complimented her dress and stared at her. There was no way he was struggling with his visions.
“Joan—”
“Please.” She pulled her hands from his grip, her throat tight with unshed tears. “Please stop playing with me. Since you can see, you don’t need me anymore. I’ll come tomorrow to finalize our arrangement. The school can continue without my assistance at your estate.”
“That’s not why I?—”
“Goodbye, Your Grace.”
Joan turned and fled into the house, closing the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes squeezed shut, her heart breaking with every beat.
Behind the door, she heard nothing. No knock. No plea for her to return.
After a long moment, she heard the sound of boots. The Duke was leaving.
Joan leaned against the door, her eyes squeezed shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. Her heart felt like it wasbreaking into a thousand pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last.
