“People do not tend to do so,” he observed, before finishing the ham upon his plate.
“You changed.”
So he had. What did she want from him? This cursed marriage was going to be exhausting.
He gave her a grim smile. “Prison will have that effect.”
She lowered her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. Elegant, dainty hands. He recalled all too vividly how they had felt traveling over his body. Setting him aflame. Making him weak. Stoking the feverish fires of desire which had made the illusion of a happy future between them seem possible.
“I am so very sorry for what happened to you. I hope you know that. Regardless of how we get on, or how this marriage proceeds. I never wanted you to be hurt. All I wanted was to love you.”
Love.
He had believed she had loved him, and he had loved her. For a few glorious months, the darkness and disappointment of his past had given way to the brilliant sunshine. But that had all been a lie, had it not?
The questions remained, swirling with doubt. Confusing him. What if it had not been a lie? What if their love had been true and she had not betrayed him? A new desire rose within him, swiftly and suddenly. The desire to believe in her. To trust in her and their love again.
But as quickly as hope rose, he ruthlessly banished it. He would fret over the past later. The day had been interminably long. His head and his ankle were protesting.
He set his empty plate and wine glass aside, before taking up his walking stick and leveraging himself into a standing position. “The hour is late, Duchess. Thank you for dinner.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he made his exit of the library with as much haste as possible.
But not before her honeyed voice followed him.
“Sleep well, Adrian.”
He was sure he would not. He never did.
Chapter 15
I trust your connection within the prison can report back to us on the nature of various prisoners…
~letter from the Duke of Longleigh to The Honorable Mr. George Shaw
It was dark in the dormitory and cold, so cold. Autumn had given way to fall, and the blustery howl of the wind outside seemed to creep into the dank walls of the prison. There was forever a draft. He could not seem to get warm. One blanket was not sufficient.
Was he ill? His brow was feverish, he thought, and there had been a heaviness in his lungs. The damp of the prison was ripe for causing lung infections.
Somewhere at the opposite end of the great room, a scream tore through the night air.
“They’re trying to poison me! I won’t let them!”
Booted feet shuffled. The warders were springing into action. Lanterns flaring to life. A flurry of voices erupted, echoing through the stone halls, encouraging Number One Thousand Seventy-four to cease his disturbance.
“I won’t do it! You’re all trying to murder me!” the prisoner howled.
Dull thumps sounded. Moans of pain. If the prisoner would not cease his hollering and disturbances, he would be forced into quiet with brute strength.
The beatings happened when a prisoner refused to be silent.
The silence was terrible. A beast that slowly ate away at a man’s soul. Until he forgot he was a man. Until he could no longer bear to wake each day, knowing the hours awaiting him were filled with more emptiness. More drudgery. More mindless tasks.
He had to escape. He had to get out of here.
The thumps were getting louder, and the prisoner would not stop screaming.
Adrian could not bear it. He opened his mouth, released a cry of his own.
