Either one would take her away.
Would claim the right to touch her, to make her laugh, to see her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Wouldbecome Henry’s father in truth rather than in the boy’s innocent confusion.
Would share her bed.
The thought drove him forward, deeper into the storm. Water squelched in his boots. His hair hung in sodden tangles. Lightning flickered again, and for a heartbeat, he saw his reflection in a puddle: wild-eyed, half-drowned, looking every inch the rakehell London society had always called him.
You’re being absurd,Edward’s voice whispered in his mind, sharp with the old familiar disappointment.She was never meant for you. You knew that from the beginning.
He had known it. Had known it that night at dinner years ago when he’d defended her against Edward’s cruelty and felt something shift dangerously in his chest. Had known it when he’d returned to Redmond Park to find her widowed, grieving, holding a child who looked nothing like the cold brother who’d sired him.
Had known it every moment since, every time she smiled at something he’d said, every time her composure cracked to reveal the passionate woman beneath, every time she looked at him as though he might be something more than the family disappointment.
And still he’d let himself fall. Let himself imagine that perhaps, impossibly, she might fall too.
Thunder cracked directly overhead, so loud Apollo whinnied in protest. Tobias gentled him with automatic movements, his hands steady even as his heart raced.
“Easy, boy. It’s only a storm.”
Only a storm. As though the heavens weren’t tearing themselves apart. As though his entire carefully maintained world wasn’t dissolving in the rain.
He’d told her about the suitors this morning. Had watched her face go carefully blank, had heard the hurt beneath her polite responses, and he’d pushed forward anyway. Because that was the right thing to do. The honourable thing.
Find her a husband. Someone worthy. Someone who wouldn’t taint her with scandal or remind society daily that she’d married brothers in succession.
Someone who wasn’t him.
“We should return,” he muttered to Apollo, though neither of them moved. The horse’s ears flicked back, listening. Understanding, perhaps, that his rider was not yet ready to face warmth and shelter and the inevitable confrontation awaiting him.
Because Amelia would be there. Would look at him with those blue eyes that saw too much, and he would have to pretend. Pretend his chest didn’t ache at the thought of Lord Ashbourne’sperfectly proper courtship. Pretend he didn’t want to forbid every gentleman caller from darkening their door. Pretend he felt nothing beyond familial concern.
Pretend he wasn’t desperately, hopelessly in love with her.
The admission, even silent, even to himself in the midst of a raging storm, nearly drove him to his knees.
Love.
He was in love with Amelia Grant.
Loved her quiet strength and hidden fire. Loved the way she spoke to Henry with infinite patience, the way she’d stood up to him in the nursery and told him he might hold the title but not their lives. Loved her gentle hands that coaxed beauty from gardens and comfort from grieving children.
Loved her enough that watching her marry someone else might actually kill him.
“Heaven help me,” he whispered into the storm. “What have I done?”
Lightning answered, brilliant and blinding. In its flash, he saw Redmond Park ahead---windows glowing warm against the darkness, promising shelter he no longer felt he deserved.
Apollo moved forward without prompting, drawn towards familiar stables and dry hay. Tobias let him go, too exhausted to fight the pull. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, heavy and cold. His teeth should be chattering. Yet, he felt nothing but the hollow ache that had taken up residence in his chest.
The village had been a waste. Three hours riding through increasingly foul weather to review accounts with Mr. Pemberton that could have waited until next week. But he’d needed distance. Needed to not be in that house with her scent of lavender haunting every corridor, her voice drifting from the nursery, her presence a constant torment.
Distance hadn’t helped.
Nothing helped.
He could ride to Scotland, and she would still be there, in his thoughts, in his heart, in every part of him that mattered.
They reached the stables at last. A boy emerged from the shadows, eyes widening at the sight of his lordship, soaked to the bone and looking half-mad.
