“Yes,” she said carefully, another step closer. “What do you want?” She was but two feet from the sofa, close enough that shecould reach out and touch his shoulder, take his hand, rest her palm on his face in comfort. But she did not dare.
“You would think that would be a simple question,” Alaric sighed as he took another sip. “But if you knew anything about me, you’d also know that it is anything but simple.” He finished his drink and stared for a moment longer into the flames. “I wasn’t raised in a loving household – not surprising, I am sure…” He chuckled bitterly. “My father was a strict sort. You think I am harsh; it is nothing compared to the way he ran this house.”
“That explains the gloom,” she ventured tentatively. If he would only smile at that, at anything, she would know there was some hope of connection.
He exhaled sharply. “All he cared about was what others thought of him. His name, his title… his reputation.” He curled his lip. “These are what mattered most, and as his son, how I was perceived reflected on these attributes. It did not matter what I wanted, only that I did as I was told. For my entire life, I dideverythingthat was asked of me. It was never good enough, which only drove me further to try and prove that I was the man my father needed me to be. Propriety. Decorum. Love was secondary, and often not even that.”
Clara crept closer to the sofa, now right at it. “What changed?”
“Who said anything did?”
She looked down at him. “Just a feeling that I have. Call it my women’s intuition.”
He laughed at that, although there was no humor in it. “My father wished for me to marry, like any other nobleman. He wanted an heir, someone to carry on his name after I passed. But I knew him well enough to know that whoever he chose would not be a bride that I might want – likely, he would choose someone like him…” His lip curled further. “For the first time ever, I began to wonder about what I wanted. For the first time ever, I made a decision based on my own needs. Not what was right. But what I felt I deserved.”
Clara stayed silent, thinking that Alaric would continue. But he became lost in the flames, prompting her to push him further. “The woman in the portrait,” she said carefully. “Helena?”
The duke turned rigid. “Yes, that is her.”
“Did you love her?”
This had the duke turning to look at her properly. He craned back his neck, his brow furrowing as if he did not understand the question. “What does that matter?”
“It matters a great deal, I would think.”
He scoffed. “That is where you are wrong. It would have been easier if I felt nothing for her. Love…” A sigh and a shake of the head. “It is a treacherous mistress, perhaps better to be ignored entirely than sought after. It makes things easier that way.”
So, he did love her. At the very least, he cared for her.
It was in that moment that Clara began to understand the duke as she never had before. Why he was so withdrawn. Why he refused to let her in. It had nothing to do with how he felt for her, but the demons of his past and whatever had happened with this Helen.The rumors about him are not true, for there is no way that he killed her. Yet that seems irrelevant, because whatever happened to her has wounded him deeply.
Taking a risk, Clara sat herself on the arm of the couch. The duke’s body turned rigid again, but he did not pull away. Taking this as a sign, she next rested a hand on his shoulder, a gentle touch, which she slowly moved to the side of his face.
He shut his eyes as he felt her touch. His breathing calmed. His body relaxed. Carefully, he moved his hand and rested it against hers, which held his face, eyes still closed, the sense that he was remembering something about himself… that he was starting to believe again.
“What happened?” Clara asked, her voice low. “To Helena?”
His eyes snapped open, but there was no anger there. Sadness was what she saw. He looked up and met Clara’s eyes. They flicked to her lips, and his hand stroked the back of her hand gently. He was considering… working up the courage to do as they both surely felt. Clara’s chest was tight, her lips were eager.If he tries to kiss me…
She found in that moment that she wanted it. She wanted her husband like she never had. How vulnerable he was being. How open. This was the true him, that which she had seen at the ball.The only question that remained was whether he was ready yet to admit it…
His eyes lingered on her lips. She leaned forward just a little. A beat passed between them…
“No…” He dropped his hand suddenly and pulled away. “That is not a story for tonight.”
“But –"
“I said no.” There was a hardness to his tone, and his stare took on a dismissive scowl. “I think it is best if you leave me.”
“What…” Her chest seized, and for a moment she thought he was asking her to leave him entirely. Not just the room, but the castle, his life. “What do you…”
“It is getting late,” he clarified. “And you should not be here.”
Oh, how Clara wished to push further. She was so close to learning the truth. But she knew too that if she pushed too hard, he might retreat entirely, and then she would lose him forever.This was a small victory. And I should be grateful for it.
“As you say…” She rose from the chair. “I will leave. But just so you know, I live here now. I am your wife, and you are my husband – ignoring it will change nothing.” He winced at those words. “And if you ever need to speak, I will always be there for you.”
She turned and left him, feeling his eyes follow her as she walked through the door and closed it behind her. The hallway was dark, but her smile was bright. He was so close… she could see how much he wanted her… all he needed was a final push. Or rather, a reason to trust himself.
