I pray that he finds it soon, she thought as she started back toward the eastern wing.If not for me, if not for him, for this marriage.
Alone again, Alaric went back to staring into the hearth as if the dancing flames might provide him an answer. An answer that, he realized, he had been searching for his entire life.
What do I want? Never before has it mattered what I wanted. And the one time I thought it might, the tragedy that was borne from that single decision was enough to prove the folly of my actions. And my father… although I detest admitting it, has been right this entire time.
He had very nearly kissed her just then. He had wanted to. Her hand on his face. His eyes linger on her lips. Her scent drifted through his nose, making his stomach flip and his skin prickle as his pulse quickened. It had taken more self-control than he thought he possessed, made all the harder because he knew now that she wanted the same.She wants me. I do not know why. I cannot fathom how. But I see it as clear as day.
Alaric knew what he needed to do. The smart choice. A decision, if made, would ensure that no harm would come to Clara… or himself, for that matter. To continue as he had been doing. Ignoring her. Avoiding her at every turn. Pretending that she did not exist so that he could very nearly convince himself that she did not.
She will thank me for it in the long run. I know that she will.
And yet, his mind strayed to the night of the ball, as it had been doing these past two days. When it did, he found himself smiling at the memory of an evening that was the best he had lived for as long as he could remember. He had laughed. He had danced. He had spoken to peers without seeing their faces go cold and still as they searched for an excuse to flee. For a time there, he had been happy.
I do not deserve happiness. Perhaps I want it, but my wants are not what matters.
That was what plagued him most. And with it came the decision that he was not certain he was fit to make. The last time he had done something for himself, that he had made a choice based on his own desires, it had left him with tragedy. To do so again… and if it were to happen again… Alaric was not certain he could ever recover.
His marriage of convenience had become a most inconvenient thing indeed.
Fourteen
Alaric was just finishing his breakfast when he heard the front door to his home slamming open. No easy feat, as the foyer was several rooms away, yet the banging of the door and the preceding footsteps, which echoed across the empty chamber of the foyer and then down the hallway, were impossible to miss.
There was no need to guess who it was, for only one man would dare to enter Alaric’s home in such an audacious manner. So Alaric remained seated at the head of the table, his eyes narrowed on the doorway through which his uncle, Lord Reginald Wolfe, swept in a moment later.
“The man of the hour,” his uncle announced, ignoring entirely the glare he was fixed with. “A little late to be breaking your fast, isn’t it?”
“I was not aware that I was on the clock.”
His uncle scoffed. “A good thing, perhaps. I am yet to eat…” He looked about the empty breakfast room. “Is this castle tended to by ghosts? Where are your staff?”
“Hiding from you, if they have any sense about them.”
Another dismissive scoff. “And you wonder why I never visit.”
“I wish that were the case,” Alaric said. “Yet, here you are.”
Alaric’s relationship with his uncle had always been a tense one. The man was too much like Alaric’s father, too sure of himself, too arrogant and self-possessed. Cold. Dispassionate. Caring for nobody and nothing, outside of how it affected him, he was not a man born to be loved or even liked. Not that he gave a damn.
The way he entered Alaric’s home just now was a perfect example of this temperament. It was not his home, nor had it ever been, yet he acted as if it was, convinced that he had every right to storm through its halls and make demands because he was the only remaining member of the family who had anything resembling a social standing. And this, as he always said, was all that mattered.
Indeed, his entire life had been dedicated to fighting against the rumors about Alaric, which threatened to all but destroy their family name. Such that this marriage, where it was not his idea, was perhaps the one time his uncle had ever appeared proud of Alaric. And if not proud, relieved.
“Wait here,” Lord Wolfe commanded. “I will be right back…” He swept from the breakfast room and toward the kitchens.
Alaric groaned and thought for a moment to simply leave, for he did not appreciate being given commands in his own home. Yet he knew that to do so would make no difference, and his uncle would simply find him wherever he went. So, best to remain and get whatever this was over with.
A few minutes later, his uncle returned, followed by a member of staff to whom his uncle dictated his dietary concerns. Once that was done, the staff member hurried back to the kitchens to produce the order. He sat himself ponderously down by Alaric, groaning as his large body sank into the chair, which itself creaked and cracked under the man’s weight.
“You surprise me,” Lord Wolfe began. “Something that is getting harder and harder to do at my age.”
“I would say I am glad to hear it,” Alaric responded. “But you know I care little about what you think.”
Lord Wolfe narrowed his eyes. “I am aware of that. If you did, you wouldn’t have married in the first place – you were never meant to,” he snapped. “After the disaster that was your first marriage…” He shuddered purposefully, and Alaric stiffened, clenching his hands and gritting his teeth as a warning against himself not to let his uncle’s word upset him. “We had agreed you would not.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take orders from you.”
“It is not about taking orders,” Lord Wolfe continued, still visibly annoyed. “It is about doing what is right. Your father…” A shake of the head. “The pains he went through to build a legacy that you could be proud of. Discipline. Propriety. Dammit, before you went and caused havoc, our name was one of the most respected in all of London. And then you…” His lip curled. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now, does it. What is done is done. It took me years to clean up your mess. And do I hear any thanks? Ha!”
