He winced as if in terrible pain and sunk back into his bed. “Piers.” His chest rose and fell with uneven breath. He lifted his hand to his forehead. “Dead.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.
“Cheverley?”
She hesitated. “Lord Cheverley is your second son.”
The duke scowled, eyes still closed. “Daft!”
“Cheverley was lost at sea six years ago,” she answered carefully.
His lids flew opened. For a startling moment, he appeared shrewd as ever. He gripped her arm. “Dead?”
How could she lie to a dying man? “I have reason to hope he survived.”
“Hope?” His grey eyes—so much like Cheverley’s and her son’s—pierced. He slurred through a sentence, his tone all condemnation.
“I don’t understand—”
“You’ve learned nothing!” He said clearly.
Oh, she’d learned. She’d learned that power corrupted. That privilege did not lead to appreciation. That love could hurt and confuse as much as love could inspire.
“Was there something you intended to teach me?” she asked.
“Foolish.” His breath cracked in his lungs. “Both.” He tapped his chest. “Myrules.Mine.”
The duke blinked, confused again. And then he hung his head.
Yes. Yes, they’d been foolish. The duke had laid down rules, Cheverley had seen only impediments.
“We thought,” she said gently, “we were in love.”
His Grace made a dismissive sound. Then, he turned his mournful gaze to the door. “Duchess.”
He heaved a wracking sigh, he placed his hands back over his face and then the most fearsome man she’d ever encountered in her life began to cry.
“The duchess warned—.” The duke’s shoulders shook. “But—but I knewbest.” He spat the word. “Cheverley is dead.”
His shaking sob alarmed. If not calmed, she feared his fevered frustration could strangle out his last breath.
“Please, Your Grace,” she said. “I just told you there was reason to hope—”
The duke fixed her with an uncomprehending stare. Then he glanced about the room, surprised, lost. He closed his eyes. “I ache.”
“I know, Your Grace,” she said soothingly. “Food would help. Mrs. Renton can bring up more broth.”
She rose to ring the bell. He reached out and grasped her arm.
She looked down at his hand. She doubted the duke had ever voluntarily touched her before.
“Stay,” he said, urgently.
She removed his hand from her arm and covered it in both of hers.
“I won’t go,” she replied.
“You didn’t go, did you?” Regret laced his voice. “I wanted,” he winced, “you to give up. Leave.”
