“Don’t mock me.”
“The boys haven’t spoken in two days. You’re drinking yourself into an early grave. And the woman who saved all of you is about to disappear into the mist.”
Ambrose spoke no words, letting out only a muffled groan.
“I know you’ve learned an awful lot about her, and about the Presholms, from whatever your detective turned up for you.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I have eyes just like you, Ambrose. You have the information you need?” He asked as Ambrose begrudgingly nodded at the floor. “What is your play, Duke?”
Ambrose turned toward him quickly then. The despair in his eyes had been replaced by a raw, desperate light.
Morgan nodded.
“I can’t let her go, Morgan,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “I can face the gossip. I can face the headlines. I can even face the wretch next door. But I cannot face a world where she is on the other side of the world. I… I cannot do it.”
“Then stop being a duke for five minutes,” Morgan challenged him. “And go be a man who loves a woman.”
Ambrose didn’t wait for another word. He grabbed his coat from the settee, ignored his winter boots, and sprinted toward the door.
“Jones!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the hollow house. “Ready the carriage! And find my pistols! If Lady Presholm or her abominable husband so much as breathes in Miss Lewis’ direction again, I’ll have their heads!”
“That’s the Duke of Welton I know and love,” Morgan said with a soft clap. “You deserve every happiness, much as you do not see it.”
“So do you, Morgan. Thank you for being my friend and what I needed,” he said thoughtfully.
“We can do this later, Ambrose. Go, go get your girl.”
“This all ends. Now.”
He flew down the stairs, the image of the vast, grey Atlantic burning in his mind. He would dive in headfirst if he had to. He would not let the ocean take her. He would not let his own fear be the thing that broke them.
She was the only anchor he had left in a world gone adrift. If he lost her now, he would be nothing more than salt and spray, endless abyss. This was the final reckoning.
This is the moment where my cowardice ends. I will not let my fear of true intimacy be the thing that finally breaks us. I will drown before I let her go, or have anyone bring harm to a single hair on her perfect head.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ambrose sprinted next door and pushed through the gate with a roar. When he got to the front door, he didn’t bother with the knocker at the Presholm residence. He shouldered past the startled footman, his eyes burning with a cold, lethal intent that froze the servant in his tracks.
“Pardon me, Your Grace… this is most unexpected!” The tiny footman stammered as he took a careful step back, arms outstretched as a peace offering.
“The mistress,” Ambrose barked. “You will bring me to her. Now.”
“She is in the morning room, Your Grace. The time is quite late, and I am afraid she is not receiving any unannounced visitors. If you would kindly allow me to schedule a?—”
Ambrose didn’t wait another moment. He strode down the hallway and kicked the doors open to the morning room. LadyPresholm sat by the window, a delicate porcelain cup of tea in her hand, looking ever the picture of aristocratic serenity. She didn’t flinch, though her eyes sharpened as they landed on his disheveled state, her face as pinched as a dried blackthorn berry.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial concern. “I am quite shocked at your state. Are you quite all right? I say, you look as though you’ve spent the night in a gutter. Has the grief over your little servant’s departure finally taken its toll? I tried to warn you…”
Ambrose didn’t respond with words. Instead, he slammed a sheet of parchment onto the table in front of her, causing her tea to slop over the rim.
“Sign it,” he commanded.
Julia peered at the paper, her brow furrowing as her pale brown eyes scanned the words.
“A declaration of legitimacy?” She said aloud with a hollow laugh. “A recognition of Miss Imogen Lewis as the legal niece of the late Viscount Marden? You’ve finally lost your mind.” She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “I will do no such thing. She is a parasite, a bastard born of a?—”
