She had told him she was not afraid. She had looked up at him with trembling hands and honest eyes and said she was not afraid, and he had refused to believe her. He had chosen the darker path, the one he was familiar with. The one he thought he deserved.
He had hurt her, and for what? For the false comfort of solitude? For the old wounds that screamed he was better off alone?
Cassian exhaled sharply and set the laurel leaf aside. Enough.
Even if he was undeserving of forgiveness, even if she never wanted to look at him again, he owed her at least an apology. The kind he should have given that very night. He owed her the truth, not the retreat of a coward.
With newfound determination, he rose from his workbench so quickly his chair scraped the ground, and he called for Michael as he marched into the main house.
“Your Grace?” Michael appeared in the doorway of his chambers, startled to see Cassian fully upright and seemingly determined.
“I need to dress. Quickly. And fetch the carriage.”
Michael blinked, then nodded and hurried off.
Cassian did not allow himself time to think because if he did, if he hesitated for even a breath, his old fears might drag him back down. And he was finished letting fear rule him.
Tonight, he would go to her, he would face what he had broken, and he would try, God help him, to make it right.
Isabella’s entire body stilled a moment, and in the next, she turned her attention back on the latch of the door, pushing and pulling against the doorknob, as though the action would magically make the door that was locked from outside the room open.
It was foolish of her to think that the last she would see of Lord Falchester was at Lady Darby’s winter ball. She’d thought he’dlearned his lesson and retreated in shame, but how wrong she was.
“Open the door,” she ordered, fighting to keep her voice calm.
“My, how commanding. But no.” His smile curved sharply. “Your husband interrupted our conversation the last time and battered me mercilessly while you stood there and watched.”
She fisted her hands.
“I stood there and watched? You seemed to have lost your entire sense. Perhaps, did my husband beat out what was left of it? Or did you lose it a while ago?”
Lord Falchester chuckled darkly.
“I’ve always admired your bravery, but in this moment, it shall bring you no merit. You are entirely under my mercy if you have not realized.”
Yes, indeed, she was, but Isabella knew she would rather jump over a cliff than cater to the likes of Lord Falchester, though she did note that the man bordered on insanity, and she would do well to tread lightly.
“You are far suited at an infirmary to check on your mind, Lord Falchester.”
“To check on my mind,” he echoed softly, taking another step. “You speak as though it is not you who has put me in this position. Had you done as you should’ve, smiled brightly and taken my hand when I offered it, remained my wife with your dowry in my possession, things would’ve been greatly different. But worry not, I fully intend to return everything to its rightful place.”
Her heart pounded. This man truly sought her hand because she had a hefty dowry attached to her name. She had known quite a number of gentlemen coveted her dowry, but none as bold as Lord Falchester. Her hands trembled, but she held her ground. “Your words do not frighten me.”
“They are not intended to, my dear. Your being here is all that is needed. If you are caught twice in a compromising situation with the same person, what do you think will happen?” He leaned down, so close she could smell the wine on his breath. “I shall tell you. Your marriage to the Duke of Everthorne will become null and void, and you shall fall from that high position you sit as Duchess, but I shall care for you greatly.”
“You will not speak to me this way. Now open the door.”
Lord Falchester’s hand shot out in an attempt to catch her wrist like last time, but Isabella jerked back, folding her arms.
“If you scream,” he hissed, “you will destroy your own reputation. I have been ousted, and I have nothing to lose.”
Her stomach tightened. “Open this door.”
But he only shook his head, smirking dangerously at her.
“I saw you first,” he murmured. “Before your duke snatched you up. I saw your fire, your spirit. You belong with a man who sees you. Not one whose legitimacy to the duchy is being questioned.”
His words felt like a knife twisting deep inside her, but she would not bother to exchange words with him.
