He remembered further the moment after. When she had looked at him with those loving eyes, a question on them that only he had the answer to. Those same eyes flicking to his lips and he had known then that if he kissed her she would have accepted it. That she wanted it.
The kiss from a few days later made his lips tingle. His chest constricted. He found he could hardly breathe and had to lean on the pianoforte to keep himself standing. That kiss… it wasn’t the kiss of a woman trying to trick a simpleton into thinking that she had feelings for him. It was real, and Ronan was the one who spurned it.
She might have tricked me, but her feelings for me were real. For some reason, despite it all, she did care for me. How such a thing was possible, I can’t imagine.
It was no good going down that path, so Ronan turned to leave the room in his wake, still determined to move on from Thalia. But when he turned, he found the Head of Staff, Reginald, in the doorway.
“Checking up on me?” Ronan scoffed.
“Not this time, Your Grace.” He took a step into the room and held out his right hand. In it, Ronan saw a letter. “A rider arrived just now with a most urgent message.”
“A message…” Ronan felt something then… a pang inside his chest that felt suspiciously like hope. “Did he say who it was from?”
“He did, Your Grace. The Dowager Countess of Carstone.”
Ronan’s eyes widened and he rushed to Reginald without giving it a second thought. The letter was from Thalia’s aunt, and if she was writing to him…
He snatched the letter and broke the seal. Then he scanned its contents, his stomach dropping out from under him so that he stumbled back as if he might collapse.
“Your Grace!” Reginald hurried to his side. “What is wrong?”
Ronan was shaking and again he read the letter so there could be no confusion. The letter was short, but it did not need a great amount of words to get the message across.
Your Grace
I was hesitant to write this letter, and I am certain that if Thalia was to find out she would be most upset with me. But I had not a clue who else to call for aid, and I know that you would want to be kept informed. It saddens me to say that my dear niece has been taken deathly ill. I cannot confirm the cause of this ailment, but it has seen her bed-ridden and destitute. I pray she recovers soon, but as things stand, such prayers might not be answered.
The room turned around Ronan as he struggled to comprehend the letter and what he meant to do. He thought to dismiss it, as if such things no longer concerned him. Thalia had left, she wanted nothing to do with him, and he would respect those wishes.
But that was a fleeting thought and the moment he pushed it away, he realized what he had to do. The only thing he could do.
The room stopped turning and the way forward became clear to him. The doubt left. The confusion faded as if it had never been. All the questions he asked, all the worry that sat with him, and the fight which raged now for what felt like years, seemed irrelevant and unimportant.
When Ronan had married Thalia, he’d made her a promise that so long as they were man and wife, she would be safe. He was her protector, and that had not changed. And now that she needed him the most, he would be there for her. He had to be there for her.
“Ready my horse!” he cried as he strode from the room.
“Your Grace!” Reginald shuffled after him. “Where ae you going?”
“Where do you think?” he shouted over his shoulder without looking back. “My wife needs me!”
Twenty-Seven
It was near midnight when Ronan arrived at Thalia’s aunt’s townhouse in London. He left his horse in the stable by the side of the building, storming to the front door which he considered kicking down. He did not do this, however, opting to knock instead… an action which took amazing restraint on his part because he needed to be with his wife.
The door flew open a moment later and Thalia’s aunt was on the other side. She was wide-eyed and bedraggled; she had the look of a woman who had not slept in days. And most of all, she was surprised by whom she found on the other side of the door.
“Your Grace!” she cried. “What are you?—”
“Where is she?” Ronan demanded, striding past her and inside. “Where is Thalia?”
“I did not think you would come.” She closed the door and hurried to him. “Truly, my letter was not meant to make you feel that you needed to?—”
“Where?”
She lurched back from the sheer ferociousness of his demand. But she did not whimper, just as she did not cower, as she must have seen in his pain-filled eyes the struggle that had taken Ronan. How much this was hurting him.
“Follow me,” she said as she swept past him and made for the stairs. “She is in bed,” she continued as she started up them, Ronan following closely behind. “I hesitate to use the word sleeping, but she is likely unconscious.”
