This experiment is proving increasingly hazardous. Not in the physical sense, but in its capacity to compromise my objectivity, my composure, and perhaps even my future. If the purpose of this study were to determine whether “love” is a measurable, rational phenomenon, the results thus far suggestthat it is neither. It is chaos disguised as sentiment. A chemical illusion. A narrative constructed to make human desire appear noble rather than inconvenient. I desire the subject, but I do not love him.
And what does it matter if I am ruined? My future is already being arranged by others. I will likely be married off to a man such as Lord Ebenezer. Although, pleasant enough, he is convinced that my life’s work is a “hobby.” A diversion or something to be indulged and not respected.
If that is to be my fate, then this experiment must end before it destroys what little autonomy I possess.
Conclusion: The subject’s own experience and influence is too strong. The variables are compromised and the experiment must be discontinued before I fall into a state of complete hysteria.
The carriage rolled to a stop; its wheels crunched over the gravel drive loudly and Theodora sat frozen inside. Her gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap as her pulse quickened like it usually did before she sawhim. The footman opened the door with a practiced flourish.
“Miss Dowell,” he said politely, “we have arrived.”
“Give me a moment,” she murmured.
He nodded and backed away as Theodora pressed her eyes shut.
She had spent the entire night battling her thoughts, her own logic, her pride, and the strange, ungovernable feeling inside her chest that refused to be categorized. Last night had been…terrifying. She wasn’t sure which word fit best to describe the feelings she experienced whenever Alexander was nearby.
When he kissed her, she found herself wanting more and it frightened her because she had no idea whatmoremeant. And that was precisely why she was at Hawthorne House. She had proven her hypothesis, gathered all the necessary data, and reached her conclusion.
Love is an illusion.
A chemical trick, similar to illness that causes women to ‘fall’ for men who are practiced in the art of seduction.
And the Scarlet Duke is a master of seduction.
She had proven her hypothesis, and it was going to hurt a lot of people, especially her friends who had fallen deeply in love with their husbands. She inhaled sharply, opened her eyes, and stepped out of the carriage.
It is time to end this.
The sky was gray with the promise of rain. It reflected how Theodora felt as she looked up at Hawthorne House which loomed before her. She climbed the stairs unsteadily and the door opened before she could knock.
“Miss Dowell,” Mr. Carson, Alexander’s butler, greeted her with a bow. “His Grace is expecting you.”
She frowned at the elderly man.
Expecting her?
Her stomach twisted.
“Thank you, Mr. Carson,” she said, forcing a calm tone. “Please take me to him.”
Mr. Carson led her through the familiar halls, past portraits of stern-faced Hawthornes and polished marble floors that reflected her anxious footsteps. They stopped before Alexander’s study door for a second before the butler opened the door.
“Your Grace, Miss Dowell has arrived.”
Theodora took one last breath, squared her shoulders, and entered Alexander’s study. He stood tall by the window, staring at the road ahead. Theodora knew then that he was probably watching her when she arrived. Alexander turned towards her and his entire expression brightened in a way that made her heart lurch painfully.
“Thank you, Mr. Carson,” he said warmly. “You may leave us and do close the door behind you.”
Mr. Carson hesitated and Theodora watched as Alexander nodded to his butler who raised a brow suspiciously before he left them alone. The door clicked shut and her breath caught.
“You came.” Alexander’s hazel eyes burned right through her.
“I did,” she said stiffly. “But not for the reason you think.”
He strode towards her, slowly and tauntingly. “Then what is the reason for this visit?”
She swallowed. “I have come to end…this.”
