The estate was every intolerable thing he thought and more.
He hadn’t planned to lure her here by going a little mad.
The air in the library, previously cold from the open window, had grown hot. He was sweating. It took every ounce of self-control not to reach for her.
She tried again. “Are youteasingme?” A whisper.
He continued to slowly shake his head. Their eyes remained locked. She looked at him as if she was trying to find a hidden lever, to see beyond a ruse or a lie, like she was trying to see the real him.
It’s me, he wanted to say. And then he did say it. “It’s me, S’bell,” he said.
“You’re not overwhelmed,” she realized, her voice rising. She dropped the papers in her hand.
“The devil I’m not,” he breathed, leaning back. He glared at the library in disgust. He was overwhelmed and miserable and desperate for her. He was also terrified of how he would manage it all for the rest of his life.
“Perhaps, but you aren’t...immobilized.” She shoved up from the stool and took a step back from the desk. “You don’t need me.”
“Isobel,” he said loudly, firmly, “I need you more than I need my next breath.” He would perish, he thought, if she left now.
“Do not,” she ordered coldly, rounding the desk. She held up one angry finger.
He gave in and reached for her, but she darted away.
“Why didn’t you come for me?” she demanded. Her voice broke.
“Do not cry,” he said. “I cannot bear it.”
“Do not sprawl on the floor and pretend you’re out of your depth. I was worried for you. I was beside myself with worry.”
“I am out of my depth and you should be worried,” he said, raising his own voice. He stood up. “Did I exaggerate my distress, creating some incentive for you to come? Perhaps. Do I regret it? No. Not when Iwasactually immobilized. Do not deceive yourself about how miserable I have been. And news of itdidwork. Clearly. You’re here. You’ve finally come.”
“Why, in God’s name, would you wait formeto come toyou?” she asked. “You know my insecurities. You are rich, and handsome, and dashing, and a bloodyduke. The burden to comewasonyou.”
She pressed her hands to her chest in the most heartbreaking gesture of self-preservation. It killed him to see her so upset, but this was always going to be a difficult conversation.
“S’bell,” he began.
“No,” she said. “Do not. Does your family know you’ve been... been pretending to be incapacitated?”
“They know whatyouknow. That I’m stupefied. Miserable. That I’ve made no progress on taking the dukedom in hand. It cannot be said enough: I’m not pretending to struggle with the bloody estate!”
“You are,” she insisted.
“I deplore this tedious, mind-numbing, body-atrophying drivel. I cannot look at it for more than a quarter hour without hoping I catch yellow fever like my brother and die.”
“Do not say that.”
“It’s true.Thatis how much I hate it. Can I manage it? Probably. Will I be miserable doing it? Always.
“Look, Isobel,” he continued. “Is my mother worried? Probably. Are my sisters afraid for my sanity? Probablynot. Are people in London talking about me and my inabilities and my failings as a duke? Certainly. I don’t care.
“That said,” he countered, “I’ve cared very much about when you might come to me. Now, did I think you might hear of my distress and be motivated to come more quickly, to overcome your own insecurities and... bloody...look inon me? Yes. The thought did cross my mind.”
“So you...” she began, “you encouraged the gossip because you thought I’d hear about it and come here?” Her voice was high and searching. Her expression was creased with confusion.
“No, I did not encourage the gossip. But servants talk and I didn’t prevent it. My sisters have guests to the house and I did not care what they saw or what they said. And yes, Isobel, I hoped you’d come for me. It’s part of the terrible secrecy you forced me to keep within moments of our betrothal—”
She let out a breathy sob when he said the word.
