No—he had to be the murderer. He had confessed.
And yet...
Doubt crept in.
Just to be sure, she decided to write to Mr Smith Jr. and verify who had arranged the purchase of Skye Manor and the brothel. Confidentiality would be an issue, but for the sake of truth, Grace reasoned that a little emotional blackmail—reminding Mr Smith of his guilt towards Heather—would not cause too much harm.
Chapter 27
Aweek had passed since the unhappy events, and the ladies of the household remained subdued. The Duke seemed endlessly occupied during the day, and Grace was relieved that she hardly saw him. Although, if she were to be honest, she had also been avoiding him studiously. Whenever he entered a room, she would promptly leave. Her heart was still raw with pain.
Her melancholy worsened at night, when she would cry softly into her pillow, muffling the sound so no one would hear. On a couple of occasions, she had heard him knocking on her door, but she lacked the strength to face him. She feared she might give in—that she might accept being his mistress. For days now, she had been contemplating returning to Skye Cottage and leaving Heather under the care of Mrs Merriweather and Lady Elizabeth.
During the day, she sought refuge in the library, but even that sanctuary was lost when he walked in one afternoon.
‘Miss Skye, I have been trying to speak with you.’ He blocked her path, preventing her from leaving.
Grace sighed. She could not avoid this conversation forever.
‘I need to speak with you also...’ she admitted, resigned.
‘You do?’ He stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. ‘I was beginning to feel as though you were going out of your way to avoid me.’
She remained silent, unwilling to confirm what he already knew. He reached out, gently lifting her chin. Forced to meet hisgaze, she was once again ensnared by the vivid colours within them—the hazel embers, framed by lashes far too beautiful for any man. His perfectly chiselled face bore the faintest shadow of stubble, a reminder of how much time had passed since she had last allowed herself to look at him.
All she had to do was reach out. She could touch him.
But she did not.
Instead, she stepped back.
‘Maybe I was,’ she admitted, forcing a weak smile. ‘But I cannot be an ostrich any longer. I wish to leave and return to my cottage. I was hoping you would continue sponsoring Heather, and Mrs M will stay with her, of course. As for Skye Manor... I know you transferred the deeds into my name, but I cannot accept it. Not after what you offered.’
He looked hurt. ‘I did not give you the deeds for any favours. You insult me if you think that was my intention. Skye Manor is your ancestral home. I merely returned what was rightfully yours. If your father could have, he would have done the same.’
‘Regardless of your intentions, Your Grace, I still cannot accept it from you. I... I—’
Her voice broke.
Tears threatened to fall, and she gulped, fighting against the lump in her throat. She stepped away, as though even his presence caused her unbearable pain.
But he followed.
‘I want you to stay,’ he said, pleading. ‘I need you to stay.’
Her heart clenched. His expression was strained, his composure barely held together.
‘I will not let you go anywhere...’ he murmured, cupping her face in his large, warm hands.
Shaken by his words, she reacted. Her temper rose, and all her pent-up emotions gave way.
‘You have no right to keep me against my will. I wish to leave.’ She pulled away from his hold. ‘I have told you before—I will not be your mistress, no matter how tempting the offer!’ Her hands went to her hips, her breathing quickened, and her face flushed with anger.
The Duke simply took her in, and with a deep sigh, he replied, ‘You look magnificent when you are angry...’ He smiled.
Grace’s fury exploded.
‘Oh, you odious, horrible, obnoxious man! How dare you take my pain as a source of amusement? If I were an heiress or held a title, you would not mock me so.’ She wanted to punch that smile off his face. ‘I am leaving.’
