Caspian had changed everything.
Damien rubbed a hand across his face. The women he loved had both been wounded by one man, his father, and what terrified him most was not becoming his father in title or responsibility, but becoming him in temperament: reserved, controlled, emotionally distant.
He possessed every one of those qualities already. True affection did not come naturally to him. Feelings were contained, analyzed, and locked away where they could do no damage. He had spent years believing those traits made him strong.
Now I wonder whether they merely make me dangerous.
Seraphine deserved laughter. She deserved warmth, conversation over breakfast, shared walks through gardens, children raised in a house filled with affection. She wanted love with every fiber of her being. It shone from her whenevershe watched Rosaline with Laurent or Thalia with Caspian. She longed for the sort of marriage his parents had never possessed.
And he… He feared he was incapable of giving it to her.
Caspian crossed to kiss his wife's forehead and poured her a glass of brandy. "Why did you search for us?" he asked gently.
Thalia sighed. "I am rather disappointed," she admitted, taking a drink. "Lady Seraphine departed this afternoon." Her gaze moved between the two men. "She returned to London with Lady Kane and I cannot for the life of me understand why. She was scheduled to leave tomorrow. She didn’t even say goodbye to Rosaline. I am sick with worry over it."
Damien straightened so abruptly that the brandy glass stopped halfway to his lips.
"What?" he demanded.
Thalia blinked in surprise at the sharpness in his voice.
"Did she say why she left?" Damien asked more evenly, though tension radiated from every word.
"No," Thalia replied, shaking her head sadly. "She was in an extraordinary hurry." She frowned thoughtfully. "She scarcely answered my questions before leaving." Her voice softened. "She simply thanked me for the invitation, asked me to give Rosaline a letter, and departed."
Damien stared silently into the fire.
Blast it. Why does she always insist upon carrying every burden alone?
His jaw clenched. She was frightened, and frightened people made reckless decisions. Without another word, he placed the brandy upon the mantel and strode from the library.
"Damien?" Thalia called after him in confusion.
He did not answer.
Within minutes he had reached his bedchamber, where he pulled open wardrobes with brisk efficiency. Shirts, coats, and traveling clothes disappeared into a valise while his valet hurried to keep pace. Damien barely noticed the man's bewildered expression as he fastened the leather straps with decisive force.
"I know precisely what you are going to do, sweetheart," he muttered under his breath as he buckled the final strap. "And I am not allowing it."
The answer had been before him all evening.
I will marry her. Not because Society demands it. Not because scandal leaves me little choice. But because it is the only means of protecting her future.
She would become the Duchess of Wexford. She would have every comfort, every security, every privilege his title could offer. No whisper of scandal would survive such a marriage. Her name would remain untarnished.
But that would be all. He would not burden her with himself.
He would give her his name, his fortune, his protection... and then he would keep his distance. He would never risk becoming another cold husband who slowly broke the spirit of the woman beside him. Better she lives freely within Wexford Manor than spend years hoping for affection he feared he could never provide.
He rang the bell sharply. A footman appeared almost immediately.
"Have my carriage prepared," Damien ordered as he reached for his gloves and hat. "We leave for London at once."
The servant bowed. "Immediately, Your Grace."
Damien looked once towards the dark window before turning away.
For the first time in years, the most carefully laid plan of his life had nothing to do with estates, investments, or politics.
