What on earth is he doing here? Has Lord Whickham already broken his promise? Has gossip reached London? Has Damien come merely to tell me that everything is now beyond repair?
A hundred dreadful possibilities crowded her mind before she even saw him.
Then he appeared.
Damien strode into the hall looking nothing like the composed Duke she had come to know. His dark hair was windswept, his breathing uneven, and there was an unmistakable urgency about him, as though he had scarcely paused to rest since leaving Amberhall. Dust clung to the shoulders of his coat, and in one gloved hand he clutched a folded document bearing an official seal.
Without preamble he crossed the hall and held the paper towards her.
"Three days," he said, his chest still rising heavily as he met her bewildered gaze. His voice was firm despite his exertion. "We shall be married in three days. It is a special license."
Seraphine stared first at the paper, then at Damien, utterly incapable of making sense of the words she had just heard.
"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, her fingers refusing to accept the document. She searched his face for some hint of jest and found none. "Have you gone mad, Your Grace?"
Damien glanced around the crowded hall before returning his attention to her. His expression tightened.
"Is there somewhere we might speak privately?" he asked, lowering his voice. "There are matters that should not be discussed before an audience."
"Of course," Seraphine answered automatically, still struggling to comprehend what was happening. She gestured towards the sitting room with a slightly trembling hand. "If you would follow me."
Every pair of eyes in the hall remained fixed upon them as she led him away.
William drifted after them, his curiosity plainly overcoming his manners. He had nearly reached the doorway when Damien halted and turned. One cool, commanding look from the Duke was enough to stop him in his tracks.
"I believe I requested a private conversation," Damien said evenly.
William blinked before hastily retreating a step. "Quite so... quite so. I shall leave you to it. Your Grace, you are most welcome at Donmere House." He offered an awkward bow before remaining outside.
Seraphine quietly closed the sitting-room door and turned to face Damien. The silence between them seemed almost unbearable. She still held the folded license in her hand without truly seeing it.
"What is this?" she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I do not understand."
Damien studied her for a long moment before asking quietly, "Why did you leave Amberhall?"
She laughed once, a brittle, humorless sound that surprised even herself.
"You ask me that after what happened? I left because I grew tired of waiting for men to decide my future," she replied, clutching the license tightly between her fingers. "If my reputation was tobe ruined, then at least the consequences would occur on my own terms. You refused me once already. Why should I have believed you would ever change your mind?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I shall do my duty," he answered after a brief silence. "You are now my responsibility. As Duke of Wexford, I do not neglect my responsibilities."
The words struck her and left her feeling dazed.
"Duty?"
"It is because of my actions that your reputation is put in jeopardy and therefore it is my responsibility to remedy the problem" he said.
"Is that all I am to you?" she asked, blinking rapidly as tears stung her eyes despite every effort to restrain them. She lifted her chin with quiet dignity. "A responsibility?"
Damien said nothing.
His silence answered more cruelly than words ever could. Something inside her quietly fractured. She had known she ought not to expect declarations of affection, yet some foolish, hopeful corner of her heart had imagined there might be something more than duty behind his arrival. Instead she found herself mourning a hope she had never dared to admit aloud.
After several long moments Damien spoke again. "What is your intention now? There are trunks outside."
"I am going to Westborough Abbey," she answered steadily.
His head snapped upwards. "The nunnery?" he repeated, genuine astonishment breaking through his composed exterior. "Why would you willingly choose such a future?"
