"What," Damien asked in a dangerously calm voice, "did you mean by that?"
Augustus swallowed, though whether from genuine fear or careful performance Damien could not determine.
"Y-Your Grace," he stammered, lifting both hands placatingly, "I meant no offence."
Damien tightened his grip until the fabric strained beneath his knuckles. "Choose your next words with extraordinary care."
Lord Pemberley nodded rapidly.
"I merely observed that certain... coincidences may invite speculation. Nothing more."
Damien leaned closer, every word emerging colder than the last.
"If you ever threaten my wife again," he said, his green eyes fixed mercilessly upon the trembling Viscount, "I shall ensure every respectable drawing room in England closes its doors to you.You will find no invitations, no partners at cards, no investors, no acquaintances willing to acknowledge your existence. Should that fail to satisfy me, I shall see you removed from polite Society altogether."
Lord Pemberley’s complexion paled noticeably.
"I understand," he whispered hoarsely, attempting to make a weak smile that failed completely. "I only intended to congratulate Her Grace before taking my leave."
Damien held him another moment before releasing him with visible disgust.
Augustus hastily straightened his coat, rubbing at the creases Damien had left behind. "I shall depart immediately."
Damien watched him disappear down the corridor before remaining motionless himself. His breathing remained controlled, yet inside, something far less disciplined had awakened. His gaze drifted instinctively back towards the dining hall where Seraphine still laughed beside her sister, entirely unaware that danger had just brushed the edges of her happiness. The white scarf rested gracefully around her shoulders exactly as he had asked.
A dreadful realization settled upon him.
The scarf.
Augustus had somehow connected it with his secret. Damien closed his eyes briefly, cursing himself with rare bitterness. He had believed the gift thoughtful. Instead, he had placed a visible thread connecting his wife to a danger that should never have existed for her.
Fool.
He had spent years believing marriage would endanger any woman unfortunate enough to become his wife because of his own emotional failings. Yet the true danger followed him wherever he went, old enemies, ambitious rivals, bitter men nursing bruised pride. By marrying Seraphine, he had placed her directly beside him where every threat aimed at the Duke of Wexford might now strike her instead.
His chest tightened painfully. The thought of harm reaching her eclipsed every other fear he had ever known.
He would surrender every estate, every title, every fortune inherited through generations before allowing anyone to lay a hand upon her. If forced to choose between his own life and hers, there would be no decision to make. The answer came with startling certainty.
I would die without hesitation if it meant Seraphine lived.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Congratulations, Your Grace," Lady Paulson said with a nod.
"Thank you kindly," Seraphine said though she was not at all used to hearing the title. She expected to turn to see Damien at her side whenever it was said.
The wedding breakfast continued with cheerful conversation and the pleasant clatter of silver against china, yet for the first time in weeks the burden that had pressed upon her shoulders seemed lighter. She no longer feared returning to an empty future or counting the days until she was sent away to an abbey. Whatever awaited her now, she would face it beneath the roof of Wexford Manor. She stole a glance across the room towards Damien. Though he stood with his customary composed expression, she found comfort simply in knowing he was there.
My husband. Is this real?
He remained every bit as reserved as ever, speaking little as gentlemen congratulated him upon his marriage. Yet she realized she no longer mistook his silence for cruelty. There was steadiness beneath it, a quiet certainty she had come to rely upon. Whenever disaster had struck these past few days, Damien had appeared as though fate itself had summoned him. He had protected her reputation, confronted Lord Donmere without hesitation, and crossed half the county to stop her from disappearing into Westborough Abbey. He might never speak words of tenderness, but his actions possessed a language all their own.
She found herself smiling before she realized she was doing so. It felt wonderfully unfamiliar. Her father had taught her to expect criticism before kindness and disappointment before comfort. Yet Damien had never raised his voice to belittle her, nor sought to diminish her spirit. He challenged her, certainly. He frustrated her beyond measure. Still, she had never once doubted that he wished to keep her safe. That quiet certainty settled deep within her heart until another startling truth emerged. She trusted him.
"Seraphine," Thalia called warmly as she approached with two glasses of wine balanced expertly in her hands. Offering one with an affectionate smile, she slipped her free arm through Seraphine's.
"Or perhaps I ought to say, Sister."
