Page 52 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“I never asked you to keep us a secret.”

“There is no us!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “And the alternative was to tell my family—my four siblings—that I was essentially selling myself to a duke and pretending to be someone I am not.” Her bitter laugh echoed in the room. “I’ve raised them to know they are worth something—that they are worth everything. I’ve longed for nothing more than for them to find happiness, no matter where it comes from. I preached about decorum, appropriate behavior, and the need to refrain from any activities that could be deemed scandalous—if not for themselves and their futures, then for the future of their other siblings. And the entire time I was acting the hypocrite. And it was you who made me into the charlatan I am today. You forced me to make a decision that went against every moral fiber of my being. Yes, I could have turned down your proposition; however, what chance would my family have had for a future if I’d turned you away that night?

“If I am a whore, I am—was—only your whore, Your Grace.” She punctuated each word with a jab to his chest. “I came running when you summoned me. I pranced about in fancy garb, entertained your mother, took a title that was not mine to use, and forgot about every dream I had for my own life. For eight long, tiring years. I lied to my family. I became a woman burdened with secrets. And the worst part? In the end, I sold out on my principles. I did the impossible. I will actually gain more from our union than is proper. I have saved enough coin to purchase another home where I can live the life I should have all those years ago. But at what cost? A steep one for certain. And all of this while you, a high-and-mighty, arrogant duke, go on like nothing happened. No lingering remorse over the decisions you made.”

“You are correct,” Rowan’s rage returned, but it was not focused on Marce—he was furious with himself. “Unlike you, and your family, I will walk away from this as I was before, but do not be so naive as to think everything that happened did not affect me. Our pasts are as entangled as those of our parents. Certainly, I had no right to command what I did of you. Without a doubt, it was unfair of me to force you to befriend my mother. Do you think I enjoyed being the only one to hold my mother’s hand while the midwife told me she’d not likely live but a year of two longer? Do you think I wanted to keep my father’s betrayal from my mother? His infidelities?”

His lungs burned as he struggled to gain enough air to alleviate his physical aches—his emotional pain was certain to be with him until he drew his last breath.

“I watched my mother suffer while my father found happiness—possibly love—in the arms of another woman. With another family. That is what I’ve lived with for all these years. Even when my father passed away, I was still the wounded boy I was the night I witnessed my father in this very room…reading a bloody book to a bunch of children who were not of his blood, while my mother and I suffered her loss…alone.” Her eyes widened in shock, and Rowan pushed himself to continue. “Question my actions and decisions all you like, Marce, but you can never despise me as much as I loathe myself”—He swallowed to keep his voice steady—“for everything I’ve put you through. For everything I demanded of you. Here I am, languishing on and on about how I suffered, yet it was you who gave up, who…sacrificed more than I ever did or will. I should be at your feet begging for your mercy, doing all in my power to give you what I took from you.”

He fell into silence, his chest heaving as he attempted to calm his erratic pulse.

Before him stood the most beautiful, confident woman he’d ever met. Her chin notched up in defiance—or perhaps acceptance of everything he’d laid before her. Only a hint of color stained her neck and cheeks as her bosom strained against her bodice.

The single curl still hung over her shoulder with the rest cascading down her back.

Without thinking, Rowan reached forward and brushed it behind her shoulder. They both froze when his fingers grazed her collarbone, their stares meeting.

His eyes searching…for what, Rowan did not know.

While her pensive gaze was one of somber sadness.

He had made her this way. Rowan hadn’t been acquainted with Marce before entering Craven House eight years prior, but without question, he knew he was responsible for turning her into the guarded, skeptical woman who stood before him now. If he’d dealt with his anger and the hurt caused by his father differently, how would both of their lives be altered now?

A light knock sounded on the door, and Rowan wanted to scream for the interloper to go away, to leave them to their private moment and never return.

But when the latch released and the door swung open, Marce quickly stepped away from him.

Their moment of honesty was gone as she receded to the far corner of the room, refusing to even so much as glance in his direction as a man entered.

There was no doubt that he was Marce’s brother, his light hair and blue eyes were proof enough as he cleared his throat and looked between his sister and Rowan. “Our meal is growing cold, and Payton is anxious to return to the baron’s residence. Shall I have Darla delay—”

“No, no,” Marce said, waving away the man’s words. “My guest was just departing.”

“I can have another place setting laid out if he wishes to join us.” From the scowl marring the man’s face, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“As I said, he was just leaving.” With a quick smile, Marce gestured for Rowan to proceed her from the room. “This way, please. I will show you out. Garrett, I will join you momentarily.”

With one final look at her, Rowan conceded. “I am staying at Tobias’s townhouse.”

“You should be on your way to Scotland,” she retorted, low enough that her brother did not hear.”

“I find I have things to attend to in London before it is possible for me to travel elsewhere, my lady.” He hadn’t come to cause her any trouble…quite the opposite, in fact. He hadn’t wanted her to fret about losing her home.

Judging by the way the man eyed him as he passed, if Rowan took one step out of line or refused to depart, her brother would be there to set him straight.

It did not escape his notice that Marce had made no attempt to introduce them. She had no plans to ever let him meet her siblings. She likely never expected to see him again.

Defeat and rejection threatened to overtake him as he entered his coach and slumped into his seat. Mustering any outrage at being dismissed in such a fashion eluded him. How was it possible to feel utterly lost and denied what he wanted, when he’d never had any clear goal of what he hoped to attain in the first place? It wasn’t until Tobias rapped on the coach wall, signaling the driver to set off, that Rowan remembered his friend had accompanied him to Craven House. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Marce—and Craven House—without making things right with her.

If anything, he’d made it worse.

And had been banished from her life—all in under an hour’s time.

Rowan was used to securing favorable business ventures in that timeframe, but the situation with Marce—and the way his entire chest ached at what they’d spoken of, both what she’d shared with him and what he’d confessed to her—was unthinkable. He hadn’t breathed a word of his past to anyone but Tobias, and even with his dear friend, the accusations leveled against his father were done with rage and fury…not the remorse, relief, and pain he’d felt sharing the story with Marce.

To find that they’d lived similar lives all these years… She’d kept him and their arrangement a secret from her siblings and shouldered the burden of it all, and he’d made certain his mother never learned of his father’s infidelities and Rowan’s deceptions.