Page 10 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

“But you must understand that Henhaven is a far cry away from London, or even Whiteport where your sisters will reside in the Off Season. I cannot guarantee that she will be available, nor will I be able to indulge her traveling across such distances. Especially once the weather turns. It will be unsafe.”

A soft growl vibrates in my throat as I step closer. “Is that a veiled threat, my lord? I do not take kindly to such whether they are aimed at me or my family.”

“Not a threat. More like a caution. A lot will change for Cynthia once she is my bride. I would so appreciate your family’s help in preparing her for this massive transition.”

Red nearly tinges my vision as I step back, desperate to get myself under control at the use of her name. “And Miss Campbell has given you permission to refer to her so casually?” I ask as my fingers grip into fists.

“She is to be my wife, Your Grace. Within a matter of weeks, I’ll know her more intimately than just her name.”

With that, he turns and walks down the stones, leaving me there as I watch him. Bastard. He knows how his words must cut. The blackguard wields them as skillfully as Lewis does his blade. Seething, I follow behind to give my mother and sisters the message. From there, I must find something on him, anything.

Unfortunately, by the time I make it back to my study, I find myself so wroth I can barely think. How is one to compete when the enemy is scandal itself? I have my hands tied. To ruin her would be to also ruin her name and family. It would also destroy Henhaven. Not that I don’t relish the idea of bringing him low, but if he is a just man, it would be needlessly cruel.

Damn him.

Damn honor.

Most of all, damn my brother for denouncing her from the very beginning.

I should have pressed forward, bringing my suit before her father long before now. If only I didn’t worship the very ground my brother walked on. If only I had chosen her over honor and title. If only… Now I am to pay the consequences.

With a sigh, I sit down to craft several notes. If I am to break up this engagement in a proper way, I must have my allies. As I sit there, scribbling missives, the footman knocks and enters, setting a stack of letters at the edge of my desk.

Once I finish, I flip through them until one makes my heart stop cold. The blackmailer. In all of this, I had forgotten about them. Tearing open the letter, I stare down at it, my heart thumping hard in my chest. Such a simple message. So short, yet so cutting.

My Dearest Norhaven,

Does it hurt?

Does it sting?

Watching your love engaged to another must be an agony worse than death.

I would say I mourn for you, but I cannot find it in me to shed one tear.

Your Rosy Thorn in Your Side

Chapter 5

Cynthia

My heart climbs my throat as the carriage comes closer to where my friends are staying. As much as I long to flee the scrutiny of my mother and relentless visits of my betrothed, I don’t happily anticipate seeing Norhaven again. Granted, since he does not live there, perhaps we won’t run into each other as much?

Tears sting my eyes as I hold my hands in my lap. How could this all go so wrong? I wish I knew my future, or that I could have somehow divined what was to occur. Perhaps then I would have compromised Norhaven when I had the chance.

But then, I don’t want a marriage based on anger and scandal. Just because it worked for my friends doesn’t mean it will work for me. Besides, it would also punish Henhaven, and he is blameless in all this. In truth, he’s saving me from being a spinster… Something Norhaven didn’t think he needed to do.

As we pull to a stop and I climb out, I wipe my tears away. It won’t do going in here, face stained, as I meet the sisters who should have been mine. His family should have been my family. If only he hadn’t cast me out, rejecting me on that horrid Twelfth Night celebration.

The doors swing open, and before the footman can even announce me, all three sisters come barreling toward me, gathering me in their arms as they hug me so tightly it almost puts my tattered heart together. Unable to help myself, the tears flow in earnest as they envelop me, squeezing me as the emotions I’ve held at bay finally pour out.

“What is this?” the dowager duchess cries out as she walks closer to our group. “These do not look like happy tears.”

I pat my skirts for a kerchief but find none. Thankfully, Georgiana, the ever-practical one, hands me hers so I can dab at my eyes and do my best to make myself presentable. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I… I forgot myself.”

“Nonsense,” she says as she, too, opens her arms for me. “You are allowed to feel these emotions. You are allowed to grieve the girl you once were as the woman you are to be comes racing toward you. Now tell me, are these, in fact, tears of sorrow?”

I nod, unable to fully speak as she embraces me like a mother, with far more warmth than mine has ever shown.