Page 49 of The Duke’s Rejected Mate

In all of this, he never lost his cool once. What am I to make of this? As I make my way to the other washbasin, I clean up as best as I can before heading back for a glass of port.

Henhaven joins as well, wincing as he sits back down. My friends surround us, asking him questions, bringing him in as if he were one of us. They smile at him with as much warmth as they gave me.

Don’t they understand? Don’t they see what he’s done? Don’t they care at all that the love of my life continues to slip through my fingers?

With a stiff nod, Henhaven raises a glass to me. “I must thank you, Norhaven.”

“Thank me?” I murmur. “For handing you your arse?”

They all laugh, but Henhaven shakes his head. “I know my future wife will be quite safe in your family’s hands whenever she’s able to come visit. I feel content knowing she has such a capable brother figure to be there when I cannot.”

Everyone goes silent as they look at me. Now, they must realize. Now, they have to understand. Nodding, I down the rest of the port and set the glass on the table.

“If you will all excuse me. I have other matters to attend to.”

I leave them there, sitting with Henhaven, conversing with him as if he were one of us. Anger burns in my gut just as hot and heady as the port that sits there. There has to be something. I must find something.

As I walk up the steps to my town house, the footman opens the door just as the butler shuffles about some correspondence.

“Ahh. Your Grace. Impeccable timing. These have just arrived for you. I was told they were of great importance.”

My fingers nearly tremble as I grab the letters and take them to my study. They must be from the solicitors. Just in time, too.

The sound of my pulse pounds in my head as I close the door to my study and sit at my desk. There, on the front, are the names I recognize. They are indeed from them. Only, as I open each one and skim the contents, I find that it’s not at all the messages I long to receive.

My dearest Duke of Norhaven, his accounts are in order.

My dearest Duke of Norhaven, he is, in fact, as wealthy as his ledgers purport.

My dearest Duke of Norhaven, his staff are quite content. There has been very little turnover. Those who have left have done so because of marriage, death, or wanting to change vocation.

My dearest Duke of Norhaven.

My dearest Duke of Norhaven.

One after the other, my hopes sink low. Not only is he honorable in his fighting, but he is also honorable in his other aspects of life. There is nothing with which I can constrain him. There is nothing with which I can hold him accountable.

He is as good and true as he claims. And he’s going to marry my omega.

As I sift through the letters again, hoping and praying I may have missed one, a smaller envelope falls to my desk. I don’t even have to open it to know who it’s from.

My Dearest, Most Humiliated Duke,

Have you received your missives yet? But of course you have. What news have they brought you? Nothing, I’m sure, that can aid you in your quest to bring Henhaven low.

Do not fret, dear duke. I have not tampered with them. To do so would be to sabotage the game. No, no, my most humbled duke. The words they say are true. I have not read them, so I do not know the contents. I only know that you have sent them to ferret out any secret you may find and use against Henhaven.

Do you hear the bells, dear duke? Do you hear them chime for the impending nuptials? Listen. If you close your eyes, you can hear them. No doubt the sounds ringing in your ears are that of time slipping by.

Tick Ttock, Norhaven.

The sound of your inevitability approaches.

With you in sickness and in health,

Your Rosy Thorn in Your Side

A roar rips from my lips as I toss the letters into the fire. How can this person know such intimate details about me? How can they follow my every move when I know not who they are?