Unfettered Vessel (Found & Freed: The Unfettered #6)

24. Chapter 24

Chapter twenty-four

Monty

I can’t stop staring at my phone. It is as if some part of me believes that if I stare at the email long enough, the words will rearrange. The message retract.

Dimly, I am aware of the beaker bubbling over on the worktable beside me. It’s nothing caustic, so I can’t muster the motivation to shake myself out of this stupor and take it off the heat.

The door to the campervan opens. I hear Pink step inside. He hurries over to the worktable and turns the burner off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him throw a rag onto the spillage that has pooled on the wooden surface of the table.

“Monty?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

My tongue appears to be stuck to the roof of my mouth, and all my muscles are frozen. I can’t reply.

He gently takes my phone from my lax fingers and places it on the side, without looking at what is on the screen.

His warm hand slips into mine and his other hand runs softly through my hair, temporarily smoothing it down.

“Monty, sweetheart, what’s happened?”

My lungs restrict painfully. “My father has died.”

Pink gasps. A short, sharp sound of pain. His hands move and he pulls me close. Cradling my face against his stomach and holding me here. He strokes my hair softly. My hands rise up and wrap around his waist.

Tears are gathering in my eyes, and a sob is catching in my throat. Why am I feeling this way? My father has been dying for years. I thought I had made my peace with it. I was looking forward to it, not out of malice, but for his sake. And Laurie’s.

Falling apart like this makes no sense at all. But then again, emotions are rarely logical.

“I need to leave for a few days,” I croak. “To sort everything out.”

Pink makes a soft noise of surprise.

Oh, damn. I blurted that out without thinking. Clearly, I’m too befuddled to think straight because now I have gone and put my foot in it.

An exile, one who was disowned, would have no duties upon their father’s death. The only thing to do would be to mourn. Both the loss and the could-have-beens.

“I…I’m not disowned,” I stammer weakly, as well as needlessly. I guess I am giving voice to my confession.

“It’s okay,” shushes Pink as he pulls me even closer. Two simple words, one gesture. Benediction for all my lies and deception.

His kindness, his tenderness, his forgiveness, all surround me like a hug of their own. It is far more than I deserve. My shoulders heave and my sobs break free.

Pink stands strong and holds me.

“I’m coming with you,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument.

And pathetically, I don’t even want to try to change his mind. I want Pink by my side. In all things. Always.

M y knee is jiggling. In a few minutes, my ancestral home is going to come into view. James, our driver, smoothly increases the speed of the car. As if he is looking forward to reaching the journey’s end.

Beside me, in the back of the car, Pink places his hand on my knee and gives me a soft, encouraging smile. He looks dashing in his dark suit. I didn’t even know he owned any formal clothes. I didn’t ask him to put a suit on, he just did. Because he was raised in the same world that I was.

The world we are rapidly driving towards. A world of rules and obligations. Stiff formalities. Duty. Expectations. And no freedom at all.

Pink didn’t need to come back to it. But he chose to. He chose to brave it all in order to support me.

The engine purrs as we pass the last line of winter-bare trees. The house comes into view. Pink tenses, his fingers tightening around my knee in surprise.

I probably should have told him that I am the son of a duke.

Pink has figured out that I’m inheriting something, but I’ve been in such a daze that it hasn’t crossed my mind to confess everything and fill in the blanks. Pink was probably expecting me to be a lord.

But Clifford House is far grander than any lord’s.

The car pulls up in front of the sweeping white stone steps that lead up to the front doors. The chance to explain has passed.

James opens the door for me and then for Pink. I am about to say something, some kind of hasty apology, when the front doors of the house open and my mother appears.

Silently, Pink and I walk side by side up the stairs to greet her.

Her green eyes are fixed on Pink. I can’t read her expression at all. But she is bound to be surprised, because I didn’t tell her I was bringing a guest. I was too much of a coward for that.

I swallow tightly, “Mother, this is Pink, my…”

My tongue falters to a stop. Boyfriend. The word is boyfriend. It is not hard to say. Two little syllables. A shocking and scandalous thing amongst Old Blood society. But easy enough to utter.

Mother pins me with her withering gaze,

“Vessel,” I finish weakly.

Pink flinches, and I want to close my eyes against the pain.

“I know who you are,” Mother says as she snaps her attention back to Pink. “Benjamin Hartley. Lord Wandsworth’s youngest.”

I blink in surprise. I didn’t even know what Pink’s birth-name was. But trust Mother to know everything and everyone. She has a frightening ability to never forget a face. I should have foreseen this.

Pink gives her an impeccable bow. “Duchess Eastminster, I am so sorry for your loss.”

I’m not sure how they know each other, but it is not at all surprising. Old Blood society isn’t large and my Mother is quite a domineering, unforgettable figure. Pink probably crossed paths with her at one of the very many functions I avoided.

Pink’s brown eyes flick to me, to the grand entrance of the house, and then back to Mother. He pales slightly. My stomach churns. He knows exactly who I am now. There is no turning back from this. No going back to the way things were.

“Rumor was you had run away,” sniffs Mother, her cold gaze all but dissecting Pink.

Pink pales even more and I grab his hand and hold it firmly.

“Well, I found him,” I say sternly.

No way in hell is Pink going to have to share that his parents sold him as a sex slave to a perverted tech bro billionaire.

Mother raises an eyebrow. A gleam of begrudging respect glints in her cold eyes.

“Well done, Montgomery,” she says. “He is a very pretty little thing. An asset, I’m sure.”

I bite my tongue and refrain from saying a word. There is nothing to be gained from bickering with my mother. Especially when she has bestowed a rare compliment. Even if it is a dark and twisted one.

Seemingly satisfied, she turns on her heels and leads us to the drawing room. Mr. Humphries, our family lawyer, is already seated behind the desk with a mountain of paperwork. He rises and shakes my hand as I enter.

Laurie is sitting quietly in the corner. He also gets to his feet to greet me with a polite handshake. He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor like a good vessel should, but he looks well. Healthy and unharmed. It is damn good to see him.

I want to grin and pull him into a hug and tell him he is safe now. But that would be premature. I’m not officially Duke Eastminster yet. There is this paperwork to get through and then a formal investiture. But soon, soon it will all be over and Laurie will be free.

I take my seat across from Mr. Humphries and get stuck into the paperwork. Mother sits by my side and peers intently at everything I do.

After a while, I glance up and see Pink and Laurie quietly talking. Laurie’s head is still down, but he looks more at ease than I have ever seen him.

My heart swells, and a smile stretches across my face.

Mother leans in close. “You do understand that you can’t marry him.”

Scowling, I snatch my attention away from Pink and Laurie, and get back to signing papers.

“He is only a lord’s son, and a runaway,” Mother adds. “Continuing to keep him discreetly on the side will be tolerable.”

I bite the inside of my mouth and inhale sharply through my nose. I will not rise to her barbs. It is best to ignore them. To acknowledge them is to give them power.

An eternity later, and it is time to freshen up for dinner. Enough administrative work has been completed for one day.

A member of staff, whom I don’t recognize, whisks Pink away to show him to a guest room. Wearily, I head for my bedchamber.

As soon as I open the door, I’m hit with a barrage of emotions. The room is achingly familiar, but no longer home. And it never will be, ever again. I will shortly be moving into the master chambers. This room represents my youth and everything that has passed.

A gentle tap on the door makes me flinch. I whirl around just as Pink lets himself in.

“They put me next door,” he says, smirking proudly at the victory. The concession to our relationship.

Then his expression sombers. He walks right up to me, but stops when we are inches apart. The distance feels vast. The small space filled with my lies and all the heavy implications of the truth.

“Sorry,” I croak hoarsely.

Sorry for not telling him who I am. Sorry for calling him my vessel. Sorry for declaring him my property and not the holder of my heart. Sorry that I am a duke and appear far above him in status. Sorry for everything.

Pink’s beautiful eyes fill with emotion. I blink and then suddenly he is in my arms. I hold him tightly, so tightly he probably can’t breathe. But he doesn’t complain. He simply squeezes me back. We stand in the middle of my childhood home and cling on to each other, as dust motes dance in the weak winter sunbeams pouring through the window.

“Are you going to dump me when you get married?” Pink whispers.

My arms tighten around him even more, as if I am trying to push him right into my chest, next to my heart.

“No,” I say simply, but firmly.

Pink sags in relief, but says nothing further.

I’m not going to dump him when I get married. Because I am marrying him. If he will have me.

“I can’t believe you are Duke Eastminster,” Pink says.

I huff out a strange sound. “Neither can I.”