Chapter 22 #2
Fear that admitting he loved her meant betraying James’s memory.
Fear that if he allowed himself to care this deeply, her inevitable loss would destroy what little remained of him.
Fear that he wasn’t capable of the tenderness she deserved—that he would wound her with every touch, hurt her with every word, prove himself unworthy of the love she offered.
Better to push her away now. Before she realized how broken he was. Before his damage infected her.
“You are nothing more than convenience,” he forced out.
The lie tasted like poison. Like betrayal. Like every cowardly thing he’d ever done wrapped in four words designed to wound.
Isadora’s breath caught. Audible. As though he’d struck her physically rather than with mere words.
Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. But Edmund watched them gather anyway. Watched devastation replace anger. Watched something fundamental break in her expression.
“I see.” Barely above whisper. “Nothing more than convenience.”
She turned toward the door. Back straight. Head high. Every inch the duchess despite the tears threatening to spill.
“Isadora—” He didn’t recognize his own voice.
She stopped. Didn’t turn around.
“Then I will not trouble you with my presence any longer.”
The words hung in the air between them. Final. Irrevocable.
Edmund should have gone after her. He should have taken back the lie. He should have fallen to his knees and begged forgiveness for cruelty he hadn’t meant but couldn’t seem to stop inflicting.
But his body wouldn’t obey. Could only stand there while the most important thing in his life walked away.
The door closed behind her. Soft click that sounded like condemnation.
Edmund remained frozen. Staring at empty space where she’d stood. Replaying four words over and over.
Nothing more than convenience.
The biggest lie he’d ever told.
The next couple of hours passed in blur of whisky and regret.
Edmund sat in his study. Watched flames devour oak logs while his mind circled endlessly through what he’d done. What he’d destroyed. What he’d lost through his own cowardice.
Somewhere in the house, Isadora was packing. Making arrangements. Preparing to leave.
The knowledge felt like drowning.
He should go to her and confess everything before she could disappear. He should prove he was capable of courage rather than endless, grinding cowardice.
But Edmund remained in his chair, drinking steadily and watching firelight dance across walls while his life fell apart around him.
Movement in the corridor. Footsteps—quick, almost running. A knock at the door.
“Enter.”
Mrs. Crawford appeared. The housekeeper’s face was pale. Distressed.
“Your Grace. Her Grace is leaving. Right now. She’s ordered the carriage brought round and—”
Edmund was moving before she finished. Out of his study. Down the corridor toward the entrance hall where lamplight flickered against marble.
He arrived in time to see Henderson supervising footmen loading trunks onto a carriage.
Isadora’s trunks.
She stood near the door, dressed for travel. Her face was composed despite the devastation visible in her eyes.
Mrs. Crawford hovered nearby, clearly distressed. Even Mrs. Pemberton looked troubled, though she maintained her nonchalant, professional composure.
“What is this?” Edmund’s voice was rough—perhaps from whiskey, perhaps the hours of silence.
After a long silence, Isadora turned to face him. Her expression betrayed nothing, though he was certain that her right hand trembled ever so slightly.
“I’m leaving, Your Grace. As I said I would. I will not trouble you further with my inconvenient presence.”
“It’s past midnight. The roads are dangerous in darkness—”
“I’ll take my chances with the roads.” She pulled on her gloves with precise movements. “They’re considerably safer than remaining here.”
“Isadora, please. We need to discuss—”
“Discuss what, precisely?” Fire flickered in her eyes now.
“How you’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m nothing more than a convenient arrangement?
How you kissed me like I mattered, then pushed me away the moment things became real?
How you’d rather destroy everything good in your life than risk actually feeling something? ”
Edmund stepped closer, surprisingly not bothered by the fact that his servants had heard her outburst and promptly returned to pretending to clean or be busy. “That’s not—I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Quiet. Absolute. “You meant every word. And I’m tired of pretending otherwise. Tired of watching you build walls and hide behind that scar and treat everyone who cares about you like they’re enemies to be defended against.”
She moved toward the door. Henderson held it open, winter air rushing in with enough force to make the lamps flicker.
“Where will you go?” Edmund heard himself ask.
“Does it matter?” She paused on the threshold. “You’ve made it quite clear that my presence here is neither wanted nor necessary. I’m merely accepting the reality you’ve been trying to make me understand since our wedding.”
“Isadora—”
But she was already moving. Down the steps. Into the carriage that would carry her away from Rothwell Abbey.
Away from him.
Edmund stood in the doorway. Watching lamplight illuminate her face one final time through the carriage window. Watching as she refused to look back. As the driver snapped the reins and wheels began to turn.
He should have run after her. He should have pulled her from the carriage and confessed everything—the fear, the love, the desperate terror that caring for her would somehow destroy them both.
He should have done a thousand things differently.
Instead he stood frozen while the carriage rolled through the gates and disappeared into winter darkness.
Taking with it every possibility of happiness he’d been too much a coward to claim.
Behind him, he heard Mrs. Crawford’s quiet sobbing. Henderson’s disappointed silence. Even Mrs. Pemberton’s careful retreat suggested condemnation.
But none of their judgment compared to his own.
Edmund closed the door, locking it against the cold and empty night. Then he turned and found himself face to face with Lillian.
The girl stood on the stairs. Still in her nightgown. Tears streaming down her face.
“I hate you,” she said. Simple. Devastating. “I hate that you brought her here. Let me love her. And then destroyed everything because you’re too frightened to let yourself be happy.”
“Lillian—”
“No.” She backed away when he moved toward her. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain or justify or tell me you were protecting us. Because all you’ve done is prove that they’re right. That the Dangerous Duke everyone whispers about really is dangerous.”
Her voice broke. Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Not because of some duel ten years ago. But because you destroy everything good that comes into your life. Because you’d rather be alone and miserable than risk caring about anyone.”
She fled, footsteps echoing up the stairs. A door slammed in the distance.
It left Edmund alone in the entrance hall, surrounded by Christmas decorations that mocked him with their festive cheer.
He’d lost them both.
Driven them away with cruelty disguised as protection. With fear masquerading as pragmatism. With lies he’d told himself for so long he’d almost believed them.
Edmund returned to his study. Poured more whiskey. Stared at flames while snow began falling outside—soft flakes that would cover the world’s sharp edges by morning.
But no amount of snow could cover what he’d done. No amount of whiskey could drown the memory of Isadora’s face when he’d called her nothing more than convenience.
The biggest lie he’d ever told.
And quite possibly the one that would destroy him.
Because sitting alone in his study with nothing but whiskey and regret for company, Edmund finally understood what he’d lost.
Not just a wife. Not just Lillian’s respect. Not just the warmth Isadora had brought to Rothwell Abbey.
He’d lost his last chance at happiness. His final opportunity to prove he was capable of being more than the cold, damaged man society believed him to be.
He’d lost love. Real, honest, devastating love that he’d been too frightened to claim.
And the worst part—the part that made him want to hurl his glass at the wall and scream until his voice gave out—was that he’d chosen this.
Had looked at everything Isadora offered and consciously, deliberately destroyed it. Because loving her required courage he didn’t possess. Required believing he deserved happiness he’d convinced himself was forever beyond his reach.
Edmund drained his glass. Poured another. Watched flames while his mind replayed every moment he’d pushed her away.
Every cold word. Every rejection. Every time he’d chosen fear over courage.
The gallery. Her touch against his scar. The way she’d looked at him with love so obvious he’d nearly believed he might deserve it.
And his response?
I apologize, Your Grace. This cannot happen.
Then tonight. The final blow.
You are nothing more than convenience.
Four words that had shattered everything.
Edmund set down his glass. Pressed his palms against his eyes. Drew breath that felt like drowning.
He’d done this. Destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. Proved himself exactly as broken as he’d always feared.
And now Isadora was gone. Disappearing into winter darkness while he sat alone in his study like the coward he’d always been.
The clock struck one. Then two. Edmund remained in his chair. Couldn’t seem to move. Could only sit there and feel the full weight of what he’d destroyed pressing down until he could barely breathe.
This was his life now. This cold, empty isolation. This grinding loneliness. This slow death by degrees.
This was what he’d chosen by pushing away the only woman who’d ever loved him despite every reason not to.
And Edmund Ravensleigh—the Dangerous Duke who had spent ten years hiding from life—finally understood that perhaps he’d been dangerous all along.
Not because of some duel. Not because of James’s death or society’s judgment or the scar that marked his face.
But because he destroyed everything he touched. Everyone who dared to care. Everything good and warm and full of life.
He was dangerous because love itself became poisonous in his hands.
And Isadora—brave, stubborn, magnificent Isadora—had finally realized it.
Had finally understood that loving him meant slow destruction.
So she’d left. Before he could damage her beyond repair.
Edmund sat alone in his study as dawn began to break over Yorkshire. Sat with whiskey and guilt and the terrible knowledge that he’d lost everything that mattered.
And that this time, there was no one to blame but himself.