Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Your Grace, we received news that Her Grace was attacked and is now unconscious.”
Magnus froze, the words slicing through him sharper than any blade. They had arrived a day before at his London estate. He had busied himself reviewing correspondence when Mrs. Tresswell, breathless and anxious, had arrived.
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, every muscle tensing. “Unconscious?”
“She… she struck her head, Your Grace.”
Magnus’s hand clenched into a fist. “Where was the detail I assigned to watch her?”
He had worried for her more than he cared to admit, yet circumstance forbade him from writing directly, from exposing the depth of his concern. So he had entrusted a detail to keep discreet watch, to observe from afar and report back on her well-being.
Mrs. Tresswell’s lips pressed tightly together, and she swallowed before speaking. “Your Grace… he was following her initially, but he lost sight of her during their stroll. By the time he caught up, Her Grace was being carried back toward her father’s residence.”
He didn’t wait. He flung open the door, heart hammering so violently it nearly stopped him. As quickly as he could, he sprinted toward the stables. His boots pounded the floor, adrenaline sharpening every nerve.
A moment later, he vaulted onto his horse, reins tight in his hands.
Nothing mattered except reaching her. The wind whipped past his face as the animal surged forward, hooves striking fire into the cobblestones.
Magnus’s thoughts were a blur. He could barely breathe.
Each second was agonizing. Every shadow on the street made him flinch.
He didn’t glance back, didn’t consider anyone else, only the path ahead, only getting to her.
Magnus’s mind raced as his horse carried him through the streets.
He blamed himself for everything that had happened.
If he had compromised, if he had not asked Dorothy to leave, she would not have been in London and would not have been hurt.
The urgency of the situation pressed on him as he spurred the horse faster, imagining what she must be enduring and cursing the choices that had brought them here.
Magnus burst through the front door of the Lockhart residence, his coat flapping behind him as he struggled to catch his breath.
The house seemed to constrict around him as panic clawed at his chest, but he didn’t stop.
He rounded the corner into the main hall and saw Emma standing frozen, wide-eyed.
Without thinking, he closed the distance and grabbed her shoulders, his hands firm but trembling.
“What happened? Where is Dorothy?” he demanded, his voice sharp, ragged with urgency.
Emma blinked, almost as if she could not comprehend the speed with which he had arrived or how he even knew.
“The doctor is still with her,” she said finally, her voice small, caught between relief and astonishment.
She stared at him, as though he had appeared out of nowhere, and for a moment, Magnus could see the shock mirrored in her eyes.
“Emma, where is my wife?” he pressed again, tightening his grip slightly.
“She’s with the doctor, Your Grace,” Emma repeated, trying to steady her own voice. “They are treating her.”
Magnus’s gaze hardened. “What happened? Who hurt her? Give me their name. I need to know everything. Tell me exactly what she endured.”
Emma hesitated, swallowing nervously. “It was just someone… a man looking for our brother, Phillip. He... he got aggressive when we refused to answer.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened. “Aggressive?”
“He… he pushed her. She fell and hit her head. Then he panicked and ran,” Emma stammered. “That’s all we know.”
Magnus’s eyes were blazing as he pushed past Emma. “I don’t care if the doctor is there. I need to see her. Now,” he snapped, voice taut with urgency. “What room?”
From the hallway, Phillip appeared, followed closely by Cecilia and their father, Howard. “Your Grace, calm yourself,” Phillip said quickly, hands raised in a placating gesture. “The doctor is with her; she’s being treated.”
Magnus whirled on him, storming forward, and grabbed Phillip by the collar. “They say this man was looking for you! What did you do? What dangerous situation did you put my wife in?”
Phillip’s eyes widened at the grip, but he did not argue. “I deserve that,” he said, voice low and contrite. “I am sorry. It was not meant to happen like this. As far as I know, I do not owe that man anything. But… now is not the time to go into it. I apologize. I will fix it.”
Magnus’s grip loosened just slightly, but his anger flared hotter at the understatement.
Phillip, his patience fraying, shoved Magnus back.
“But you. You chased my sister out of the house,” he spat, his voice trembling with both guilt and defiance.
“We have unfinished business. Even though she wouldn’t speak of it, it is clear as day to me that that is what happened. How dare you treat her like that?”
The doctor’s voice cut sharply through the tension. “The Duchess is awake if you would like to see her now.”
Without hesitation, everyone surged forward.
Emma and Cecilia were the first at her side when they got to her room, gently easing Dorothy upright, murmuring soft reassurances.
Dorothy groaned, pressing a hand to her head, and when her eyes finally opened, they locked onto Magnus.
For a heartbeat, shock flashed across her features, and she quickly averted her gaze, concentrating instead on her sisters, who continued to console her.
“I’m all right,” she said weakly, her voice hoarse. “Nothing’s wrong… really.”
Magnus’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Philip. “You must apologise to her,” he said sharply. “Now.”
Philip nodded. “I will. I definitely will.” His jaw tightened as he looked up at Magnus.
“You must apologize to her as well, Your Grace. For what you did—for chasing her from the house. I don’t need to hear explanations or even the truth.
I know Dorothy better than anyone. If she commits herself to something, she wouldn’t step back.
The only reason she would be this sad—refusing even to tease or smile at me—has to be because something went terribly wrong.
The only thing I can think of is that you pushed her away. ”
Magnus felt a sharp pang in his chest, the words cutting through him. He stared at Philip, swallowing hard.
Philip shook his head. “You made her cry,” he added silently. “I don’t like seeing Dorothy cry.”
Magnus felt the sting of his own failure pressing down on him like a physical force. Every step he had taken, the harsh words, the rigid insistence, had been intended to protect her, to shield her from the pressures of expectation, from a future he could not yet offer.
Yet here she was, hurt, frightened, her tears a testament not to his control but to the chaos he could not prevent.
How could it be that in trying to guard her, he had only allowed danger to reach her?
Had he truly understood what protection meant?
Or had his stubborn pride and fear of attachment blinded him, leaving her vulnerable despite his intentions?
“Everyone,” he said calmly, causing the room to grow silent, “I know you all want to make sure Dorothy’s is all right, but please, I ask you to give me a moment alone with her. I need to speak with my wife.”
Emma and Cecilia exchanged a glance, reading the gravity in his voice. They nodded silently, still holding her lightly, and then gently stepped back. “We’ll see you soon,” Cecilia murmured as they all retreated from the room.
Dorothy pressed herself against the pillows, her temple still aching where she had hit it, though the throb had begun to fade.
The room had finally fallen silent; everyone else had left them alone.
Magnus sat on the edge of the bed, dangerously close, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the faint, familiar scent lingering around him.
He reached for her hand, slowly and carefully, but she jerked back instinctively. Her chest tightened with a swirl of emotions. Anger, fear, and the stubborn, relentless pulse of love that refused to let her ignore him.
“How did you get here so fast?” she asked, keeping her voice measured though a tremor betrayed her tension.
“I was in London,” he said, steady and controlled, yet there was a sharpness beneath the calm, an edge that made her stomach twist. “I came in yesterday.”
Dorothy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Business, I take it?”
“No,” he replied.
She turned her gaze away, unable or unwilling to look at him directly, though her eyes flitted back to him, drawn like a moth to flame.
Silence settled between them, thick and almost suffocating, as if the room itself waited for her next words.
She felt the lingering ache in her head, the echo of the blow, but there was another ache, deep in her chest, and she couldn’t tell if it came from pain or from him being there.
Beneath the anger and fear, a stubborn thread of longing wound itself through her thoughts, making it impossible to simply push him away.
Her eyes tracked him, catching the curve of his jaw, the tense line of his shoulders, the careful way he avoided touching her now.
She wanted to demand answers and make him explain why he had allowed her to leave, why he was here now.
But the words stuck, lodged behind the swell of emotions threatening to spill from her chest.
“Do you know the story of Eros and Psyche?” he asked softly, almost as if speaking too loudly might break something delicate between them.
Dorothy turned to him, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “I… I have heard of it,” she admitted. “But I don’t know the story.”
Magnus’s lips curved slightly, and he leaned back, settling into the chair beside her, his gaze distant yet intent.