Chapter Fourteen
R osilee paused just outside the drawing room, her heart lodged in her throat as if it would leap out at any moment. She clenched her eyes shut, forcing away the image of his face. She shoved aside his words, the pain, everything along with the sharp sting they brought. Now wasn’t the time for weakness.
Not when there was still so much at stake.
Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the folds of her skirts, exhaled slowly, and allowed a smile to bloom across her lips before entering the room. Lord Stagbourne stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the grounds with an expression that, at first glance, appeared contemplative. But when he turned to greet her, a smile immediately lit his face. That effortless charm of his was so disarming. They had only met last night, but it felt as if he had been a friend for years.
“Lady Rosilee,” he said with a slight bow. “You look positively ravishing this morning.”
Rosilee allowed herself to smile a little more genuinely at his compliment, trying to match his easy demeanor. “As do you, Lord Stagbourne.”
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “I look ravishing? Is that that a good thing?”
“Dashing,” Rosilee corrected, feeling some of the tension in her limbs dissipate. “Please, have a seat. I can ring for tea, but I’m afraid we have limited help at the moment, so I can’t promise anything.”
He took a seat, his gaze sweeping over the room, observing. His smile never wavered, but there was something sharper in his eyes now, something calculating. “Ah, yes, I noticed Crane does not keep a full house when he is not in residence.”
Rosilee felt a slight jolt at his observation. Was he referring to the lack of servants? Or the overall simplicity of the duke’s estate? Either way, she had to be careful with her response. “He is not one who concerns himself with keeping up appearances.”
Stagbourne nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the arm of the chair. “That much is clear.” He studied her for a moment before speaking again, this time with more curiosity in his voice. “If I may be so bold, Lady Rosilee, why are you the duke’s ward? You mentioned before that you had to find a husband and had little time, yet your brother is Viscount Fairchild, is he not? Your family has no obvious connection to the duke, at least not that I’ve uncovered.” He added in a lighter tone, “I mean no offense, of course. I am merely curious.”
So the earl had done some digging.
It seemed coming to London to find a husband was not as simple as it had sounded. Not even with Blake at her side. No wonder ladies used Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “There are circumstances beyond my control, I’m afraid.” She inwardly winced, however, at how much she had already revealed to him at the ball. “I hope my troubles haven’t burdened you.”
“On the contrary,” Stagbourne said softly, leaning forward just slightly, his eyes clear with purpose. “I want to help.” He paused a moment. “Is your brother the reason you must marry?”
The man was clever, no doubt about it. But she wasn’t ready to bare her soul, especially not to a man she had met only the previous night, which was rather ironic, she supposed, given the way her connection to the duke had unfolded. Another layer of pain crept into her heart at the thought. “Perhaps,” she said vaguely.
Stagbourne’s gaze never left hers, but his smile softened as if he’d expected that answer. “I see,” he murmured. “I cannot help but wonder why the duke himself did not offer to wed you. He seems rather taken with you.”
Her heart slipped into her slippers again. His words struck a chord, pulsing with the throb she was trying so desperately to keep at bay. Their night together had changed everything between her and Blake, and yet, it had solved nothing.
And Stagbourne—even if he were to offer his hand in marriage, she wouldn’t be able to accept it. The earl, for all his charm, had only shown her kindness. He would make a good husband, a steady one. But Rosilee...
She could not fool herself into thinking she could carry on this charade any longer. She was already too deep, too bound to Blake, whether he wished it or not.
But Blake would never marry her.
He would never want to saddle her with the darkness he carried—his name, his past. And she, for all her hope and love, could not pull him from that shadow. He had chosen those shadows over her.
A sharp twist of sorrow clawed at her heart.
There was nothing left to be done.
And she couldn’t forget her mission. She still had to save Leopold. There was just one option left to her: Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
The infamous matchmaker had been her original plan. Blake’s interference, while well-intentioned, had only delayed the inevitable. Rosilee could no longer tether herself to a man who would never love her the way she needed. She would leave his estate and allow him the freedom to return to his world, unmarred by her troubles. She would free them both of this turmoil, which would only destroy them if it carried on.
“The duke does not think of me that way,” Rosilee finally said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “Thank you, my lord, for wishing to help me, but I’m afraid, in this matter, I can only help myself.”
Stagbourne leaned back, studying her with a contemplative gaze. “And if I wished to marry you?”
The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes widened in surprise, her heart racing in her chest. “What?” she breathed, unsure if she had heard him correctly.
Stagbourne’s expression remained calm, his sharp eyes intent on hers. “I’m serious, Lady Rosilee. If marriage is what you seek, I would gladly offer my hand. We’ve not known each other long, but I already admire you greatly, and while I may not be the duke, I could give you the security you need.”
Rosilee stared at him, her mind spinning. Stagbourne’s offer was generous, but her heart rebelled at the idea.
No.
No matter how tempting, she couldn’t bring herself to accept another’s affections or good intentions under false pretenses. And the pain of Blake’s rejection still tore at her. A fog seemed to settle over her mind. But she certainly also couldn’t accept the man Blake had sent her to—it felt wrong.
“If I gave you false hope, my lord, please accept my apologies. But I cannot marry you.”
Stagbourne nodded, his expression gentle. “I see.” He rose from the chair. “Then, I think it best if you do not ring for tea.”
Rosilee felt bad, but sending Stagbourne away also felt right.
Now, all she had to do was slip away herself.
“She’s gone? What the bloody hell do you mean she is gone? Where did she go?” Blake demanded. He had spent the better part of four hours locked in the late duke’s old study, heart pounding, fist clenching, and curses flying about his head, ashamed of how he had treated the woman who had been nothing but kind to him. He hadn’t known how to face her.
He had sent her to Stagbourne.
He told himself it was for her own good.
And his.
He just hadn’t expected to feel this empty .
And no matter how much he argued with himself, he couldn’t get to the bottom of this gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t win against himself, neither could he lose. But while his head and his heart were at war, Stagbourne had been in his home speaking to— courting —Rosilee. Though apparently he’d left soon after. And now Rosilee was gone too.
He glared at the four people that had piled in the room with him.
“Unfortunately, we do not know that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Prune answered.
“And Stagbourne? You said he didn’t stay long? Are you certain they didn’t leave together?”
Mrs. Prune nodded. “She sent the earl away without even ordering tea.”
Mr. Wiggins nodded. “I saw him leave alone, too. He was smiling when he arrived, but he wasn’t smiling when he left.”
Ben raised his hand. “I saw her ladyship go upstairs to her room, and not again after that.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Prune said. “I presumed she was resting.”
“And what about you?” Blake demanded from Bishop.
The man shrugged. “I saw and heard nothing except your sour face.”
Damn it. Where could she have gone?
“She might have left for good,” Bishop said.
“What do you mean?” Blake snapped. “Why would she leave? Especially when Stagbourne is courting her.” Where would she even go?
“You are a blind fool, Blake. That woman loves you. Do you think she would marry Stagbourne just because you sent her his way?”
“If not him, who else?” Damnation! “Baston is out there looking for her. Why would she run off now of all times?’
Bishop snorted. “You would know the answer to that better than anyone.”
“Now, now, dears,” Mrs. Prune said calmly. “No need to argue. We will find her.”
Find her? What if Baston had already captured her?
He would kill the man.
Damnation. Would she have stayed if he had been gentler with her? If he hadn’t acted the beast? Hadn’t cut off her hopes so ruthlessly.
“She would make a good duchess for you,” Mr. Wiggins said with a cough behind his hand.
“I can’t marry her.”
Bishop’s voice suddenly hardened. “And if you don’t marry her, what then? You think that makes her any less a part of your world? You’ve already tied her to you—emotionally, physically .”
Blake flinched. How did Bishop know?
“It’s written all over your face, and hers,” Bishop said, as if reading his mind. “I never took you for a man that wouldn’t take responsibility, Your Grace.” The man dragged an agitated hand through his hair. “What happens now is your choice. But don’t think for a moment you can walk away without causing her even more pain.”
Blake cursed, growling in frustration. “I made a mistake. She shouldn’t have to suffer for it.”
Bishop’s lips twisted into a dark smirk. “Didn’t she make that same mistake right along with you? Seems to me she was quite willing, and to her, no mistake was made.”
Blake shot him a sharp look, but Bishop held his gaze. His friend would not back off.
“Mr. Bishop is right,” Mrs. Prune said. “Lady Rosilee is happy with you, just a bit scared. Now you might have gone and run off the best thing that has ever happened to you.”
Ben nodded, while Mrs. Wiggins coughed behind his hand again.
Blake rubbed his temples.
Had she really left? Had he hurt her that much?
“She’s everything I’ve wanted,” Blake admitted, softer now, almost to himself. “Everything I never thought I deserved. And now I’ve ruined it all. She deserves better than me. Better than the name I carry. I can’t give her that.”
Bishop studied him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re a fool.” Blake frowned, but the man continued before he could speak. “You think denying her marriage is protecting her? Sparing her from some dark fate because of your bloody title? The truth is, the only thing you’re doing is pushing her away. You think you’re keeping her safe, but you’re just keeping yourself in the past, like a damn coward.”
His words were a blow.
But they were right.
Blake was a damn coward.
He was so deuced scared of taking a wrong step that he didn’t take any at all—not going backwards, neither moving forward.
“You love her,” Mrs. Prune said. “Anyone can see that. You wouldn’t be this torn up if you didn’t. And maybe she’s the light you need, the one that’ll make you see you’re not your father. Because, my dear, everyone else already knows.”
Blake turned away, jaw tight. The words hit harder than they should, because Mrs. Prune wasn’t wrong either. Rosilee had brought light into his life in ways he hadn’t anticipated, in ways he couldn’t control.
And yet... “I didn’t want her to pay the price for my past.”
Bishop sighed, his voice dropping in exasperation. “Maybe let her decide what price she’s willing to pay. She’s a woman, Blake, not a possession you’re trying to protect from the world. She has a mind of her own.”
I know.
He just . . .
Could he let her in, knowing what he carried? What the name Crane would forever mean? But more than that, could he stand to lose her if he didn’t?
Devil take it. Wake up, man.
Rosilee had become everything to him in such a short time—his peace, his desire, his undoing. And now, the very thought of not having her... of letting her go to protect her from the darkness that clung to his name... felt like tearing his soul apart.
Bishop’s voice broke the silence once more, this time softer, understanding. “A maze can trap you if you let it, Blake. But it can also lead you somewhere unexpected. Somewhere good.”
Blake looked up. Mrs. Prune, Mr. Wiggins, and Ben were nodding. His gaze turned to the window that overlooked a section of the garden. He was stuck in a maze. He had escaped eighteen years ago with her, but in his heart, he was still there.
But maybe . . . just maybe . . . Rosilee was the way out.
No. There was no maybe about it. She was the way.
His way.
A knock on the door sounded through the halls, and Ben quickly disappeared only to reappear moments later with a note. He handed the folded piece of paper, and Blake went ice cold when he read the contents. It was from Reaper.
Lady Rosilee just arrived at the Lyon’s Den.