Chapter Nineteen
The morning sun painted dappled patterns across the garden path, but Ashley felt no warmth from it.
She sat on the stone bench near the rose arbor, the same bench where she’d sat countless times over the past months, trying to make sense of her new life as the Duchess of Blackstone.
Now she sat here trying to make sense of how thoroughly she’d destroyed it.
Three nights.
Three endless nights since Raven had last come to her bed. Since he’d asked her point-blank about Carstairs and she’d deflected, evaded, retreated behind the walls she’d spent three years building.
She’d lain awake each night in her cold, solitary bed, staring at the connecting door between their chambers. A door that remained firmly closed, a barrier more impenetrable than oak and iron. A barrier she’d erected herself with her stubborn refusal to trust the man she loved.
Because she did love him. God help her, she loved Raven Perrin with a ferocity that terrified her.
Loved his fierce protectiveness, his hidden vulnerability, the way he’d trusted her with desires he’d shared with no one else.
The way he’d looked at her when he’d bound her wrists with silk, his eyes dark with need and something deeper, something that felt like the beginning of love.
And she’d thrown it all away. For what? For a secret that was eating her alive from the inside out? Perhaps it was time. Time for all to learn the truth. She would tell him if she was certain he’d help protect Ivy’s reputation and ensure her letters to Carstairs never saw the light of day.
Ashley plucked a late-blooming rose from the bush beside her, barely noticing as a thorn caught her thumb.
A bead of blood welled up, bright red against her pale skin.
She watched it absently, thinking how appropriate it was—a visible wound to match the invisible ones she’d been inflicting on herself and Raven.
What am I doing?
The question had tormented her through three sleepless nights. She’d told herself she was protecting Ivy. That Carstairs’s threats were too dangerous to risk. That keeping silent was the only way to keep her sister safe.
But was it?
Raven had trusted her with secrets that could destroy him if they became public.
His particular desires, the things he needed in the bedchamber—if society knew, if the wrong people discovered what the Duke of Blackstone required from his intimate partners, he would be ruined.
Labeled a deviant. Shunned. And made a laughingstock.
For such a proud man, that would be torture.
Yet he’d shown her. Explained it all with halting honesty. Bound her wrists with silk scarves and asked if she was afraid, prepared to walk away if she’d said yes. He’d made himself vulnerable in a way no man of his position ever did, because he’d believed she was worthy of that trust.
And she’d repaid him with lies.
Ashley pressed her bleeding thumb against the rose petal, leaving a small crimson stain. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
He trusted me, and I won’t trust him.
But it wasn’t that simple, was it? This wasn’t just her secret to tell.
Ivy’s future hung in the balance. Carstairs had made his threats perfectly clear—speak out, and her sister would pay the price.
Could she risk that? Could she gamble with Ivy’s life on the hope that Raven, Wolf, and Rockwell could protect her?
Her own fall from grace had almost destroyed her.
Ivy was not as strong, not to mention she’d have the guilt of Ashley’s scandal too.
What if Raven challenged him to a duel and was hurt or killed? Could she live with herself? Ice ran through her veins on such a sunny day, thinking of everything that could go wrong.
Except… When had Carstairs ever actually harmed Ivy? Ashley turned the thought over in her mind like a stone, examining it from all angles. He’d threatened. Hissed poisonous warnings. Made her believe he had the power and will to hurt her sister.
But in three years, Ivy had remained untouched. Safe at home in the country, oblivious to the danger supposedly hovering over her head.
What if the threat itself was the weapon?
What if Carstairs had known all along that the fear would be enough to keep Ashley silent?
Was he the type of man bold enough to follow through?
His reputation was just as much at stake.
His behavior would be discussed—he snuck around trying to abduct a vulnerable, grieving young lady.
The realization sent ice flooding through her veins. She’d spent three years paralyzed by terror of what he might do. Three years allowing that fear to dictate her choices, to keep her isolated, to prevent her from seeking help.
Three years of giving Carstairs exactly what he wanted—her silence—without him having to lift a finger.
“God, I’ve been such a fool,” she whispered to the empty garden.
And now that same fear had cost her Raven.
The man she loved, the husband who’d shown her passion and partnership, who’d looked at her like she was precious beyond measure.
She’d watched him withdraw over these past three days, seen the hurt in his eyes when she deflected his questions, felt the growing distance between them like a physical ache.
How long before that distance became permanent? How long before Raven decided she wasn’t worth the effort, that a wife who wouldn’t trust him wasn’t worth loving?
The thought made her want to weep.
Ashley stood abruptly, the rose falling forgotten to the ground. The answer had been staring her in the face for three days, and she’d been too frightened to see it.
She had to tell him. Had to trust Raven the way he’d trusted her.
Together—with Wolf and Rockwell, with the full might and resources of two dukes and a marquess—they could protect Ivy.
Could face down Carstairs and his threats.
Could finally end the hold he’d had over her for three terrible years.
Especially if he wanted to make an advantageous marriage. Why would Carstairs reveal all now?
But more than that, she needed Raven to know she trusted him. That her love was real, not conditional on her ability to keep secrets. That she was willing to be as vulnerable with him as he’d been with her.
It’s about trust, he’d said that first night in his bedchamber, silk scarves in his hands and uncertainty in his eyes.
Well, she was ready to surrender. Ready to be honest. Ready to trust that the man who’d held her bound and trembling in his bed would also hold her safe through whatever storms came.
Ashley’s hands trembled as she smoothed her morning dress.
She would go to him now. This very moment.
Would walk into his study and tell him everything—about Carstairs, about the elopement that wasn’t, about Ivy, the threats and the three years of silence.
She’d lay it all at his feet and trust him to help her navigate the aftermath.
She would beg him, if necessary, to forgive her for taking so long to reach this point.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she started toward the house, already composing the words in her mind. Raven, I need to tell you something. About the scandal. About who really—
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
The voice stopped her, mid-step. She had to be hearing things.
“Beautiful day.”
Ashley turned slowly, her stomach dropping like a stone. He was real and he was here.
Lord Edmund Carstairs stood at the garden gate, impeccably dressed as always, a pleasant smile on his handsome face. But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—held nothing pleasant at all.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “This is private property. You have no right—”
“Don’t I?” He moved closer, and Ashley instinctively backed up a step.
“I had the most interesting conversation with a footman at White’s yesterday.
Apparently, the Duke of Blackstone hasn’t stopped making inquiries.
Asking questions about a certain scandal three years past. He’s even been asking about me, in particular.
Questions that are making people…uncomfortable. ”
Terror and fury warred in Ashley’s chest. “Get out. Leave now, or I’ll call for the servants—”
But she never got the chance.
Carstairs moved with shocking speed, closing the distance between them before she could react. His hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cry of alarm, while his other arm locked around her waist.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” he hissed in her ear as she struggled against his grip.
“But you’ve left me no choice. If I can’t silence you through threats, I’ll have to silence you permanently.
Without your version of events, no one will ever know.
But it has to look like an accident, so your husband won’t start investigating again. ”
Ashley tried to scream, but his hand pressed harder, cutting off her air. She clawed at his arms, kicked at his shins, but he was stronger and had the advantage of surprise. He dragged her backward, toward the gate, away from the house where servants might hear.
No. No, no, no.
Panic flooded her system. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when she’d finally decided to trust Raven, to tell him everything. Not when she was so close to freedom.
“Stop fighting,” Carstairs growled. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
Through the garden, she could see the house.
Could see her bedchamber window, where three nights ago Raven had stood and told her he couldn’t love without trust. Could see his study window, where he was probably working right now, unaware that his wife was being dragged away mere yards from where he sat.
Raven, she thought desperately, still struggling. Raven, please. Please look out the window. Please see me. Please—
But no one appeared at the windows. No servants happened to glance into the garden. The one moment she needed someone, anyone, to witness what was happening, and she was utterly alone.
Carstairs yanked her through the gate and into the mews behind the townhouse. A dark carriage waited there, door already open. He shoved her inside roughly, and she stumbled, catching herself against the opposite seat.
“Drive,” he barked to the coachman, climbing in after her and slamming the door. “Quickly.”
The carriage lurched forward. Ashley threw herself at the door, but Carstairs caught her arm, wrenching her back so hard, she cried out in pain.
“Sit down and shut up,” he snarled, all pretense of civility gone. “Unless you want me to gag you as well.”
Ashley sat, her mind racing. She had to escape. Had to get word to Raven somehow. Had to—
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere quiet. Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.
” Carstairs’s expression was cold now, calculation mixing with what looked like genuine regret.
“I didn’t want it to come to this, truly.
If you’d just done as you were told, given him Berring’s name and convinced your husband to stop asking questions, none of this would be necessary.
But you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? ”
“You’re going to kill me.” It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t have a choice.” He spread his hands as if helpless.
“The Harrington marriage is worth twenty thousand pounds. Twenty thousand pounds, Your Grace. More than enough to settle my debts and establish myself properly in society. I can’t let that slip away because you decided to develop a conscience. ”
“Raven will find me.” Ashley kept her voice steady through sheer force of will. “He’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth if you hurt me.”
“Perhaps. But by then you’ll have had a very unfortunate accident, and I’ll be safely married to Miss Harrington with her fortune securing my future.” Carstairs shrugged. “The duke can suspect all he likes. Without a name and without proof, without your testimony, there’s nothing he can do.”
The carriage rattled through London’s streets, carrying Ashley further from safety with every passing moment. She pressed her hand against the window, watching the familiar buildings pass by, thinking of Raven sitting in his study. Thinking of the words she’d never gotten to say.
I trust you. I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to be brave enough to tell you the truth.
Now she might never get the chance. Might die with those words unspoken, leaving Raven to believe she’d never truly trusted him. Leaving him to grieve another woman he’d cared for, wondering if he was cursed to lose everyone he tried to love.
No.
No, she wasn’t going to let that happen.
Ashley straightened in her seat, meeting Carstairs’s eyes with all the defiance she could muster. She was the Duchess of Blackstone. Sister to an earl and a duke. Wife to a man who’d conquered his own demons to build something real with her.
She was not going to die in silence.
If Carstairs wanted her dead, he was going to have to work for it. And in the meantime, she would find a way—any way—to leave a trail for Raven to follow.
Because she trusted him. Trusted him to come for her. Trusted him to move heaven and earth to bring her home.
She just had to survive long enough for him to find her.