Chapter 17
Soren
“This walk has been a wonderful suggestion, Fidelia,” Pru beamed at her sister as they meandered down a path, tall grass on either side of them.
Soren could see Fidelia’s walls had softened since being outdoors, which gave him hope considering the only version he had seen of her had been a hard yet fragile shell of a person.
He hadn’t meant to confess that he was here to request permission to court Pru, but now that he’s spoken it aloud, it felt oddly right.
“No tour is complete without popping into the stables,” Fidelia actually smiled as she said it, her arms swinging at her sides. And Soren could almost picture the real woman that must be cowering inside.
Approaching the stables, Soren’s excitement grew. This could be his chance to see Night Sky up close. And with a bit more patience, he might even be able to discuss some options with Bart.
It was like they had all agreed to enter the stables silently, in reverence of the horses.
But it only took a few steps in for Soren to realize something was horribly wrong. “We should go back inside,” he suggested.
“Oh no,” Fidelia smiled weakly, “Night Sky is just over here.”
“Fidelia, wait.” But it was too late. And before he could think to stop the second one, Pru dashed past him toward her sister.
The groans grew louder. A loud thump was heard. All eyes turned to him, and he futilely wished that he could turn back the hands of time.
A deep guttural moan filled the stables causing Soren to shudder. Watching in helpless disgust, Fidelia rounded the corner and gasped. Pru was directly behind her.
“Get. Out.” A deep voice echoed off the walls. “Or. Watch. Me. Take. Her. ” His words were broken apart by grunts and the slapping sound of two bodies.
An unfamiliar woman’s voice rang out in pleasure. A scream.
Soren had never been so horrified. It was one thing for a man to have a discreet affair, not that he approved of such behavior in a married man, knowing what it had done to his own family. But it was entirely despicable—loathesome—for a man to brazenly shove it in his wife’s face.
As if in a trance, Fidelia backed away from the scene while Pru feebly offered a protective hand on her back.
Strolling by him as though passing him in Hyde Park, Fidelia spoke flatly, “As I said, he’s indisposed.”
But her voice carried too far and only half a minute later, a half clad, half sane man hoofed it around the corner. Shuffling sounds and the padding of feet indicated the counterpart had escaped the building using another exit.
“Indisposed?” His one word question was annoyingly calm, despite being slightly short of breath.
Fidelia flinched.
He saw it. He’d never forget it, and he doubted Pru would either. It had been the smallest reaction in her eyes, her fingers, and the tiniest recoil. But he’d seen it. And that was enough.
“Is that what you’re telling people?” Bart’s smooth voice grated on Soren’s every nerve. “That’s what you’re telling our esteemed guests?”
“Yes, my lord. I should have thought you would like your privacy.”
“I do.” Seemingly unaware that he was still shirtless, he took a step toward Fidelia. “Is that why you brought guests here? To my sanctuary?”
“Night Sky—”
“—is not for sale. Not for stud. Not for anything. Not now. Not ever. They wouldn’t let me,” he muttered almost indiscernibly. “Not even for a duke.” He cast a wry glance at Soren before turning his attention back to his wife. “You must have forgotten that I told you that.”
“I must have,” Fidelia murmured. “It won’t happen again.”
“Enough.” Soren stepped between them.
Bart scoffed. “What is this?” But when Soren didn’t move, he narrowed his gaze at Fidelia and lunged toward her. “Who is he? Your protector?” he spat out. “Have you been whoring yourself behind my back? You harlot. I’ve always known you were a strumpet.”
“Enough!” Soren bellowed, his hand on Bart’s chest now.
“Don’t tell me what to do. She’s my wife.” He angled again in another attempt to reach his wife.
“I don’t care if she’s your bloody right leg, you won’t treat her like this.” Without looking at her, he commanded, “Fidelia will be coming back with us to visit her sisters.”
“Like hell she will—”
“I’m staying here with my husband.” The hoarse voice that contradicted Soren had him whipping his head around.
“I’m fine here. My husband is just upset. Rightly so. I should have asked to come to the stables.” Her voice was weak but growing stronger with each nonsensical word. “Shall we return to the house for tea?”
For the first time in a long while, Pru spoke up, “Would you like to have some tea, sister?”
“I should love a good cup of warm tea.”
In actions of utter madness, Soren watched as Pru took Fidelia’s arm in hers and they strolled out of the stables.
“Next time mind your own business, duke,” Bart sneered.
“There won’t be a next time, Bart. I’ll end you before that ever happens.” And he didn’t watch for Bart’s reaction as he left the stables to follow Pru.
The tortured march back to the house filled him with dread.
He needed to reach Pru. Understand what she was feeling.
Reassure her that he’d do whatever he could to protect her sister.
Originally, he had planned to visit Fidelia with one purpose in mind, but the plan had changed.
Which was putting it lightly. The plan had actually twisted on its head, done a dance he’d never witnessed before, and then sprawled out in an entirely new posture.
Emotions rallied for purchase in his heart. Thoughts scattered across his mind. Questions without answers stomped around, waving their limbs to distract him from his goal.
One goal.
Pru.