Chapter 10
Dorothea reclined against a stack of pillows, a book balanced in one hand and a half-eaten biscuit in the other.
Sunlight poured through the open windows and she could hear the birds chirping a cheerful tune.
It was, she decided, a perfectly pleasant way to pass the afternoon.
There had certainly been worse days in her life.
A soft knock disrupted the peaceful quiet.
Her gaze lifted from the page. “Enter,” she ordered.
The door opened slowly, and Dominic appeared in the doorway, hovering like a man unsure whether to flee or step forward. He looked deucedly uncomfortable, shoulders taut, his hand still resting on the doorframe.
She smiled, feeling a need to tease him. “You do not need to knock. This is your bedchamber, after all.”
“Not for the time being,” he replied. “Are you well?”
She nodded. “Very much so. The physician declared me the epitome of health. Even the cold has passed.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He hesitated, as though unsure how to continue. “Do you need anything—anything at all?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a bit of company.”
For a moment, she feared he might retreat, offering some vague excuse and disappearing down the hall. But instead, to her surprise—and delight—he stepped into the room and let the door close softly behind him.
“I suppose I can spare a few moments,” he said, walking towards the chair beside her bed.
“Thank you,” she responded, setting her book aside. “Perhaps you can regale me with a story or two.”
That earned the faintest curve of a smile. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he said, lowering himself into the chair. “But I can read to you, if you like.”
“Or you could tell me one from memory. Surely you had some memorable cases when you worked for Bow Street.”
His expression shifted, something flickering in his gaze. “I did.”
“Well then—will you share one with me?”
He paused, as if weighing how much to say, then gave a small nod. “There was one case that stayed with me. A series of thefts in Mayfair, all occurring during lavish social events. I was asked to investigate after it became clear that the incidents were more than mere coincidence.”
“Was it the butler?” she asked, her tone teasing.
He grinned. “No. It was a young maid. She’d stolen a gown from her mistress and used it to pass herself off as a lady.
She blended seamlessly with the crowd—dripping in stolen jewels, no one ever questioned her presence.
During the height of each ball, she’d slip away and pilfer whatever valuables she could find. ”
“How clever. How did you catch her?”
“I recognized a necklace she was wearing—one that had been listed among the stolen items weeks earlier. I kept my distance and followed her when she left the ballroom. I caught her red-handed in an upstairs chamber.”
“And what happened to her?”
“I arrested her. She was transported for her crimes,” he said, his voice sober. “Frankly, she was lucky to escape the noose. The value of the stolen items was staggering and not everything was ever recovered. I suspected she had help, but she refused to reveal who it was.”
Dorothea popped the last bit of biscuit into her mouth and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “It sounds like dangerous work. But thrilling, too.”
He shrugged, eyes distant. “It had its moments.”
She considered him for a moment, then ventured, “May I ask you something?”
“That depends on what it is.”
Taking a deep breath, she asked, “What happened to you after… after you were carted off with the dead?”
He visibly tensed. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by a shadow that darkened his features. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But I want to know,” she prodded. “How did you survive?”
He turned his face away. “It matters not. What matters is that I did survive.”
“Dominic—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I should go.”
Her heart dropped. “Please don’t,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You have no right to ask me such questions,” he responded gruffly.
The words stung. “No right?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly. “I am your wife. Or does that mean nothing to you?”
“I don’t want to dwell in the past.”
“Then let me in,” she pleaded. “Let me understand. Let me see you.”
His expression softened—just barely. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“You used to trust me,” she whispered. “You once told me about your father. How he treated you… even the time he shot your dog on the hunting trip.”
His head jerked slightly. “I told you that?”
“You did,” she said. “Among other things. You were quite talkative when the laudanum first took effect.”
He stared at her, wary. “What else did I say?”
“You showed me the scars. The ones he left behind.”
Dominic inhaled sharply. “I did?”
She nodded. “But I know there are others—ones no one can see.”
He lifted a hand and touched the jagged scar on his cheek. “Scars are reminders of our past.”
“They are also proof that we survived,” she said. “That we lived through the worst and came out the other side.”
His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful now. “What scars do you bear?”
She gave him a weak smile. “More than I care to admit.”
He moved to the chair beside her once more, this time lowering himself slowly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take them from you.”
“I don’t,” she said. “They’re part of me now. They remind me that the hurt is over, and I came out the other end stronger than before.”
Dominic leaned forward. “People see this,” he said, motioning to his face. “But they don’t see the rest.”
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”
He met her gaze, wary but curious. Then, he nodded.
She shifted to the edge of the bed, reached out slowly, and traced the scar on his cheek with gentle fingers. “I see a man who survived what others could not. A man who protected the helpless. A man who feels deeply, even if he tries to pretend otherwise. I see strength. I see kindness.”
He looked away. “I’m no such man.”
“You are,” she insisted. “You are my hero.”
At those words, he reared back. “I am no hero, Dorothea. I’m just a man.”
She saw the anguish in his eyes, but she had to tell him what she felt. “I disagree.”
He stood abruptly and began pacing. “I am not the man you think I am. You cling to some ideal, some imagined version of me. You hope for things that are not there.”
Dorothea sat still on the bed, watching him. “No, Dominic,” she insisted. “I see what is there. You just haven’t let yourself believe it yet.”
“I shouldn’t even be alive,” Dominic said. “If I had my wish, I would’ve died alongside my comrades.”
The way he said it, with such raw honesty, left no doubt in her mind that he meant every word. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said, rising from the bed. Her voice trembled with feeling. “My life is better because you are in it.”
He halted mid-step, turning to face her, his expression twisted with disbelief. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she insisted, stepping towards him. “With my whole heart.”
He looked as if her words pained him more than they soothed. “No… I can’t accept that.”
“You can accept it or not, but it does not change how I feel.”
He shook his head. “I know you mean well, but you’re wrong. You would be better off without me.”
Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his tone. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Because it’s true,” he said, voice growing tight with emotion. “I will never be the man you want me to be. I don’t even know if that man ever existed in the first place. Perhaps I was just playing a part, wearing a mask even I didn’t know I had on.”
Dorothea’s feet moved before her thoughts could catch up. She crossed the distance between them, standing before him in her bare feet. “I know he existed. Because he’s standing right here.”
Dominic turned his face away. “Dorothea… you don’t understand.”
“I do,” she whispered. “More than you think. And did you honestly believe I only married you for your wealth?” Her voice caught, her brows drawing together with hurt. “If that’s what you believe, then you never truly saw me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Then why?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Why would you bind yourself to someone like me?”
She took another step forward, close enough now to reach for him, but she didn’t. Not yet. “Because even when you were gone, even when I believed you were lost to the war, I wanted to remain tied to your memory. I wanted to honor the man you were and the man I still see.”
“You wanted to be tied to a failure?” he murmured, his voice cracking.
She waited for him to meet her gaze before saying, “You are no failure, Dominic.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Why? Because the king granted me a title and called me a hero?”
“No,” she said, her voice growing fiercer. “Because I was there. I saw you. Even when you were too weak to lift your head from the pillow, you asked about your men—each one—by name. You mourned them. You grieved them as if they were your own brothers.”
She continued, hoping her words gave him a semblance of peace. “You saved lives. You gave them someone to follow. You gave them a reason to hope, even in the blood-soaked chaos. That’s what makes you a hero—not what the king said, not what Society thinks. But who you were when no one was watching.”
Dominic stood there, breathing raggedly, studying her. What he saw, she did not know. But she had to say one more thing. “I see you, Dominic,” she whispered. “Even when you try to disappear.”
Dominic stood frozen in place, unable to summon a single word.
What could he possibly say to the woman standing before him, her gaze full of trust and tenderness, as though she truly believed he could be more than what he was?
He could see it in her eyes—that unwavering hope—and it gutted him.
He knew, with a grim certainty, that he would only disappoint her in the end.