Chapter Thirty
Back at the castle
Sebastian entered the study with a calmness that disguised the fire roaring through his blood. The heavy oak door shut behind him with a final, echoing click, and the hush that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Paisley stood near the hearth, cravat askew, color high, a bead of sweat glinting at his temple. The kind of man who feared scandal more than consequence. Who believed his title would shield him from the weight of his actions.
Not tonight.
Sebastian’s boots echoed on the polished floor as he advanced. Behind him, Thomas, Rotheworth, and Prince Alexander formed a quiet, immovable wall. But Sebastian carried the room. His presence. His fury. His control.
He stopped three paces from Paisley.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, voice mild. Too mild.
Paisley attempted a smirk, but it landed crooked. “This is all a misunderstanding.”
Sebastian tilted his head, just slightly. “You kidnapped Miss Madeleine. Took her to a chapel under false pretenses. Misled her mother. That’s not a misunderstanding. That’s a crime.”
Paisley paled but lifted his chin. “I was doing what was expected. Everyone knew she was meant to marry well.”
“She was never meant for you,” Sebastian said softly. And that made it more brutal.
Paisley’s eyes flicked toward the others, desperate. “You’d destroy a man’s future over a woman? Her?”
Sebastian’s breath slowed. Measured. “Yes.”
“She’s not worth it.”
He should have struck him then.
Every muscle in Sebastian’s body coiled to snap. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his teeth clenched hard enough to ache. He thought of Maddie’s voice, steady despite her underlying fear. Her courage. The way she had leaned into him at the chapel, not broken, but burning.
And this man dared call her unworthy?
“Don’t,” Thomas warned under his breath, stepping forward just enough to anchor him. “He’s not worth your knuckles.”
Paisley saw the moment. Misread it.
He laughed, a thin, manic sound. “You act like she’s worthy to be my duchess. She’s nothing! She-she snuck into your room how many times, Cambridge? Everyone knows it.”
Sebastian’s heart slammed once. The insult didn’t wound him. But it would wound her.
She’ll hear of this, he thought darkly. That coward will spread it like rot.
“She’s probably ruined already,” Paisley went on, sneering. “A little midnight maid, playing nurse. You really think she’s untouched?”
Sebastian’s jaw flexed.
Then came the crack.
Thomas’s fist landed across Paisley’s jaw with a vicious snap, sending him reeling into the mantel. The sound rang like a bell. Solid. Satisfying.
Paisley clutched his face, eyes wild. “You-you can’t strike me! I’m a bloody duke!”
Thomas stepped back, calm as ice. “And you’re a disgrace.”
Sebastian’s voice dropped to a blade’s edge. “She brought me tea. And medicine. When I was ill.”
Paisley wheezed. “Like a maid?”
“No.” Sebastian stepped forward, voice like steel. “Like a friend. Like someone decent. Something you wouldn’t recognize if it spat in your face.”
Paisley’s face contorted. “You think you’re better than me?”
Sebastian didn’t blink. “I know I am.”
Prince Alexander stepped forward at last, his voice a velvet blade. “Your name will carry no weight in Vienna. Nor Budapest. Nor Paris.”
Paisley’s head snapped toward him. “You—you wouldn’t—”
“I already have,” Alex said coolly.
Then Rotheworth stepped in. “And you may look forward to hearing from my mother. She’ll be delighted to speak with yours. It will be the end of your Season. And likely… of your standing.”
Sebastian watched the color drain from Paisley’s face like ink from a blotter.
“Your name,” he said softly, “will be a punchline.”
Paisley choked out something unintelligible.
Sebastian stepped in, close enough that the duke could see every inch of rage in his eyes. The promise of what would come next, should he ever dare again.
“You will never speak of Miss Madeleine again,” he said. “Not to me. Not to anyone. Or I will not hold back.”
Paisley trembled. “You’ve ruined me.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “You did that.”
Then he turned.
He left the room without looking back, and when the door opened, the cold air that rushed in felt like clarity.
He didn’t need to see Paisley crumble to know it was done.
He had won.
Not just the confrontation.
But her.
And that meant something more. It meant everything.
He made it ten paces down the corridor before his breath caught and the fury drained from his limbs like rain from a storm-wracked roof. The tension that had held him upright, steady, now bled away.
Thomas caught up to him first. “You didn’t hit him,” he said, like he almost didn’t believe it.
Sebastian gave a sharp breath of laughter. “You did.”
“I couldn’t let him insult her. Not after…” He stopped, jaw tight. “He deserved worse.”
Rotheworth joined them, rubbing his brow. “Paisley may try to salvage what’s left. Cowards don’t go quietly.”
“He’ll stay quiet if he values what’s left of his spine,” Sebastian said. His tone didn’t leave room for interpretation.
They paused at the corridor’s end, beside a tall window glazed with frost. Outside, snow covered the grounds in untouched silver.
Sebastian stared out, jaw tight.
“She’ll hear about it,” he said, low. “The things he said.”
“She’ll know they’re lies,” Thomas said.
“She shouldn’t have to endure them at all.”
No one disagreed. And that silence said everything.
Then Alex appeared behind them. “Let’s ensure she doesn’t.”
Sebastian turned. The prince’s voice was steady. Cold. “Word will go to the papers tonight. The official story will be… sympathetic to the lady.”
Sebastian’s shoulders eased slightly. “Thank you.”
Alex gave a slight shrug. “Don’t thank me. I like her.”
Sebastian turned back to the snow, a soft breath escaping his chest.
“She’s mine,” he whispered.
Not a declaration of ownership.
But of belonging.
*
The door creaked open, and Maddie looked up from her perch near the hearth, shawl slipping from her shoulders like shed armor.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the snow-dusted corridor, coat unbuttoned, dark curls damp from the cold.
He looked tired. Bone-deep tired. But it was him.
Her heart stuttered. It was really him. Whole. Here. Not a memory to cradle in the dark.
He looked like home.
She rose slowly.
“You came,” she said, her voice softer than the hush of air in the firelit room.
His eyes found hers. “As soon as I could.”
They didn’t rush to meet in the middle. They didn’t have to.
The gravity between them was quiet and sure.
Each step carried weight. Every breath was the first one after nearly drowning.
When she reached him, he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. She leaned into it without hesitation.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered.
His voice hitched. “Every second I was away felt like a year. I would’ve torn the world apart to find you.”
Her breath caught. “You did find me.”
“I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve known what Paisley was planning—”
“You stopped him,” she said firmly. “That’s what matters now.”
He looked away, jaw tight. “He tried to humiliate you.”
“I know, and my mother helped him.”
“How is your family?”
“They’ve accepted my choice.” And perhaps some bonds weren’t meant to be mended, only released.
He chuckled, then shook his head. “He said vile things.” His shoulders tensed again. “And I didn’t hit him. Thomas did.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “Of course he did.”
Sebastian’s smile flickered, then faded. “I wanted to. Every part of me wanted to. But I thought… you wouldn’t want me to lose my honor over him.”
She shook her head slowly. “You kept it—for both of us.”
“And it cuts deeper for him to be struck by an earl. Twice.”
He stepped closer. The firelight reflected in his eyes.
“I would’ve fought every man in that chapel if it meant you never had to feel afraid.”
She pressed her palm to his chest, over the beat of his heart.
“You did enough,” she whispered. “You always do.”
He covered her hand with his. “Do you know what he said? That you were ruined… for bringing me tea and medicine.”
He looked at her, truly looked, and she felt seen—utterly and wholly.
“What he called disgrace, I saw as grace.”
“You came to me when I was ill. You stayed when you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” she whispered, trembling. Because she had. Every time she went to him, it had been a choice. A quiet act of devotion. A whispered hope.
His fingers threaded gently into hers. “Why?”
“Because…” Her throat tightened. “Because I think I loved you before I understood what love meant.”
Sebastian’s breath caught.
He looked at her like the world had just shifted and put itself right.
“You… you love me?”
“I think I’ve been falling in love with you since the night you made that egg-flip.”
He laughed—sharp, disbelieving. She laughed too, giddy and teary, her fear chased out by something brighter.
Then he kissed her.
Not tentative. Not testing. This was a vow.
Her fingers clutched the front of his coat, his arms wrapped around her like a promise. When they parted, their foreheads touched, breaths mingling.
“I nearly lost you,” he murmured.
“But you didn’t.”
He cupped her face in both hands. “I love you.”
“I know,” she whispered, grinning against his mouth. “You just said so. But say it again.”
“I love you,” he repeated, more certain. “Maddie, I love you with everything I am.”
She kissed him again, slower this time. Sweeter. Anchored.
“I love you too.”
They laughed softly, still tangled together.
She brushed her thumb along his cheek. “Are you always this poetic?”
“Only with you.”
She grinned. “I rather like it.”
“I rather love you.”
Her smile wobbled, shimmering with tears. “What happens now?”
Sebastian’s expression softened, turned reverent. “Now, I ask you to be my wife.”
Her breath caught. “I already sort of agreed.”
He didn’t kneel. He didn’t need to.
“I want you beside me for the rest of my life,” he said. “I want to wake up to your tea, your laughter, your brutally honest fashion critiques—”
“They’re not critiques. They’re cries for help.”
“—and your fierce, fearless heart. Marry me.”
She blinked through the mist in her eyes. Then smiled—a radiant, reckless smile. “Yes.”
His arms wrapped around her again, laughter warm in her hair. The fire behind them crackled, as if the very air exhaled relief.
They kissed again.
And this time, it felt like the beginning.
Not the end of a storm, but the start of something bright and boundless. Perhaps she’d been waiting all along, not to be saved, not to find love, but to step into her own story. And now she had.