Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Damien returned to Wexford Manor well after sunset with frustration simmering beneath his composed exterior. The interview with Gantry had yielded little beyond patience, a commodity Damien possessed in abundance for business but precious little where Seraphine was concerned.
Gantry had promised he would find Lord Pemberley and silence him but admitted the tasks might require several days. Several days. Damien clenched his jaw as he strode through the entrance hall without removing his gloves. Every extra day left Augustus free to act.
He barely acknowledged the servants who bowed as he passed. His mind calculated possibilities with relentless precision. Uncertainty exhausted him more than hard work ever had.
As he rounded the corner into the main corridor, his stride slowed.
Seraphine stood beside one of the tall windows, the fading evening light outlining her graceful figure.
Her hands were folded before her with impeccable propriety, but her mouth was set in a stern line.
She had clearly been waiting for him. Damien closed his eyes for the briefest moment.
He already knew precisely what was coming.
“We must have a talk,” Seraphine said firmly, lifting her chin as he approached.
“Very well,” he replied evenly. “Speak.”
She stepped towards him, determination flashing in her brown eyes. “I am not agreeing to be held inside this house like a prisoner,” she said, her voice controlled despite the hurt beneath it. “You cannot simply decide that I am forbidden to leave.”
“My decision is final,” Damien cut in quietly. His voice never rose, yet it carried the same authority that governed entire counties. “You are not leaving Wexford Manor.” He paused before adding with unmistakable finality, “At least not without me.”
She stared at him in disbelief before giving a short, incredulous laugh.
“Without you?” she repeated, spreading her hands. “Am I twelve years old?”
“No,” Damien answered flatly.
“Then is it because you believe I am unfamiliar with London?” she asked, searching his face. “Do you believe I shall become lost?”
“No.”
“Do you imagine I have forgotten how to conduct myself in Society?” she asked.
“No,” he replied with one word once more.
“Because I am now your Duchess?” she demanded, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“No.”
Her patience finally snapped. “Then what possible reason remains?” she cried, throwing both hands into the air.
Damien looked towards the window instead of meeting her gaze. “I am not discussing it.”
His refusal only fueled her anger.
“You are impossible,” she said sharply, taking another step closer. “Every answer is no, yet you refuse to tell me the truth.”
“I have already given you the only answer that matters.”
“No, Damien.” Her voice softened unexpectedly as disappointment replaced anger. “You have given me an order.”
He looked back at her.
“I spent years obeying a tyrannical father,” she continued, blinking rapidly. “When I married you, I truly believed those years were behind me.”
Something twisted painfully inside his chest. “You thought wrong,” he replied, forcing out the words even as they tasted like poison.
He watched them wound her.
Every instinct screamed at him to take them back, to gather her into his arms and explain everything. But he could not.
If she knew about Lord Pemberley... if she knew about France... if she knew the dangerous bargains that allowed Wexford Manor to flourish... she would never forgive me.
She shook her head slowly, tears beginning to glisten despite her determination not to cry.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose I did.”
Her disappointment hurt far more than her anger ever could.
“You are becoming him,” she said quietly.
The accusation struck him like a physical blow.
For one unbearable moment he saw his father's face instead of his own.
Cold. Reserved. Emotion locked behind endless duty.
He remembered his mother's smile fading year after year beneath that icy indifference.
He remembered Thalia shrinking into herself until Caspian had rescued her from becoming another casualty of Harrington coldness.
I have not become Seraphine's father, but I have become my own.
“That is exactly how this feels,” Seraphine said, her voice trembling. “You are like my father. You refuse to trust me.”
God help me. She has no idea how much I trust her. It is everyone else I do not trust.
She continued suggesting compromise after compromise. He rejected every one with a curt shake of his head.
“I am your wife!” she cried, tears spilling freely now. “Not something to be locked safely inside a cabinet!”
“And I intend to keep my wife alive!” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Silence descended upon the corridor. Seraphine stared at him. “Alive?” she repeated softly, taking one cautious step closer. “What are you trying to protect me from?”
Damien closed his eyes. He had already said too much.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Please... help me understand.”
He could not. He could not tell her about Augustus. He could not tell her that the silk scarf around her shoulders had come from an illegal shipment across the Channel.
He could not tell her that her husband walked comfortably amongst Dukes by day and negotiated with smugglers by night. If she knew, she might despise him.
Worse… She might leave him. He remained silent.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Something inside him finally shattered.
“I love you,” he said, the confession barely louder than a whisper.
Her eyes widened. He dragged a hand through his dark hair.
“I love you,” he repeated, his voice rough with emotion. “And I cannot let harm come your way, don't you understand?”
She froze completely. For the first time since he had met her, Lady Seraphine was entirely speechless.
His heart pounded. Perhaps she would realize she had never truly loved him. Perhaps he had merely been her escape from the Abbey.
Perhaps…
“I love you too,” she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.
Everything inside him stopped. Relief swept through him so fiercely that he almost reached for her.
Almost.
Then she drew a shaky breath.
“But I cannot live in a cage,” she said gently.
His hand fell back to his side.
“The years beneath Father shaped me more than I realized,” she continued, pressing a trembling hand to her heart. “I need freedom, Damien. I need to feel safe.” She looked directly into his eyes. “And right now... I do not feel safe with you.”
Every word cut deeper than the last.
“If nothing changes,” she whispered, “I shall leave with Rosaline and Laurent when they return to Scotland.”
Scotland? Far from London. Far from Lord Pemberley.
Far from every danger surrounding Damien. Perhaps she truly would be safer there. She would not spend every day watched by enemies she did not even know existed. She would not live imprisoned by his fear.
Perhaps loving her means letting her go.
His heart rebelled, but his mind accepted it immediately.
He swallowed hard before forcing himself to nod. “Very well,” he said quietly.
She looked at him in confusion.
“Get your things ready,” he told her, his voice sounding strangely distant even to himself. “You shall leave with your sister in a few days, and you may take your maid with you. I will write to my brother to see that everything you need is covered by the estate.”
The color drained from her face. A broken sob escaped her lips before she turned and fled down the corridor, one trembling hand covering her mouth.
Damien did not move. He listened until the sound of her footsteps disappeared into the silence.
Only then did he brace one hand against the wall and bow his head. It felt as though someone had reached inside his chest and torn his heart from it.
He had finally confessed the one truth he had spent weeks denying.
And in the very next breath...
I have sent away the woman I love.
Seraphine scarcely remembered climbing the staircase. One moment she had fled the corridor, and the next she was inside her bedchamber with the door firmly shut behind her. She stumbled to the bed, buried her face in the embroidered coverlet.
She had wanted freedom. That was all she had asked for.
That's why it hurt so terribly when Damien had taken it from her. But now that he was agreeing she should go to Scotland, that hurt far worse.
He does not want me anymore. He regrets marrying me.
Her fingers clenched the bedspread as another sob escaped her. He had told her he loved her. Those three impossible words had filled her heart with more happiness than she had believed she was capable of feeling. Yet scarcely a minute later, he had calmly agreed to send her away to Scotland.
If he loves me, why has he surrendered me so easily? Why has he not fought for me?
"Oh, you foolish man," she whispered into the mattress, her voice breaking. "You are not the man I thought you were."
The words tasted bitter.
She had believed Damien different from every other gentleman she had known. Beneath his stern manners and impossible rules, she had believed there was steadfast devotion. Someone who would choose her above duty. Someone who would never willingly let her leave his side.
Instead… he had practically packed her trunks for her.
A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes.
She rolled onto her back and stared blindly at the elegant canopy overhead.
The room, which only yesterday had felt warm and welcoming, suddenly seemed foreign.
Every beautiful piece of furniture, every polished surface, every vase of fresh flowers reminded her that she was merely a guest in another person's home. Perhaps she always had been.
Swallowing hard, she reached for the bellpull beside the bed.
A servant answered immediately.
"My maid, Maria," Seraphine managed, dabbing hastily at her cheeks. "Would you ask her to come to me, please?"
"At once, Your Grace," the servant replied with a respectful bow before quietly withdrawing.
The title still startled her.
Your Grace.
She barked a bitter laugh.