Chapter 7
Thea
If her mother’s strong opinions about wedding planning didn’t kill her, her worry about speaking to Wesley certainly would.
Thea sat in her mother's parlor, surrounded by various samples of flowers and menu items that her mother had already requested. Lady Hasting had taken to the task of planning a wedding with terrifying enthusiasm.
Wesley sat beside her, close enough that his knee brushed hers beneath the table.
He'd arrived an hour ago with his mother to discuss the ceremony.
The event seemingly mattered more to their mothers.
Wesley focused only on Thea. Every time their eyes met, she felt the warmth of the previous night and remembered how she had almost pouted when she woke to find him gone.
She still hadn't told him. And the longer she waited, the worse it was going to be. But every time she tried to form the words, her throat closed around them.
“The Ashworth family must be seated near the front, of course,” Lady Hasting said to the duchess, consulting a chart covered in tiny names.
“And we'll need to consider the Pemberton situation—Lady Pemberton and the Dowager Countess cannot be placed within sight of each other, not after what happened at the Whitmore ball.”
“What happened at the Whitmore ball?” Wesley asked. Thea could hear the amusement beneath his polite tone.
“You don't want to know,” Thea murmured, and his mouth twitched.
“The flowers are another matter entirely.” Lady Hasting shuffled through papers. “The florist insists that roses are traditional, but I've always thought lilies more elegant. What do you think, Theodora?”
Thea stared blankly back at their mothers. “Whatever you and Her Grace think is best, Mama.”
“That's not an answer. You're going to be a duchess. You need to have opinions about these things. How will you manage a household if you can't even choose flowers for your own wedding?”
Thea's jaw tightened. “I'm sure I'll manage.”
“Will you? Because you've never shown the slightest interest in such matters. Always traipsing off to do heaven knows what instead of learning the things a proper lady should know.” Lady Hasting turned to Wesley with an apologetic smile.
“You'll have to forgive her, Your Grace.
I've done my best, but Theodora has always been . . . difficult.”
“I don't find her difficult at all,” Wesley said, his voice mild but his eyes sharp.
“You're kind to say so.” Lady Hasting returned to her papers. “Now, the guest list. We must—”
“Mama.” Thea pressed her fingers to her temple. “Could we perhaps continue this tomorrow? I'm getting a megrim.”
“Nonsense. We have far too much to do. The wedding is in three weeks, and we haven't even settled on the menu. The cook needs to know—”
“I don't care about the menu.”
“You should care. Every detail reflects on you as a hostess. When you're a duchess, you'll be expected to—”
“I know what I'll be expected to do.” Thea's voice came out sharper than she intended. “You've made that abundantly clear.”
Lady Hasting's expression hardened. “There's no need to take that tone with me.” Wesley’s mother’s eyes widened watching the display. “I'm trying to help you. God knows you need it.”
“Damn and hell, Mama—”
She stopped.
The words hung in the air, and Thea felt the blood drain from her face.
She'd said it. Not in Kit's rough voice, but the phrase—the same phrase she always said when she won a hand and could speak as she pleased.
“Theodora!” Lady Hasting's scandalized tone raised as she glanced between Wesley and his mother. “You forget yourself.”
Thea couldn't look at Wesley. She couldn't breathe. She kept her eyes fixed on the guest list in front of them.
“My apologies, Mama. Her Grace.” She still didn’t look up at anyone. “I don't know what came over me.”
“I should think not. A lady does not use such coarse language. What must His Grace think?”
Thea forced herself to glance at Wes. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't read, as if he was putting something together in his head. The air in the room had changed.
“Lady Hasting. Mother.” His voice was controlled and almost cold. “Would you excuse us for a moment? I'd like to take a turn in the garden with my betrothed. The fresh air might make matters more pleasant.”
“Of course, of course.” Lady Hasting waved them away, already forgetting about them. “We have much to keep us occupied.”
Wesley rose and offered Thea his hand. She took it because she had no choice. Refusing would raise questions she couldn't answer. His grip was firm, and his face revealed nothing.
They walked out of the parlor and through the house in silence. Thea's heart was pounding so hard, she was certain he could hear it. She wanted to say something—to explain, to deflect, to find some way to undo her slip so she could prepare him for what needed to be revealed.
The garden was bright with afternoon sun. Wesley led her past the stone balustrade, down the steps, and along the same path they'd walked the night of the ball. The night she'd kissed him. The night everything had changed.
He stopped near the fountain, far enough from the house that no one would overhear. When he turned to face her, the warmth had drained from his eyes.
“Damn and hell.” His voice was flat. “That's a pretty pot.”
Thea's stomach dropped.
“Say it.” He stepped closer. “Look me in the eye and tell me you have no idea what I speak of.”
She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. She could only stand there, watching her world crumble around her.
“That’s what I thought.” Wesley's voice was quiet, controlled. Somehow that was worse than shouting. “I knew there was something familiar about Kit. But there is no Kit. It was you.”
“Wesley—”
“You've been sneaking out. At night. Alone without a chaperone. Dressed as a man.” His jaw tightened. “Into gaming hells full of drunk men who would have done God knows what if they'd discovered who you were.”
“No one ever—”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” His voice cracked, and she saw it—not just anger.
Fear. “If someone had realized? If some man had decided to take what you were attempting to hide? You could have been—” He stopped, his hands clenched by his side.
“Christ, Thea. You could have been killed.”
“I was careful. I've been doing this for over a year and nothing—”
“Over a year.” He scoffed, raking his hand through his hair. “Nothing happened . . . yet. That doesn't mean nothing would have.” He stepped closer, his eyes burning. “And you didn't think I deserved to know that my future wife was gallivanting about London at all hours of the night?”
“I was going to tell you. I tried to tell you—”
“When? Before or after you agreed to be my wife?” His voice was rough. “Would you have told me a damn thing if you hadn’t listened in on my private conversations?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“I don’t think you would have.” He turned away from her, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall.
When he spoke again, his voice was harder.
“You only kissed me in this garden because of what you heard.” His voice dropped.
“How am I supposed to trust that any of this is real? I don’t even know who you are right now. ”
“Wes.” She reached for him, but he stepped back. “Wesley, please. I love you. That has always been true.”
“I don't know what to think right now.”
The words hung between them. Thea felt tears sliding down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away.
“You don’t know if you care for me anymore?” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her tone.
“God, Thea. Of course I love you. But you can’t expect me to be calm about this.” He drew a deep breath.
“What do you want from me? I know that—”
“I want you to stop.” His voice was hard now. Final. “Kit is done. Whatever that was, whatever you thought you were doing—it's over. You're going to be my wife. My duchess. And you are never going back to the Fox.”
Thea's breath left her.
“You can't just forbid me—”
“I can. I'm your betrothed. In three weeks, I'll be your husband.” He stepped closer, and his voice turned the coldest she’d ever heard.
He was every bit a duke, not the man she loved.
“I won't have my wife sneaking out at night to gamble with other men. I won't have scandal following my family because you don’t know what is acceptable and what isn’t. This ends. Now.”
“Acceptable?” The word burned. “Is that what you care about most? That I am a proper wife doing embroidery or standing by your side with my eyes fixed on the floor like some simpering ninny.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, Thea.” His eyes were ice. “You risked your safety. You risked your reputation. And from this point forward, you risk both of our families. All because you want to play cards. It’s selfish, Thea.”
His words stung. “It wasn't about the cards.”
“Then what was it about?”
“Freedom.” The word came out fiercer than she intended.
“It was about having one place where I wasn't Lady Theodora. After William’s death, I learned that life is meant to be lived, Wesley. And why should I have to sit at home at night with my mother reminding me how terrible I am at running a household? While you get to be out drinking, playing cards, and doing Lord knows what, just because you were born with a cock between your legs.”
Wesley stared at her, his expression caught between surprise and fury.
“You think I made the rules, Thea? You think I enjoy the weight of expectations that comes from inheriting this bloody title?” He stepped closer. “I didn't create this world, but I have to live in it. And so do you. Part of my responsibility now is to protect you.”
“So I'm just supposed to accept that? Sit quietly and paint watercolors or play an instrument while you—”
“I'm not asking you to take up mindless hobbies.
I'm asking you to not get yourself killed or destroy both our families.” His voice was raw.
“Do you think I don't understand wanting to escape? I've spent years suffocating under this title. But I do what is expected of me. There are consequences for your actions, Thea. For both of us. When this comes out—and it will, because secrets always do, and a duke’s wife frequenting the gambling tables would be the most salacious piece of gossip the ton could ever hope to hear—it will impact everyone we care about.”
“No one has to know.”
“What don’t you understand about this? If you want to play cards and gamble your pin money, then I’ll play cards with you.
I’ll triple your pin money if that’s what you want.
” He raked his hand through his hair. “You could be carrying our child right now, and you’d be putting that child’s future in danger. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not. But you’re overreacting, Wes. You’re a duke. Even if someone found out, no one is going to shun us or our children.”
“Is that what you love about me? The protection of my title.” He spat the words and began pacing in front of her like a caged animal.
Thea's chest ached. “You know that’s not true.”
“You are done with this folly.” He stopped pacing and faced her, his jaw tightening. “I won’t allow it.”
“And if I’m not?” She could understand his position on the matter, but what she couldn’t stand was him telling her what he will and won’t allow. That was just too much for her.
The question hung between them. Wesley's face went hard.
“I don’t know, Theodora.”
He turned and walked toward the garden gate—not back through the house, but away. Away from her, away from the mothers, away from everything.
“Wesley—”
The gate slammed behind him.
Thea stood frozen, the sound echoing across the garden. He was gone. And she didn't know if he was coming back.
Her mother would be waiting inside, expecting her to return and plaster on a fake smile through all the wedding planning. The duchess would have questions about why her son had left.
She couldn't face them. Not yet.
She sank onto the stone bench by the fountain and let the tears come. The same fountain where she'd kissed him. The same garden where she'd thought she might finally have everything she wanted.
She didn't know how long she sat there. Long enough for the sun to shift, for the shadows to lengthen. Long enough to cry until nothing was left.
When the tears stopped, her entire expression changed. Her nostrils flared and her face had gone red.
He had given her an ultimatum. That wasn't an act of love.
She'd spent years trying to escape her mother's expectations. She wasn't going to trade one prison for another with nicer furnishings, no matter how much she loved the man holding the key.
Thea wiped her face and stood. Her eyes were swollen, her heart still aching, but her spine was straight.
She walked back toward the house. Of course she would never carelessly put herself, or their families, in harm’s way. But she wasn't going to apologize for who she was. Not to her mother. Not to the duchess.
And not to Wesley.
If he wanted her, he would have to want all of her. The proper and the improper. The woman who loved him and the woman who refused to be caged.
If he couldn't accept that, then maybe he wasn't the man she thought he was.