Page 7 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

Yvette exhaled sharply, unwilling to share the depths of her discomfort. “Yes. I… I suppose I am reminded of things I’d rather forget.”

Edward’s face darkened. “I—I remember that night.”

“Father was furious,” she replied. “He couldn’t even wait until morning. He had to get me out that night. He never listened to me, Edward. Not once.”

Edward’s jaw tightened.

Yvette’s eyes flashed with pain. “No matter how I tried to explain what had happened, he wouldn’t believe me. He called me a liar. And he didn’t care. All he cared about was theton, about the scandal, about what people would think. He didn’t care about me. He didn’t care about the truth.”

“I believed you,” he said.

Yvette nodded. “I know. But it never mattered to him. He thought if he hid me away, it would all be forgotten. He cared only about the appearance of propriety.”

A long silence fell between them, heavy with the weight of difficult memories.

The sound of the stable boy tending to their horses drifted to them, but neither of them paid him much attention.

Finally, Edward spoke, his voice quiet but full of concern. “You didn’t want to come back here, did you?”

Yvette shook her head, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I didn’t. I told you as much after Father died, when you came to retrieve me. I would have stayed in the nunnery, but the scandal with you… it reached there. I couldn’t stay hidden any longer.”

Edward’s face softened, and he stepped closer, placing a hand on her arm. “Yvette, I’m sorry. I am sorry we had to be reunited under such circumstances.”

“I only came to stop you from getting yourself killed.” Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, her anger and frustration seeping through. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Edward stood motionless for a moment, just watching her.

“I snuck out of the nunnery,” Yvette continued, her voice quieter now, tinged with the exhaustion of her journey. “I used what little money I had saved to rent a horse and buy food for the ride.

When I finally reached the house earlier this evening, I barely had time to take it all in. I saw the butler. He looked worried, and was the one who told me that the duke had requested a duel. He said you two were both heading to the field to settle it.”

Edward’s expression darkened as the weight of his actions bore down on him, and Yvette sighed.

His head fell forward, and when he lifted it again, his eyes were filled with guilt, his voice low with regret.

“I know a marriage like this was the last thing you wanted,” he said, his words thick with sorrow. “I’m sorry for putting you through this, sister. I never meant for you to be dragged into this situation.”

Yvette looked at him then, the ache in her chest deepening. She could see the remorse in his eyes, but it did nothing to alleviate the anger she felt, not at him, but at the situation.

“I didn’t want to be here,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I couldn’t leave you to face this alone. I was scared I’d be late and you’d end up dead.”

Edward’s gaze softened, and he reached out to touch her shoulder, his grip gentle but firm.

“I never meant to put this burden on you,” he said quietly, his words filled with an anguish she hadn’t expected. “But I’ll make this right. I promise you that.”

For a moment, Yvette said nothing. She could feel her emotions rising, the frustration, the helplessness, and the anger. But, in the end, all she could do was nod. She had come to London for a reason, and while she may not have known what that reason was at the time, she understood it now.

“Let’s go inside,” she said, turning her back on him and walking toward the house, her heart heavy with the burden she now had to bear.

“We have a lot of work to do.”

When Yvette had first debuted into society, she had imagined what her wedding day would be like.

It would be a day of joy, a day like all the fairy tales she had read, where a young lady was presented at court, and the excitement of the Season’s events led to her own marriage.

She had imagined herself standing in a glorious white dress, the epitome of beauty, her father proudly escorting her down the aisle with a tear in his eye as he gave her away. He would be so proud of the woman she had become, of the love they had built as a family, and of the man she was to marry—someone who would cherish her, adore her, and share in a union built on love, not duty.

But now, as she stood in the grand ballroom of her family’s London house, the reality of it all felt like a cruel joke. The day she had imagined—the day when everything would be perfect, had been reduced to something so far removed from her fantasy that it seemed almost laughable.

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