Page 44 of The Duke's Sinful Bride

He had just ascended the staircase when he caught sight of Yvette rushing out of the drawing room, her hand pressed to her face.

The sight startled him. She was usually composed, confident, and feisty, but now she appeared disheveled, her movements hurried and distressed.

Confused and alarmed, his chest tightened as he followed her up the hall, his steps quickening as he watched her disappear into her chambers.

He stood for a moment outside the door, his hand hovering just inches from the handle. Something in his gut told him this wasn’t something he could ignore.

Without thinking, Killian entered his own room and used the connecting door to Yvette’s chamber.

He moved cautiously, his senses heightened as he entered, his heart pounding.

Yvette was sitting on the edge of her bed, her shoulders shaking as tears spilled down her face.

It wasn’t the violent sobbing he might have expected—there was no wailing or dramatic cries—but the sight of her tears was enough to rattle him.

Yvette was never one to show such vulnerability, especially not in front of him. She was a woman who held herself with such strength, and to see her like this, so undone, was an unsettling sight.

“Yvette,” Killian said, his voice rough, though his concern was evident.

He quickly crossed the room and knelt before her, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“What is wrong? Are ye all right?” Killian asked, anger coating the disbelief in his eyes.

Yvette stayed quiet, not wanting to let him know what had happened.

“Talk to me, Yvette. Did the maids say or do anything to ye? Tell me and I’ll let go of every one of them!” Killian’s voice thundered.

Yvette looked up at him, her eyes red from crying, but she made no effort to wipe her tears. Her lips trembled slightly as she met his gaze.

“No they didn’t… Never mind,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “It is silly. I shouldn’t feel like this.”

Killian’s brow furrowed as he gently reached out and touched her arm, his thumb brushing over her skin as if to comfort her in the only way he knew how.

“Ye don’t have to explain if ye don’t want to,” he said quietly. “But I am here.”

Yvette exhaled shakily, looking down at her hands as she gathered her thoughts.

“When the news of my father’s death reached me at the nunnery, I… I didn’t grieve him,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.

“I was angry with him. I hated him for what he did to me… for how he treated me.” She paused, her chest tightening. “I still despise him. But… for some reason… thinking about him now, I can’t stop the tears from falling.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“I never expected him to betray me the way he did. And now, even though years have passed, the hurt… the anger… it is still there. It feels as fresh as the day he turned his back on me.”

Killian watched her as she spoke, his expression unreadable, though inside, something stirred. He could see the depth of the pain in her eyes, the way her shoulders trembled as she recalled the cruelty of her father. His heart twisted in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.

Yvette’s walls, so carefully constructed over the years, were finally crumbling in front of him, and he was unsure of what he should do. He wasn’t a man who was used to comforting others—especially not someone as fierce and proud as Yvette.

But he couldn’t leave her like this.

Without thinking, Killian moved closer to her, his hand gently sliding up her arm until he cupped the side of her face. He could feel the heat of her tears on his palm, and his chest tightened at the sight of her in such a vulnerable state.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what words could undo the hurt she carried so deeply, but something inside him urged him to act.

And so, without hesitation, Killian placed a soft kiss on her temple. His lips lingered for just a moment, a simple gesture that he couldn’t explain, a small act of comfort he felt compelled to offer.

The kiss was brief, but it conveyed everything he couldn’t express in words.

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