Page 74 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

That horrible feeling locked inside of her grew exponentially worse. She understood suddenly that it wasn’t just the shame of appearing in the scandal sheets which was hurting her. It was the fact that she had disappointed him, that she would always disappoint him.

She left the room though she did not follow him. Rather than asking any of the staff where he had gone, Grace left the house and headed straight for the stables. By the time she reached her horse and found the stable boy already preparing the animal for her, her eyes were prickling with unshed tears.

I care for Philip, don’t I? That’s why it hurts so much when I disappoint him.

She was thankful the stable boy said nothing as the first tears slipped down her cheeks, and he handed her the reins.

* * *

Grace didn’t know how long she had been riding for, but soon enough, the estate had not felt large enough to hold her in, despite its size. With rain starting to fall, she had left the park and rode into the streets of London.

She urged the horse down one road after another with no real sense of direction or purpose. All she knew was that she needed distance from Philip at that moment and most definitely needed distance from this heartbreak though it didn’t work.

When she rode through Hyde Park, she thought of how many times she would fall over in her life and how Philip would be the man forced to stand beside her as she did so, grimacing at her behavior.

As she rode through Covent Garden, she thought of the way people whispered about what she wore. Philip would have to suffer listening to people gossip about her.

Only when her stomach started growling with hunger did she turn the horse around, intending to head home again.

A carriage turned sharply onto the streets of Covent Garden. To avoid an accident, Grace was forced to pull her horse to the side sharply. The animal reared back in surprise, whinnying loudly into the air.

Grace fought to take charge of the animal and barely did so, narrowly avoiding falling off the saddle. As she reined in the mare’s temper, the door of the carriage that had come to a hasty halt at her side was flung open.

Inside, she saw two faces she knew well. It was a married couple in theton. She had seen them many times at events though the lady never deigned to talk to Grace, clearly thinking she was beneath her notice.

Mr. and Mrs. Robertson looked at her in alarm, eyes wide.

“Your Grace?” Mr. Robertson said in alarm. He looked around, those eyes growing impossibly wider. “You are riding alone?”

Grace’s stomach knotted tightly as she turned the horse around, refusing to answer him.

She wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact she had nearly lost control of the horse in front of busy Covent Garden and two of the busiest gossipers of the ton or that all Mr. Robertson cared about was that she was a woman ridingalone.

Why must a woman always have her husband on her arm?

Grace turned her back on Covent Garden and rode fast away, urging the mare to gallop as quickly as possible. She was grateful the horse put up no further fuss.

By the time she returned to the house, the rain had started to fall faster. She left the mare in the stable and darted back to the main building, taking the back door into the house to avoid being out in the rain for much longer.

She had barely stepped in through the door when she heard a loud thud that startled her. She froze, her damp riding boots skidding on the floor.

The thud followed again. Or was it more of a smack? Like skin against leather.

Grace turned her head toward the nearest door, abrupt fear simmering in her gut.

When the sound came faster, repeating itself, she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. She hastened forward and opened the door dividing her from the sound.

The door opened onto a room she had not been in before though she realized at once what it was. Philip had referred to this room once but only once. He had also made it clear that he didn’t want her in this part of the house — for it was his part. The place where he liked to be alone.

The sports room was long, as if it had been stretched by some giant, the great tall windows flooding the space with grey light. The white tiled floor had been mopped to a gleaming shine, somehow still looking bright in the grey and rainy day.

Along one wall was boxing equipment: punching bags, linen straps, and even something that looked like leather gloves.

In the middle of the room, one of these bags hung from the ceiling. It quivered as something struck it repeatedly.

Grace swallowed around the panic in her throat, urging herself that there was nothing to be scared of here, for it had to be Philip.

She walked into the room, dragging the sodden hem of her gown with her. She streaked the gleaming floor with dirty spots, marring the clean perfection.

---