Page 97 of His Unwanted Duchess

A couple of convincing lies danced on his tongue, begging to be spoken.

Stephen cleared his throat, smoothing out his waistcoat. “You know that my father was a cruel man, an unpleasant one,” he said. “I swore to myself and my mother that his line would end with me. I have never felt inclined to have children, so the decision was an easy one.”

Until I saw how much joy Theodore and Anna found in parenthood. Until I held Kitty in my arms for the first time and her baby brother. Until I met you, Beatrice.

The last part remained unspoken.

Beatrice stared up at him, her brow furrowed. “And… and that’s it? That’s your only reason?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Is that not a good enough reason?”

“Denying yourself something you want to spite a dead man? No, it is not a good enough reason. It is the stupidest reason I have ever heard.”

Stephen recoiled, his anger simmering just under his skin. “How dare you. Howdareyou? You don’t understand a thing, do you? I thought you did not want children, either.”

She fidgeted, glancing away. “Things change. I’m still afraid of childbirth, of course, but when I saw Anna’s baby, I thought… I thought perhaps it might be worth the risk. Jane always thought it was worth the risk, you know. She wanted a baby so badly.”

There was a brief pause after that. The moment stretched on until Stephen cleared his throat.

“My mind has not changed. I am sorry that yours has.”

Why are you lying to her?

It is safer. It’s always safer.

She stared at him for a long moment, trying in vain to read something on his face.

“You truly do have a black heart,” she said, half to herself. “It is my fault. Everybody, yourself included, told me so. You haven’tlied to me, but I have lied to myself. I ordered Mouse to have your things packed because I thought it would be better if you left.”

Stephen felt a pang in his chest, something like grief. It would not go away, no matter how hard he pushed it down.

“Perhaps it would be best,” he heard himself say. “After all, our agreement?—”

“To hell with our agreement,” she snarled, suddenly venomous. “I do not want to see you again until you burn that agreement, along with all thoserules.”

Stephen swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “Very well. Goodbye, wife.”

“Goodbye.”

He turned on his heel and walked out of the conservatory, and did not look back.

Out in the hall, Mouse stepped in front of Stephen. If he noticed Stephen’s red-rimmed eyes and pale face, he did not mention it.

“News from our eyes and ears, Your Grace,” he muttered. “We have located the Marquess. I have the address here.”

Stephen clenched his jaw until he swore his teeth might crack.

“Very good. Give it here. I think I shall pay the man a visit.”

The rain had started in the middle of the afternoon, growing heavier as the day went on. By the time the moon rose, the streets were slick and shimmering with water, puddles spreading over the roads, the rain coming down like a gray veil. There was a haze wherever one looked, the sky above black with clouds. Not a star could be seen.

Stephen’s least impressive carriage rumbled down the cobbled streets, the coachman steering them around the worst of the puddles. There was no crest on this carriage, and there were enough chips and scratches in the lacquer and enough mud on the sides to make it seem as if its occupants were not very grand at all.

He kept his mind focused on the task ahead, resolutely not thinking about Beatrice, about the look on her face when he had turned away.

It is for the best. She will see it soon. Won’t she?

The streets were growing narrower, with rubbish heaps on each corner. Despite the late hour, a few big-eyed children scuttled through the filth, barefoot and dressed in rags. They watched the carriage roll back, their faces impassive.

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