Page 80 of His Runaway Duchess

“It’s lawful for a man to send his wife away,” Emily interrupted. “Even a duchess.”

Daphne flushed. “He didn’t send me away. I left of my own accord. As I said, he wasn’t cruel to me, or even very unkind. He just… just wasn’t who I wanted him to be. And that’s not fair, is it? For me to want him to be somebody other than who he is?”

Octavia swallowed hard. Emily, she knew, would have nothing to offer here. How could she? Octavia was the mother, the one with life experience, the one who her girls thought had all the answers.

No answers were forthcoming.

Daphne’s face crumpled, and tears leaked out, and Octavia’s heart felt as though it were breaking.

“I’m so sorry, my poor girl,” Octavia murmured, putting an arm around Daphne’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Men can bedisappointing, it’s true. But you are safe here, you know that. You always will be.”

“It’s so unfair, Mama,” Daphne wailed. “I know I sound like a child, but I can’t help it. I liked him, Mama. I think I could have loved him.”

There was nothing to say to that.

Octavia held her daughter tightly and let her cry.

CHAPTER 22

Edward lay on his back on the floor of his study, staring up at the ceiling. There was a cobweb up there. He could see it drifting back and forward in an unseen, unfelt breeze.

It wasn’t the maids’ fault, of course. Such a thing was easy to miss, and who was to even say whether their dusters could reach it?

It was strange how one never noticed things like this. Unless, of course, one looked up.

I don’t spend a lot of time looking up, it seems.

Early morning sunlight streamed in through the window, a square of yellow light warming his lower half. As the morning progressed, the light would creep upwards and upwards until it shone full on his face, blinding him.

He still had the letter, crumpled in his fist, which rested on his sternum. So far, no ideas had been presented themselves. His wife had gone, left him. The driver had returned, confirming that he had dropped the Duchess off at her mother’s house.

“She was in a state, Your Grace,” he added, casting a nervous glance at his master. “I hope she is well.”

Edward hadn’t answered. It wasn’t as if he knew himself, was it?

Part of him had expected something else. A note, perhaps. Something to let him know she was home.

And then what? Something to tell him that she would not be coming back? An accusation? An expression of defiance? An apology? An offer to make amends?

Oh, he didn’t know what he expected. Not this echoing, resounding silence.

But then what more do I deserve? This is all my fault.

He closed his eyes, tightening his fist around the letter.

I kissed her. I touched her and acted as though she meant something to me.

He closed his eyes, imagining her. The vision came almost immediately, of the two of them in this very room, Daphne’shand on his chest, the warmth of her fingers driving him wild. He could feel the arousal thudding inside him as if he were there, as ifshewere there. He’d seen the heat and longing in her eyes too as she stretched up to kiss him.

He could have kissed her. It would have been the easiest thing in the world. He could have kissed her, pressed his lips to the pulsing vein in her neck, unlaced her gown and pushed it down her shoulders to expose the creamy swell of her breasts, and kissed herthere, too. He could have done all of that.

But what had he done instead? He had turned his back. He had told her to stop. He told himself that she meant nothing to him, but the words had begun to ring hollow, like an overplayed tune full of wrong notes.

Because, you fool, she doesmean something to you.

He wasn’t ready to consider this. Why couldn’t they have an easy, simple marriage, like the one he and Jane had? There’d been no talk of lovethere, no twilight kissing in a pond, none of the feelings that plagued him since wretched Daphne Belmont had crossed his threshold. Jane was more than happy for them to live separate lives, once they had an heir.

But Daphne isn’t Jane. They’re entirely different people.

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