Page 79 of Duke of Fyre

"I was wrong," he said, his voice low but steady. "I was a fool to let you go, to make you think… to make you believe that you weren't wanted, that you weren't needed. You deserve better, Lydia. You deserve so much more."

She watched him, her expression unreadable, though he could see the faint tremor in her lips, the slight quiver that betrayed the depth of her own emotions.

"You hurt me," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "You made me feel as though I was… nothing more than a duty to you."

He closed his eyes, her words cutting through him like a blade. "I know," he murmured. "And I am so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, but… I want you to know that I am here. And I am not going anywhere."

Her gaze softened, and she reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek. "You stubborn fool," she whispered, her voice tinged witha fondness he hadn't expected. "You nearly drove me away for good."

He felt his hands tremble slightly as he held hers, his chest tight with the fear that refused to leave. "I cannot lose you, Lydia," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I would do…"

She silenced him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, pulling him down to lie beside her, her arms wrapping around him in a gesture of comfort. "I'm here," she murmured, her lips brushing against his temple. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

And for the first time, Elias allowed himself to believe her.

CHAPTER 32

It was some hours later that Lydia watched Elias as he lingered near the door, his silhouette tense against the golden hues of the dying day. She had sensed his turmoil all afternoon—his avoidance, the way his gaze slid from hers as though the mere act of meeting her eyes would summon the secrets he clearly didn't want to share. Now, as he crossed the threshold back into the chamber where she lay, his movements seemed heavy, as though he carried the weight of an entire history on his shoulders.

He stopped just short of the armchair opposite her bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. Lydia set down the book she'd been pretending to read, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Elias," she said, her voice even but not unkind. "What's troubling you?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with the kind of vulnerability she had rarely heard from him.

"There's something I've kept from you," he said. "About Barbara. About why…I am as I am. "

Barbara. The name lingered in the space between them, sharp and unyielding. Lydia felt her heart quicken, though she kept her face composed. She could still vividly remember his reaction at the portrait, and his first wife was ever-present in Peter… But hearing him say her name aloud, in this tone, was something else entirely.

"I'm listening," she said softly, her hands tightening slightly in her lap.

Elias let out a long, shuddering breath, his gaze still fixed downward. "It's not easy to talk about. I've carried it for so long, and I've always thought that if I just…if I buried it deep enough, it wouldn't matter. But it does."

Lydia said nothing, waiting. She had learned that silence was often the most effective way to coax Elias from his walls.

He finally looked at her, his eyes dark and haunted. "Barbara and I…we were never truly married, not in the sense that matters. My father arranged it. He wanted an alliance with her family, and I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I went along with it. At the time, I thought it was my duty. That's what I was raised to believe."

Lydia nodded slightly, encouraging him to go on.

"But Barbara…she loved someone else," Elias said, his voice thick with something between anger and regret. "I didn't know it at first. She was always so…distant. We barely spoke after the wedding. I thought giving her space was the right thing to do. That it would make things easier for her, for both of us."

The lines between his brows deepened, and he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Then Peter was born," he continued, his tone heavy with the weight of the name. "And everything changed. She went through a terrible labor—something I still blame myself for. Not even a week after, I found a note. She wrote that she hated me. That all of this—the marriage, Peter—was my fault. She said she'd done her duty, and now she was leaving."

Lydia's breath caught. She could feel the ache in Elias's words, the way they scraped against old wounds he'd never allowed to heal.

"I let her go," he said after a long pause, his voice a threadbare whisper. "I thought it was what she wanted. What would make her happy. I didn't go after her. I didn't stop her."

He straightened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. "But she didn't make it far. They found her on the side of the road a few days later. Dead."

Lydia pressed a hand to her chest, her heart twisting at the pain etched into every word. "Oh, Elias…"

His eyes met hers, filled with a storm of guilt and grief. "It was my fault," he said, the words a quiet admission. "I should have stopped her. Should have done something. But I didn't. And Peter—he lost his mother because of me."

The room fell into a thick silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Lydia felt her own emotions rising—a thick sorrow for Elias and the unbearable weight of his suffering.

"I couldn't stand the thought of it happening again," he said, his voice shaking now. "What if you hated me after? What if I—" He broke off, closing his eyes tightly. "What if I lost you too?"

Lydia crossed the room without thinking, kneeling before him and placing her hands over his. "Elias," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "Listen to me. What happened to Barbara…it wasn't your fault."

His eyes opened, and she saw the doubt etched deep within them.

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