Page 64 of The Wrong Duke

It was a good question. Why did they bother? What was the point? If the end result was this pitiful experience, two men drinking themselves into a stupor because their hearts were broken, and there was nothing either of the could do about it. If Evan could go back in time, he would have simply avoided Miss Baker altogether, saving himself the pain and misery that consumed him.

Although... would he? Despite what had happened, despite how much better off he would be, Evan couldn’t help but think of that smile that David had just shared with him, the one that came automatically to his face as soon as Miss Forbes’ name was mentioned. It was happiness, plain and simple. A sense of wonderment that could only be found when you opened your heart and gave it to another. And when they gave theirs back. Yes, love spurned was a horrid thing. But love returned was a sensation unlike any that Evan had even known, one that even now he knew he would cherish for the rest of his life. And what was more, one he wanted to feel again.

Why did they bother? They bothered because the end result was worth it. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it hurt. And yes, it didn’t always turn out the way they wished. But somehow, that didn’t feel as important as it should.

Evan looked over at his friend. Studied him. Remembered that time six months ago when he had made a promise that never again would David fall for a woman only to have his heart broken. It was a promise that he had made in earnest, and one he intended to keep. Come hell or high water, he would.

And in that, a plan suddenly came to mind.

“David.” Evan sat up. “Tell me true, if there was a way out of it, would you cancel your marriage to Miss Baker?”

“Technically, it isn’t even official. I’m to visit Lord Lindstone in the coming days and —”

“But would you?” He leaned over his armchair and fixed David with a determined stare.

“Of course, I would,” David sighed. “But it’s no good. I told you, I don’t have a choice.”

“What if you did?” Evan said.

David blinked, turning and looking at Evan for the first time. He took note of the way Evan was sitting, the excitement in him, the sense of hope that wasn’t there even a few seconds ago. “Why?” he asked slowly. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. Yet. But I have a favor to ask, although before I do, I need you to trust me. Do that and I think I might have a way out of this.”

Trust him. It didn’t escape Evan’s notice that he had asked Miss Baker the exact same thing just this morning, and she had agreed wholeheartedly. Now, if Evan’s plan worked, he would pay that trust back. To prove to Miss Baker that he was worth it, that this wasn’t the end for her, and that maybe, just maybe, they might have a chance to spend the rest of their lives together.

It was a long shot but considering the alternative, Evan knew he had no choice. The things one did for love.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

The sound of her door unlocking had little effect on Amelia. She’d heard the sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall. She’d heard them stop once they reached her door. And she’d heard the sound of keys clinking together as whoever was on the other side fiddled about with the key chain before slipping one inside the lock and turning it.

She was at her desk when the door opened, and as had been the case for the last three days, she didn’t bother so much as a glance over her shoulder. Lost in what she was writing, not wanting to lose her thoughts, she opted to ignore who she assumed to be a maid dropping food for the second time today. That was how it had been these last three days, so there was no reason today should be any different. Locked away in her room, she was only allowed to leave so she might bathe and use the washroom, and even that was a heavily guarded process by which she was kept an eye on by her father. So she couldn’t run or pass a letter to a servant or do anything else that might see her escape.

Was she a prisoner? It was how she felt. Trapped in her room the way she was, unable to leave or speak to anyone — even her sister — Amelia was a prisoner in her own home, forced to wait under lock and key until Lord Malnor collected her. As to when that might be? Her father hadn’t been forthcoming.

To pass the time, Amelia concentrated on her writing. She kept a diary, spending hours each day filling it with thoughts and feelings that she wanted to voice to the world but knew now there to be no point. Her father’s wicked plans. How she had felt about them, the way he had forced her to do his bidding. The tricks he had played, the evil he had wrought, and what he might do if she didn’t play along.

When she wasn’t writing about her father, it was the Duke who she focused on.

The truth was most of her writings pertained to him. Sometimes, she would write regretfully, lamenting the fact that they would not end up together. Sometimes, she would write hopefully, dreaming of what might have happened if things had proceeded differently. And often, she would write from the heart, detailing their short time together, how they met, how they fought, how brightly they burned because of it. And, of course, long and detailed passages about their most intimate moments.

She was writing one of those right now, desperate to catch the flame of the memory before it burned out. Their last night together when the Duke had turned her into a woman. She had transformed between his thighs, finding a piece of herself that she didn’t even know to exist, one she refused to forget because to do that would mean that her life was over, and her father would have truly won —

“You know, it’s polite to stand when your betters enter the room.”

Amelia’s skin crawled when she heard her father’s voice. She very nearly wretched, such was the revulsion she felt toward her father. But there was a spike of fear there also because if he was here then it meant that Lord Malnor had finally come to collect her, and any dreams she had harbored that things might change were just that, dreams.

She stayed seated, too scared to turn back and confirm the truth.

“Amelia,” her father barked. “Don’t ignore me when I speak to you.”

A deep breath, she prepared herself and spun about. Her father stood in the doorway, looking as disgruntled as she expected. Thankfully, he was alone, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello, Father.”

His lip curled. “What are you doing?”

“Writing in my diary.” She shot out her hand and covered the diary, suddenly terrified that he might read it. “Nothing exciting,” she then added.

“Well, I suspect you’ll have something new to write about after tonight.”

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