Page 81 of The Dark Duke's Virgin

The foyer seemed to turn around Frederick as he released William and stumbled backwards. He reached desperately for something to hold on to, eventually grabbing Mr. Bonnet by the shoulders which kept him standing, even if the walls and ceiling continued to spin.

Someone had attacked the carriage that was transporting Miss Dowding. Someone had taken it—taken her! Because of Frederick, his actions, his haste to judge and condemn, now she was in very real danger. Even worse, Frederick sensed that this was only the beginning…

CHAPTER THIRTY

Caroline heard the lock to the door clicking open, and she gasped and scrambled from her bed, backing away until she was pressed against the opposite wall. It was nowhere near far enough for her liking, not safe in any real way, but it was the best that she could do.

Her body trembled with fear as the door swung open, and she recoiled at the sight of her father stepping through the door, making sure to close the door behind him. But he did not lock it, and she took note.

“Hello, dear,” he purred when he saw her cowering. “How did you sleep?”

He looked just as she remembered him, strange as mostly she saw him in her nightmares; in these nightmares, he had always seemed monstrous and disfigured, a creature of terror who could not possibly exist in the real world. Now, she understood that there was no need for exaggeration or distortion, for the reality was just as haunting.

Not a tall man. Not a particularly large man either. He stood perhaps an inch or so taller than Caroline and was skinny, even lanky, with a hunched back and rounded shoulders. His face was angular and gaunt, his hairline receded and worn long; thin and wispy, his hair fell loosely by his shoulders. A crooked nose. Beady eyes. A smile filled with yellow teeth, some missing, and thin lips that curved into a sharp smile that had her blood curdling.

“Stay away from me!” she cried, back pressed into the wall.

“That’s no way to greet your father,” he said as if hurt, walking toward where she pressed herself into the wall. There was a wildness in his eyes as he took her in. “I would have thought that after all this time you might be glad to see me.”

“I said stay away!”

“I missed you, you know.” He came within a few feet of her and stopped. Slowly, he then reached out with his bony hand, stroking her face as if taking her in and admiring her beauty. “Two years, and you have not aged a day.”

“I wish I could say the same for you!” She could smell the alcohol on him, as if he had bathed in it. No doubt his less than healthy appearance was a result of two years spent getting drunk day in and day out.

He chuckled. “Ah, there’s that cheek I remember so well. I see not much has changed.”

Caroline tried to be brave. She tried to stare the man down as if in warning. She tried to stand up, to stand over him, to show him that she was not the little girl who she used to be. But seeing him again after all this time, she returned to whom she used to be whenever her father was near: frightened, terrified, praying silently that she did not do anything to upset him.

Perhaps that was why she had struggled so little last night when he had brought her here? It was just a small inn located in a little village north of London, but even with the diminished population, she might have cried out for help when he had led her inside. But fear had trapped her, allowing her father to lead her placidly into the room like a silent prisoner.

“They will find me,” she said with little real force. “His Grace will?—”

“Likely be glad to be rid of you,” he chuckled. “Oh, I know all abouthim. Do not think I do not. What was it you were doing out alone last night, the way you were? Running, by the looks of things. And you expect me to believe His Grace will come for you.”

She went to argue but caught her tongue as that most unsettling of realities hit her. “He… he will…” she said with no conviction. How could she have any? After what had happened, she knew that His Grace rescuing her was not an option. That was one bridge she had burned beyond reparation.

“You wound me, daughter. For two years I have looked for you, praying that we might be reunited. And this is the reaction Ireceive? Visceral hate by the looks of things.” He clicked his tongue. “Not very daughterly of you.”

Putting aside his looks, the way he spoke to her, the coyness in his voice, was just how she remembered him. He liked to play with her. To pretend at being caring and loving. The perfect father… until he wasn’t.

“I am almost inclined to be upset that you ran away,” he continued, still stroking her face as he looked at her. “But that is behind us now, and I hope that we can leave it in the past where it belongs.”

“You… you killed my mother,” Caroline stammered in disgust. “How can you think that I… that I can forget?”

“Caroline,” he sighed and dropped his hand, “that was an accident. Surely, you know that.”

“You pushed her.”

“She tripped and fell.”

“You laughed when you saw what had happened.”

“You are remembering it incorrectly,” he said with a sincerity that made her shiver. “I wept that night, dear. And I wept when I learned that you had left. For a time there, I was angry, but now, well…” He smiled a sickly smile. “As said, I hope that we can putit behind us. This here should be a celebration, finally together again after all this time.”

“You killed her…” she said in a whisper, voice trembling.

“I loved your mother,” he said. “And she loved me.”

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