Page 88 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Emma,” he acknowledged stiffly. “I am sorry for the scene. It was not my intent to cause further embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment?” She nearly spat the word. “You believe that is my primary concern? That you have embarrassed me?”

Victor’s jaw tightened. “Frampton’s insinuations were unconscionable. He deserved?—”

“What?” she demanded. “To be struck in front of half the county? Is that your natural response to provocation?”

The words stung with precision.

“He insulted you,” Victor said, his voice flat.

“Then allow me to repeat myself,” she snapped. “Are you planning to strike every member of the ton who insults me? You’ll wear yourself out before breakfast, I assure you!”

Her voice rose, sharp with fury, before she forced it down, glancing around quickly to ensure they were alone. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, more controlled, but no less intense.

“I have spent years trying to teach my son that strength does not lie in one’s fists. That real men use words, not violence. And then you—” Her breath caught. “Then you, whom he admires above all, prove otherwise.”

Victor flinched, shame coiling in his gut. “I would never hurt the boy.”

“I know that.” Her voice broke. “God help me, I know that. But don’t you see? That isn’t the point.”

She stepped back slightly, as though needing physical distance to manage the weight of her words.

“You don’t know what it is like to watch a man lose his temper and have no idea where that fury might land. You don’t know what it is like to flinch at raised voices, at slammed doors. To shield a child with your own body because you’ve learned the hard way that no one else will.”

Victor said nothing. He stood still, barely breathing.

“I saw your fist, Victor,” she said quietly. “And for a moment—just a moment—I was back in a room I never wish to enter again.”

A heavy silence settled between them.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said finally.

“But you did.” Her expression softened, grief crowding the edges of her anger. “And worse, you confirmed everything they say about you. That you’re dangerous. Uncontrolled. A man shaped by violence.”

Victor felt the fight drain from him, leaving only a hollow exhaustion in its wake. “Then perhaps we are both too damaged for this… whatever this might be.”

Emma studied him for a long moment, her expression morphing into something that looked very much like anguish. “Do you truly believe that? That we are beyond fixing?”

He turned away from her, unable to hold her gaze. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that I cannot be what you and Tristan need. I have proven myself incapable of such constancy. Not when I lose control like that. Not when I make you remember things younevershould’ve had to endure.”

“You don’t know what I remember,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I don’t need to.” His voice was rough. “I saw your face. I saw your fear.”

Emma took a shaky breath. “You were kind to Tristan. Gentle. He watches the door, hoping you’ll walk through it. And now you’re leaving?”

Victor’s expression shuttered. “Emma… I… I can’t bear to become a reminder of something you’ve spent your life trying to forget.”

“And if I say you won’t?” she asked desperately. “If I say that what I saw today frightened me, but not because I believe you capable of hurting us. Because I’ve lived with the consequences of fury unleashed. I’ve seen what it does. What it costs. I merely wished to pull you away from it. Together, we can work through it.”

Victor looked at her then, truly looked at her. He felt a hollowness spreading beneath his breastbone. He felt like he was standing on a precipice. To continue would be to court disaster—to invite the possibility of failure, of loss, of fresh grief.

Emma and Tristan had already weathered one man’s abandonment and neglect. Better to return to solitude than to gamble their happiness on his flawed stewardship.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But I cannot risk becoming what he was.”

Emma regarded him steadily, her initial anger having faded into a sorrowful resignation. “That is not your decision to make alone. Risk is inherent in living, Victor. In loving.”

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