Page 98 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Alarm flashed across Annabelle’s expressive features. “Emma, whatever you’re contemplating?—”

“I merely contemplate protecting what is mine,” Emma interrupted, a steely resolve entering her voice. “As I have always done.”

“At least allow us to help,” Joanna pleaded. “There is strength in numbers, and Sidney would not dare move against all of us together.”

Emma regarded her friend and her aunt with a surge of gratitude so powerful it momentarily eclipsed her fear. “I appreciate your support more than I can express,” she said softly. “But I cannot risk involving either of you further. Sidney is vindictive, and he has connections that could ruin you both. This is my battle to fight.”

“Emma—” Annabelle began, but was silenced by a gentle shake of Emma’s head.

“Please,” she said. “Respect my decision in this as you have respected my choices in all things.”

The request hung in the air between them, weighted with the history of their shared confidences and mutual support.

After a long moment, Joanna nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” she conceded. “But know that should circumstances change, should you require our assistance in any capacity, you need only ask.”

Annabelle’s agreement came more grudgingly but with no less sincerity. “We shall honor your wishes,” she said finally. “Though I reserve the right to express my profound disagreement with your decision to face this alone.”

Emma managed a genuine smile for the first time that day. “I would expect nothing less from either of you.”

CHAPTER29

“For God’s sake, Victor, you cannot continue this farce indefinitely!”

Nathaniel’s voice reverberated through the study with uncharacteristic force, devoid of its usual good humor.

Victor looked up from the correspondence he had been studiously ignoring, surprised to find his friend’s customary mask of affable detachment replaced by genuine anger.

“I wasn’t aware that my personal affairs warranted such vehemence,” he replied coolly, setting aside his untouched letter with deliberate precision. “Particularly from one so typically indifferent to matters beyond his immediate pleasure.”

“And I wasn’t aware,” Nathaniel countered, “that the Duke of Westmere had perfected the art of martyrdom to such a remarkable degree. My congratulations on achieving new heights of self-inflicted misery.”

The barb struck with unexpected precision, and Victor felt his jaw tighten involuntarily. Two days had passed since their previous conversation, during which he had steadfastly avoided thoughts of the countryside, of Emma, of Tristan—with predictably limited success.

“If you have come merely to insult me, you might have saved yourself the journey. I have a staff perfectly capable of providing that service.”

“I have come,” Nathaniel said, advancing into the room with unusual gravity, “because circumstances have changed. And because despite your best efforts to convince the world—and yourself—that you are devoid of human feeling, I know better.”

Something in his tone caused Victor to set aside his reflexive irritation. “What circumstances?”

The Marquess hesitated, an uncharacteristic uncertainty passing across his features before he answered. “Sidney Bickford has established himself in the countryside. He has leased a property not two miles away from Cuthbert Hall.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the summer rain settled in Victor’s chest. “The man is entitled to reside where he pleases,” he said, even as dread stirred in his guts at the implication of his friend’s words.

“He has been seen calling on Lady Cuthbert with increasing frequency. He accompanies her to social gatherings, positions himself as young Tristan’s primary male influence, and has made no secret of his… personal interest in Lady Cuthbert.”

Victor rose abruptly, crossing to the window that had become his refuge during these gray London days.

The rain had finally ceased, leaving the city streets washed clean, the cobblestones gleaming in the weak afternoon light.

“How did you come by this information?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the surge of protective fury that threatened to overwhelm his hard-won composure.

“Miss Joanna has been corresponding with me,” Nathaniel admitted. Victor noted the slight softening of his friend’s expression at the mention of Emma’s aunt. “She is concerned for her niece’s welfare, as am I. As you should be, if you can set aside your stubbornness long enough to acknowledge what is plainly before you.”

“And what, precisely, is that?”

“That you love them!” Nathaniel’s voice rose to match Victor’s, his customary deference abandoned in the face of greater urgency. “I have watched you bury yourself in grief for a decade. I have stood by while you rejected every opportunity for human connection. I have respected your choices, however misguided, because I believed you had the right to determine your own path.”

He advanced until he stood directly before Victor, his expression uncharacteristically fierce.

---