Page 99 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Victor envisioned Emma as he had last seen her—her face pale with distress, her eyes wide with the shock of recognition as she witnessed the violence he had barely contained.

Then, unbidden, came the image of Tristan standing protectively before his mother, small and fierce in his determination to shield her from harm.

The thought of either of them at Sidney Bickford’s mercy was intolerable.

“Argus,” Victor said abruptly, turning toward the hound, who had remained uncharacteristically subdued throughout the confrontation.

At the sound of his name, the dog’s head lifted, his ears pricked up in sudden alertness.

“We are going back.”

Relief flashed across Nathaniel’s features, quickly masked by his customary sardonic expression.

“A wise decision, Your Grace. Though perhaps a razor might be employed before you depart? Your current appearance suggests less ‘avenging hero’ and more ‘recently escaped convict.’”

Despite everything, Victor felt the corner of his mouth twitch in reluctant amusement. “Your concern for my appearance is noted.”

The momentary levity faded as he contemplated the task ahead of him—not merely confronting Sidney Bickford but facing Emma herself.

Apologizing. Explaining. Risking rejection—or worse, indifference.

Whatever awaited him back in the countryside—whether reconciliation or final separation—he would face it directly with the courage he had once brought to bear against more tangible enemies.

“We depart within the hour.”

CHAPTER30

“You look absolutely lovely this evening, Mama,” Tristan declared with a solemn formality that just made him even more adorable.

Emma descended the staircase, the blue silk gown Sidney had specified flowing around her like water.

“Though I still think we don’t need to attend Uncle Sidney’s tiresome ball,” the boy added.

Emma managed a smile, despite the leaden dread that had settled in her stomach since the morning. “Such gallantry, my darling. I believe His Grace’s lessons in gentlemanly conduct have taken root most admirably,” she said, even though her heart hurt at the mere thought of the Duke.

At the mention of the Duke, however, Tristan’s expression brightened momentarily before clouding over. “Do you suppose he might return soon? Mr. Jenkins says His Grace’s business in London must be terribly important to keep him away for so long.”

The innocent question pierced Emma’s heart with unexpected sharpness, and she found herself sucking in a sharp breath in response, as if to soften the blow.

“I cannot say, dearest. The Duke’s affairs are his own concern,” she said, even though the words formed a ball in her throat.

“But he promised to teach me fly-fishing,” Tristan persisted, his disappointment palpable. “And he never got to see how well I can ride a horse now. And I haven’t seen Argus in ages!”

Emma knelt carefully, mindful of her gown, and took her son’s hands in her own. “Tristan, you must understand that sometimes adults have… obligations that take them away from those they—” She broke off, unable to complete the platitude. “From those they have come to know.”

“The Duke wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye,” Tristan said, his words catching her off guard.

Indeed, the simple faith in the boy’s voice nearly undid her, but she held onto her composure with all her might. It would not do to burst into uncontrollable tears in front of her eight-year-old son.

“We must not presume to understand His Grace’s reasoning,” she said gently, rising to her feet. “Now, have you thanked Martha for agreeing to accompany us this evening? It is most generous of her to forsake her evening off.”

Tristan nodded, though his expression suggested he was unconvinced by her evasion. “Yes, Mama. And I have promised to be on my very best behavior. But I still think Uncle Sidney is a?—”

“A gentleman who has extended us a courtesy,” Emma interjected hastily as Martha entered the foyer. “And we shall repay that courtesy with impeccable manners. Is that not so, Tristan?”

The boy’s reluctant nod coincided with the arrival of Emma’s carriage.

Emma drew a steadying breath, lifting her chin with the practiced dignity that had carried her through countless ordeals during her marriage.

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