Page 58 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“This isn’t hard, Gabriel. All you have to do is answer one, simple question.” Christian’s tone was sharp, no longer tinged with empathy or his usual fair nature. “What is Thalia Sutton to you? Is she just another fun hunt? Is she a means to the end of an obnoxious little marquess?”

“That’s the problem!” Gabriel snarled, nearly knocking his chair over as he shot to his feet. “I don’t know what she is to me, anymore. I have no clear definition, because circumstances have changed outside of my control and there’s absolutely nothing I can do or say otherwise!”

Christian’s eyes widened slightly, and Gabriel could feel shame twist his already-sickening stomach. He bit the inside of his cheek, furious at himself for such an emotional outburst. At Giles Tilbury, for causing this entire mess to begin with. At Thalia Sutton, for making him feel so… so…

“Vulnerable,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. He shifted in his chair, feeling a warm jolt from the scotch working its way through his system. But, that was only an excuse, he realized; something to hide behind to avoid confrontation altogether.

He stood abruptly, reaching for his night coat slung over the back of his chair. “I’m headed back to Stonewell. You’ll keep things here in order, I presume?”

“I always do,” Christian assured, rising to bid his friend a good night. He gave Gabriel a firm grasp on his shoulder, sincerity still present in his once-more playful tone. “Get it done, Gabriel. Don’t let yourself—or Miss Sutton—go to bed upset.”

CHAPTER26

Thalia paced between her bed and her small pile of suitcases, some partially filled with her possessions while others remained untouched. It felt like mere moments ago, a fire burned in her chest to be rid of this place, and she nurtured that flame through the act of packing her things.

Half-folded gowns had been tossed without care, followed soon after by books gently placed within. Thalia’s hand hovered over a small bouquet of wildflowers—a gift from Charlotte, picked earlier that day—and she felt her eyes fill with tears once more.

“What am I doing?” she asked, returning to her bed’s side before dropping across it. Her burning desire had since diminished into a small smolder, a gentle glow of coals that needed effort to maintain.

But Thalia had no desire to put in said effort, and instead curled up against the plush of her bed, staring above at the silken curtains and wood-carved canopy. “Why did I say all those terrible things?”

She knew in her heart that Gabriel had been wounded by her words. And some small, disgusting part of her enjoyed that idea quite thoroughly. A modicum of control in her life, at the expense of a man’s peace.

“A man who has been nothing but kind to you,” Thalia chided herself. “Who you slandered in front of the entirety of his staff. And in his own home—oh, Thalia Sutton, you’ve really done it this time.”

She groaned, arm stretching across the mattress as she snatched her pillow and buried her face deeply. Maybe she packed in fear that Gabriel would send her away tonight. Maybe she hoped he retaliated in such a manner, to prove her cutting words held weight.

“Maybe I deserve to be abandoned,” she muttered into the silken pillowcase. “He would be entirely in his right to throw me out.” Thalia fully deserved such a punishment, after the way she acted. She had known from the start their courtship was fake; it was her fault for indulging in the fantasy so carelessly.

Someone knocked gently against her door, and she barely had the strength to lift her head. Slowly, Thalia sat upright and ensured she was decent before calling out an invitation.

“Come in.” She half-expected it to be Charlotte, coming to commiserate with her over their shared revelations. It was well past dinner, of course; perhaps the staff wanted to ensure she wouldn’t wither away. Perhaps Gabriel sent something up out of concern.

“May I, really?”

Thalia’s face flushed with heat, immediately standing upright at the familiar tone. She rushed to cross her room, grasping the door before pulling it open. Sure enough, the spoken-of devil himself stood stiffly in the hall, wearing a night jacket that lingered with the scent of smoke and alcohol.

“Gabri–” Thalia paused, bowing her head slightly. “Y-Your Grace.”

“Gabriel,” he insisted. “I…ask that our familiarity doesn’t deteriorate any further tonight.”

Thalia nodded, stepping aside before bidding him to enter.

“Is that what you truly wish for?”

Her breath hitched, a moment of hesitancy paralyzing her completely. After a beat, Thalia nodded once more, and as Gabriel passed her by, a rush of air escaped her lungs. Gently, she closed the door behind her, standing awkwardly in place as she watched him inspect her space. His gaze clearly lingered on her suitcases, and she cleared her throat to explain herself.

“I wish to apologize,” Gabriel began softly.

Thalia’s mouth hung open, and she closed it quietly.

“You… clearly have not felt as safe as I would have liked, here in my home.” His back remained turned, and he stepped towards her things, picking one of the books out from within the luggage and seemingly inspecting the detailing of the cover. “However it happened—whenever it occurred—I bear responsibility as Duke of Stonewell.”

Thalia blinked, taken aback by the lack of edge in his tone. No. It was far more than that. She’d never heard him sound… remorseful, before. Warm, even.

“I have always felt safe here,” she insisted.

Gabriel shook his head, turning to face her with the book still clutched in his grasp. “That outburst earlier says otherwise.”

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