Page 81 of Duke of Pride

There was only Victoria, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her lips slightly parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. He, too, had so much to say, yet he only stared at her.

She gently pulled her hand away from his, curtsied, and turned her back. Not one single word was uttered between them, neither trusting themselves once the floodgates lifted.

Stephen offered a bitter smile to her retreating figure, nodded once, and went in search of a drink.

“Stephen, we should leave,” Frederick said, stepping closer. “You’re not doing her, or yourself, any favors.”

“Nonsense,” Stephen said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. “I am going for a cigar.”

“Right. Because what you clearly need is more brandy and poor judgment.”

“I am fine. Just… fine.”

A lie. A blatant lie. But if he were to repeat it again and again, it might become reality.

CHAPTER22

Cigars

Victoria wanted the world to swallow her whole. She wished for the fine wooden floor to crack and for her to fall into the abyss before it closed back over her.

She didn’t remember walking away. Didn’t remember weaving through the crowd, past the murmurs of guests, past the blur of candlelight and silk. All she knew was that she had to get out before she shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

She found her reprieve in a small corner, hidden behind tall columns and thick drapes. He was not coming after her, she knew as much. Still, her lungs burned as if she’d been drowning.

Breathe. Just breathe. It was just a dance.

But her body refused to obey. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her corset suddenly too tight, her skin too hot beneath the layers of silk. And her mind refused to consider this as ‘just a dance.’

Damn him.

He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have come and been so… him. Damn his hands, warm and sure on her waist. Damn his voice, rough with unspoken words. Damn the way he’d looked at her.

Damn how broken he looked, especially that night outside the opera house. Barely able to stand, eyes hollow, face drawn and pale. He’d looked like a man unraveling, holding himself together by sheer will and nothing else.

Damn how it made her feel. Seeing him like that, raw and disheveled, had undone something inside her. She had to face the unbearable truth that no matter how far she tried to run, she was still tethered to him by something deeper than pride or reason.

“Victoria, a word?” Maxwell approached her.

Victoria forced her breathing to slow, her fingers tightening around the folds of her skirt. “Is something wrong?”

“If having the best brother in the world is wrong.” Maxwell smirked and waved a letter. “This just came in. You have been accepted to theElise Bürger Pensionat,the top boarding house in Prussia. Close to the lecture halls, respectable, and you will get to meet other like-minded women from all over Europe. Couldn’t wait to tell you.”

Exactly how I wanted.

The news should have filled her with elation. Instead, her lungs tightened, the air turning as thick as tar in her throat. The walls of the ballroom seemed to be shrinking, trapping her.

“That is,” she managed, her voice hollow, “wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Maxwell handed her the paper, winked at her, and left to attend to his guests.

Victoria took the simple piece of paper and shoved it into the small reticule hanging from her wrist. She needed air, needed to be away. She hiked up her skirts and ran to the most secluded balcony, the one in Maxwell’s study.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the night air rushed to meet her. She inhaled deeply, willing her frantic pulse to settle. Just a moment to gather her thoughts, to tame the emotions clawing their way to the surface, because right now she was?—

“Hello, Victoria,”

That voice. Deep as midnight, smooth as brandy, and laced with something dangerously close to tenderness.

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