Page 15 of A Dilemma for the Duke

He swallowed hard, the bitterness of the truth settling in his gut. If Hastings was aware that he was suspicious of him, the man wouldn’t hesitate to use Lora against him. If she remained unaware, she couldn’t be manipulated. If she believed in the ruse, Hastings would have no reason to suspect otherwise. But would she ever forgive him for it? Would he forgive himself?

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision pressing against his chest.

“I intend to draw Hastings out, Barrington,” Rockford said at last, his voice low but firm. “He already sees me as a rival, and I’ll use that to uncover his plans. If I court Lady Lora, I can stay close enough to protect her while forcing Hastings to reveal his hand.”

Barrington studied him, concern flickering across his features. “And when she learns the truth?”

Rockford hesitated. He had no answer for that.

“She may never forgive me,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter. “But if it keeps her safe, I’ll endure it.”

Barrington shook his head. “You can’t let Lady Lora or anyone else know about this plan. We have no idea who is betraying us.”

“I know.” Rockford paused, the gravity of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. More was at stake than the clinic’s expansion or stopping a mere highwayman. Someone had infiltrated the highest levels of government, and he and Barrington were the last line of defense. But Lady Lora… she was fiercely proud. In her eyes, he would become the betrayer, the one who shattered her trust.

Barrington’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Is there no other way? Think of what this will cost her. What will it cost you?”

Rockford clenched his fists. “Do you think I haven’t considered that? Hastings won’t hesitate to use her against me if he suspects the truth. If sacrificing her trust spares her from becoming a pawn in his schemes, then it’s a price I must pay.” He met Barrington’s gaze, desperation flashing before steely determination took over. “If our positions were reversed, you’d tell me we have no choice but to press on.”

Barrington raised his glass, the liquid catching the dim light. “To the journey ahead.”

“To the journey ahead,” Rockford echoed. The words struck like a blow, conjuring unbidden memories of Captain Edward Langley. Langley had spoken that very phrase the night before the ambush, the betrayal that left scars far deeper than the one hidden beneath Rockford’s sleeve.

His gaze drifted to Lady Lora, moving gracefully in Hastings’ arms. The sight twisted something inside him. The memory of Langley’s treachery merged with the looming reality of what he was about to do. Lady Lora glanced his way, her face lighting up with a radiant smile, the kind that had warmed him to hiscore. It was a silent beacon of her trust, a trust he was about to fracture.

Rockford held her gaze for a fleeting moment, the impact of his decision pressing harder than ever. “I’ll see you at your club tomorrow,” he murmured to Barrington, though his focus was no longer on the conversation. Each word felt like a stone sinking into his chest.

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the exit. Each step carried him further from her light, plunging him into the darkness of the night beyond. The lively melody of the ballroom faded into the rhythm of his pounding heart.

Stepping into the cool night air, Rockford inhaled deeply, the chill biting through his resolve. The path he had chosen would shield her, yes, but it would also fracture something irreparably. As the shadows of the estate loomed before him, the truth struck like a dagger: in saving her, he was losing himself.

Chapter Five

21 September 1822

Morning

The morning sunlightpeeked through the curtains in Rockford’s study, a single ray crept across the room and landed squarely on his face, rudely waking him from oblivion. He threw his arm over his eyes to block the sun. It was less painful than trying to move. His head already ached. The last thing he wanted was to face the day. What a tangled mess. He’d rather be back in London facing that turmoil.

There was no turning back now. He tried to swallow, but his throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert. He lay still for a moment as pieces of the previous night’s events came together.

The late evening passed in a whirl of blurred faces and distant laughter, the lively gala dissolving into the background. Later, in the quiet of his study, he sought comfort at the bottom of a crystal decanter. The fiery burn of the whiskey was a welcome penance, a searing reminder of the choice he made. One drink bled into the next, each sip further dulling the edge of his anguish yet deepening the hollow ache within him.

Images of Lady Lora drifted through his thoughts, her trusting smile, the way her eyes shone with unspoken feelings. The memory cut through the lingering haze, the weight of his decision pressing harder against him. He rubbed a weary hand over his face, regret settling heavily on his shoulders.

The silence of the room was suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of the dying fire. His fingers brushed against the glass on the desk, but as he lifted it, the dull clink against the wood told him what he already knew, it was empty. Just like last night’s choices.

With his eyes still closed, he pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to will away the pounding in his skull. The mission was too important for him to be laid low by excess and self-pity. With a groan, he ran both hands down his face and forced his eyes open just as his valet entered, moving with practiced efficiency as he carried a tray into the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

“There’s no need to shout, Jeffers.” Rockford squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry, Your Grace,” the valet whispered. “I’ve brought you a prairie oyster and some strong tea. It should help with the headache.”

Rockford waved his hand gratefully. He wouldn’t dare try to move his head. “Thank you, Jeffers. I’ll need all the help I can get today.”

Jeffers set the tray down on the desk. “This should help as well, sir.” He lightly placed a compress on Rockford’s forehead.

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