Page 115 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Fawkes felt…empty.As if his insides had been scooped out and replaced with…well, not cotton fluff. Bowling balls perhaps. Or cactus spines. Or donkey shite.
Sonotempty, rather, but full of all the worst things in the world, instead of the normal functioning heart and lungs nonsense. He couldn’t feel any of that.
He was just…empty.
OfcourseEllie figured it out; she was bloody brilliant. She knew her father’s symptoms, she’d heard him speak of foxglove… Ofcourseshe’d put it together and realized what that meant.
Was it better this way? Or if he’d confessed it willingly?
Either way, he’d lost her.
He’d stood by silently as Ellie had embraced his mother, explaining she was needed at Endymion at once, and thanking her for her hospitality. Not once did she glance at Fawkes when she gathered Merida to her and explained they had to leave right away.
The girl threw an absolute wobbler.
Over the screaming and crying and stomping—Tramp joined in with long, piercing howls, which wassuperhelpful—Mother embraced Ellie and gently offered to keep Merida.
“It’s Christmas, Ellie. Let the lassie stay here with me a bit longer, eh? Ye can pop back up here after yer niece or nephew arrives, and she’ll be out of yer hair.”
This time, Elliedidglance at Fawkes, but only briefly. She wasn’t asking permission, she was…uncertain. Uncertain about leaving Merida with him.
She’s afraid of ye.
Fook.
It was what he deserved. What he’d been terrified of. Why he’d kept the damned truth to himself.
The reason he hadn’t allowed himself to love her.
Too goddamn late, ye stupid arsehole.
“Dinnae fash, Ellie, I willnae let any harm come to her…”
His mother’s platitudes echoed in his ears and he should speak, say something, anything, but what was there to say?
He managed to stay silent, to stay still, as Thorne bundled up the woman he absolutely didn’t love and helped her out into his sleigh. Ellie’s eyes were red-rimmed when she looked back at the house and it damned near broke Fawkes.
“Well, lassie,” Mother was saying as he watched the sleigh wheel about and head south once more.Gone. She was gone.“Our bellies are full and our gifts are open. I think it’s time for some cookies, eh?” As Merida—completely recovered now she’d gotten her way—jumped and clapped, Mother held up her hand for quiet. “But before then, Tramp needs to go for a W-A-L-K. Ye should—”
The dog began to bark happily, and run in circles. Then he peed a bit in excitement.
Mother sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I spelled it so he wouldnae ken what I was saying.”
“Oh, I know,” Merida explained happily, where she’d flopped beside the pup to rub his head and wipe the floor with her handkerchief. “But I taught him to spell.”
“Yedid?” Mother asked incredulously.
“Well, I taught him that W-A-L-K meanswalk. We’re still working onF-O-DandS-L-E-P-E.”
Her own spelling needed some work.
Mother was grinning indulgently. “Well, he’s a lucky dog to have such a smart lassie taking care of him. Why no’ go find yer boots, eh? And yer coat and yer red hat and yer gloves and yer wool stockings and yer—”
“Yes, Mimi!” The girl declared, jumping upright. “Icandress myself, you know! Buttons and all! Come on, Tramp!”
As the pair thundered up the stairs, Mother blew out a breath and turned to Fawkes, who was still standing stiffly beside the window. “That ought to keep her occupied for a good ten minutes, particularly because I dinnae think sheownsa red hat. So ye have ten minutes to explain why ye’re moping about, looking like ye lost yer favorite sausage.”
His favoritewhat? “I’m no’ moping.” He should beexcited. “Thorne brought me this.”
