Page 62 of Her Ruse with the Rakish Duke
Percy’s expression darkened.
“If you really believe that, then there’s no hope for you.”
He leaned forward till his face was so close to hers she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You are mine, Daphne,” he growled. “You were mine first and you will be mine forever.”
He stormed out of the room, leaving her alone and in tears.
ChapterFifteen
Daphne wiped her face with her kerchief, picking herself up from the floor she had slid down on. Straightening her dress and hair, she stepped out into the hallway but was immediately startled by the sound of music and laughter up ahead.
Not being in the mood for dinner or conversation, she decided to head back to her room, but Percy’s words kept haunting her and she wondered if it really were true that Victor didn’t trust her.
She wanted to go to him, if only to hear the truth, but another part of her feared he would prefer to keep his secrets to himself.
She sighed and walked on, not looking where her feet led her and when she finally looked up, she noticed she was somehow standing before Victor’s chamber doors. Taking a calming breath, she knocked. Hearing no answer, she walked into his chambers.
“Victor?” she called softly as she entered his room, her voice barely a whisper.
Hearing no response, she ventured further into the room, her steps tentative on the plush carpet. She frowned; he was nowhere to be seen. The moment she turned to leave, she stopped in her tracks.
The faint sound of water dripping drew her attention to the bathroom. As she approached, the door stood ajar, allowing her a sliver of a view inside.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Daphne peeked through the opening and froze. There, in the flickering candlelight, stood Victor, his back to her, gazing into a large mirror. His shirt hung on a nearby chair, revealing his bare back. Daphne’s heart sank; it was covered in a lattice of scars. They crisscrossed his skin, some were old and faded, others newer and angrier, like a canvas made from pain and suffering.
She gasped, unable to contain her shock. Victor’s eyes met hers through the reflection in the mirror, widening in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and frustration. “People are still about. Anyone could have seen you!”
Ignoring his protest, she stepped into the room, her eyes not leaving his.
“Everyone is at the evening meal and they seem to be enjoying themselves so much they won’t notice our absence,” she answered, then sighed as she stood in front of him.
“Victor, who did this to you?” Her voice was filled with a mix of concern and sorrow.
He stiffened and then relaxed, looking conflicted.
“You can trust me not to tell anyone else,” she added, hoping in some small way that she would be able to ease the burden on his soul. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
“If it were to be any other thing, I would tell you,” he answered looking away from her.
“Why?”
“I do not find it easy discussing my scars,” he answered tonelessly. “And I have had no need to, as no one but you has knowledge of them.”
“Not even Harry?”
He gave her a smile that lacked humor. “Harry is not privy to all my secrets.”
“I would like to be privy to this one.”
He sighed long and deep, and when she finally thought he would not share the tale with her, his deep voice came out lower and softer than she was used to.
“My scars are a testament to my father’s true nature,” he started. “To theton, he was a duke of honorable standing. To my mother and me? He was our worst nightmare. I would have preferred to take the secret of my scars to my grave. They are, to say the least, repulsive. A sign of the weakling I was.”
“Do not say that,” Daphne responded gently. “Your scars are a testament to your bravery. You faced such pain but you are still here with your head held high. I do not know what could have kindled such… cruelty in a man that he would hurt his own son. I do know that you are strong and deeply resilient to bear these. And I could never be disgusted by you.”
