Page 50 of His Scarred Duchess
Edmund sat back in his seat, breathing heavily. Adeline’s heart pounded in her chest, the adrenaline rushing through her veins as she quickly smoothed her skirts and straightened her bodice.
Reality came crashing back as she realized that they had arrived at Holbrook Manor. She stared at Edmund, taking in his disheveled appearance—his cravat askew, his hair mussed where she had run her fingers through it. She could only imagine how she must look.
Edmund seemed to come back to himself all at once. His eyes widened slightly, as if he were shocked by his actions. Without a word, he straightened his clothing and opened the carriage door.
He helped Adeline down, his touch cold once more. “Goodnight, Duchess,” he said stiffly, before turning on his heel and striding towards the manor.
Adeline watched him go, her lips still tingling from his kisses, her body humming with unfulfilled desire. She touched her fingers to her mouth, scarcely able to believe what had just transpired.
As she made her way to her chambers, her mind whirled.
What had just happened? And more importantly, what did it mean for their marriage?
One thing was certain—whatever game they were playing, the rules had just changed dramatically.
And Adeline was no longer sure she knew how to play.
Edmund strode into his study, his body still thrumming with the heat from Adeline’s touch. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, cursing under his breath.
“Thornley,” he called, and within moments his ever-present butler appeared at the door. “Bring me a bottle of brandy and a glass.”
As Thornley silently complied, Edmund paced the length of the room, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. What had he been thinking, kissing Adeline like that? Touching her with such unbridled passion? It was madness, pure and simple.
The brandy arrived, and Edmund poured himself a generous splash. He downed half of it in one swallow, welcoming the burn as it coursed down his throat. He moved to the window, staring out at the moonlit grounds of Holbrook without really seeing them.
It had been a mistake, he told himself firmly. A moment of weakness, nothing more. He couldn’t allow himself to be drawn in by Adeline’s warmth, her quiet strength, the alluring softness of her lips…
He shook his head, banishing the traitorous thoughts. He knew all too well the dangers of allowing himself to feel, to hope.
The memory of Joanna’s betrayal flashed through his mind, and with it came a familiar ache of disillusionment.
He had been so young then, barely twenty and flush with the arrogance of youth. Joanna had been a dazzling figure in Society, beautiful and charming, with a wit that could cut as sharply as it could delight. When she had turned her attention to him, he had been utterly captivated.
How foolish he had been, how naïve. Even now, thirteen years later, the memory of walking into his father’s study and finding Joanna in his arms made his stomach churn.
Edmund drained the rest of his brandy, welcoming the numbing effect of alcohol. He had fled then, unable to bear the sight of either of them. The army had offered an escape, a chance to prove himself as something more than just the son of a dissolute duke.
The war had changed him, hardened him in ways he was still discovering. He had seen friends die, had taken lives himself, had witnessed horrors that still haunted his dreams. But it had also taught him valuable lessons about trust, about the importance of keeping one’s heart guarded.
And yet, tonight in the carriage with Adeline…
Edmund growled in frustration, pouring himself another brandy. He couldn’t allow himself to be weak again. Adeline might not be Joanna, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him just as deeply if he let her in.
His mind drifted to the dinner party, to the sight of Joanna in her crimson gown. She was still beautiful, still capable of turning heads and breaking hearts. But now he could see the calculation behind her charm, the desperation lurking in her eyes.
He had heard the rumors, of course. How she had married old Lord Strathmore after her dalliance with his father, how she was now a widow struggling to maintain her standing in Society. Apart of him, the part that still smarted from her betrayal, felt grim satisfaction at her reduced circumstances.
Edmund moved to his desk, opening a drawer and retrieving a small, ornate box. Inside lay a collection of letters, their paper yellowed with age, the ink faded but still legible. They were Joanna’s letters, full of passionate declarations and promises of eternal love.
He had kept them all these years, not out of sentimentality, but as a reminder of his folly. Now, looking at them, he felt nothing but a dull ache, an echo of past pain.
With a sudden, decisive movement, he gathered the letters and tossed them into the fireplace. He watched as the flames consumed them, turning Joanna’s flowery words to ash.
It was time to let go of the past, he realized. Time to stop allowing Joanna’s betrayal to dictate his actions, to shape his future.
But what did that mean for his relationship with Adeline?
Edmund closed his eyes, remembering the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath, the way she had melted into his embrace. She wasn’t Joanna—she was something altogether different, something both terrifying and exhilarating.
