Page 83 of His Scarred Duchess
It had been three days since Adeline left, and the entire household was walking on eggshells around him.
Good.Let them worry. Let them wonder.
Minutes later, he was sitting atop Midnight, urging the stallion into a gallop across the estate grounds. The wind whipped at his face, stinging his eyes, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was better than the hollow ache in his chest.
“Faster,” he murmured to Midnight, leaning low over the horse’s neck.
As they crested a hill, Edmund pulled on the reins, surveying his domain. Holbrook stretched out before him, lush and green in the summer sun. It was everything he’d ever wanted, wasn’t it? A prosperous estate, free from his father’s mismanagement. He didn’t need anything—or anyone—else.
“Your Grace!” a distant voice called.
Edmund turned to see one of his tenants waving from a nearby field. He raised a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t slow down. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, for the inevitable questions about his wife’s absence.
Adeline.
Edmund’s jaw clenched. She was probably back in London by now, telling her family all about his coldness, his inability to?—
No. He wouldn’t think about that. About her.
Hours later, Edmund returned to the stables, Midnight’s flanks heaving. As he dismounted, a memory flashed through his mind—Adeline, pale and trembling, as a spooked horse reared up before her. His arms around her waist, pulling her to safety.
“Damn it,” he muttered, shaking his head to clear the image.
“Is everything all right, Your Grace?” The stable boy’s tentative voice broke through his reverie.
Edmund’s head snapped up. “Fine,” he growled. “See to Midnight.”
As he strode towards the house, another memory assailed him—Adeline, her face alight with triumph as she guided her mount around the paddock. “I did it, Edmund!” she’d cried, her smile radiant.
“Your Grace?” Thornley’s voice startled him. Edmund realized he’d been standing in the entrance hall, staring into space. “Shall I have luncheon prepared?”
“No,” Edmund snapped. “Bring a bottle of brandy to my study.”
Thornley’s lips thinned in disapproval, but he merely bowed. “Very good, Your Grace.”
In his study, Edmund poured himself a generous measure of brandy, before downing it in one swallow. The liquor burned his throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest.
As he poured himself another measure, a flash of red caught his eyes. He turned to see a crimson envelope poking out of the drawer where he’d stuffed Joanna’s letters.
“It’s clear you’re falling for her. But we both know you’ll never truly let her in.”
Joanna’s taunting words echoed in his mind. With a snarl, he yanked open the drawer, seizing the newest stack of unopened letters.
“Your Grace?” Thornley’s voice came from the doorway. “I’ve brought the brandy you requested.”
Edmund whirled around, the letters clutched in his fist. “Leave it,” he barked. “And I’m not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.”
Thornley’s eyes flicked to the crumpled envelopes, then back to Edmund’s face. “Of course, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone neutral. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Edmund growled. “Get out.”
As the door closed behind Thornley, Edmund slumped into his chair. He ripped the letters and flung the pieces on the floor.
“Good riddance,” he muttered, pouring himself a third glass of brandy.
As the afternoon wore on, Edmund’s mood darkened further. Every corner of the house seemed to hold a memory of Adeline—her laugh echoing in the library, the scent of her perfume lingering in the drawing room.
“Blast it all,” he growled, stalking from room to room.
