Page 79 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
And with that, Kenneth turned and walked away, leaving Genevieve standing alone, her heart caught somewhere between despair and the faintest flicker of hope.
As he stepped away, Marianne appeared at her side, her gaze flicking between them with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Are you all right, darling?” she asked.
Genevieve managed a small smile. “I think I will be, after some cake, perhaps?”
Marianne linked her arm through Genevieve’s and led her back toward the tea tables.
The pain in her heart was still there, and she hoped that Lady Whitaker’s pastries would ease it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What the hell happened?” Kenneth boomed as he stormed into the room, his boots striking the floor with an urgency that mirrored his concern.
Wilhelm did not react. He sprawled in a chair near the hearth, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass, watching it swirl.
The room was blanketed in deep shadow, the thick velvet curtains drawn tightly against the encroaching night.
The sole illumination came from the crackling flames in the fireplace, which cast flickering, jagged shapes over the walls and ceiling. The stifling scent of charred wood mingled with the sharp scent of brandy permeated the air.
“Ravenshire,” Kenneth pressed, “answer me.”
Wilhelm took another long gulp of his brandy and then reached for the decanter to refill his glass. The clinking of crystal echoed through the stillness.
“You should go, Gaverton,” he muttered in a raw voice. He stared unseeingly at the flames dancing in the grate.
“What have you done?” Kenneth demanded, now standing over him with his fists on his hips.
Wilhelm froze as his gaze snapped up. His eyes, shadowed with exhaustion and regret, met Kenneth’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
Kenneth stepped closer and narrowed his eyes as he took in Wilhelm’s disheveled appearance.
“I saw her, you know,” he began, his voice gentle.
Wilhelm’s heart ached at the mention of Genevieve, and a wave of longing washed over him.
“You saw her?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “How is she?”
Kenneth’s expression became somber. “She ismiserable,” he replied, shaking his head.
The room spun, and Wilhelm closed his eyes to block it out. He inhaled deeply to dispel the queasiness.
“She is miserablebecause of you,” Kenneth said, his voice heavy with worry. “Her eyes are vacant, and her voice is so frail and faint…” he trailed off.
Wilhelm’s chest tightened as the image of her haunted face flashed through his mind. He could still hear her melodic voice, so full of life, light, and curiosity, and knew that he had been destroyed her joyful nature.
The room spun around him, and he nearly choked on his spit. The thought of her reduced to a colorless, shadowy ghost of her former vivacious self… It wrecked him.
His selfishness had done this. He had torn her apart.
The ache in his chest grew sharper and twisted like a blade.
“I encountered her at a tea party,” Kenneth explained, his gaze meeting Wilhelm’s.
Wilhelm nodded, his gaze fixed on the swirling brandy in his glass. He could picture Genevieve, her eyes filled with sadness, her smile a distant memory.
Wilhelm’s breath hitched, and his heart filled with dread.
