Page 69 of A Cursed Bride for the Duke
Genevieve’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?” she inquired apprehensively. “What kind of man is he?”
Alfred leaned closer, his gaze sweeping across the ballroom before returning to hers. “Where is he, by the way?” he asked, his voice carrying a subtle accusation. “Should he not be here by your side?”
Genevieve’s cheeks flushed, her gaze dropping to her gloved hands. “He is… occupied,” she replied, her voice barely audible.
Alfred’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Occupied?” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery. “Or perhaps he is too busy celebrating his latest triumph?”
Genevieve furrowed her brow, still not comprehending what he meant. “What triumph are you referring to, if I may ask?”
Alfred pursed his lips, the gleam in his eyes intensifying with every word.
“Oh, did you not know?” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Genevieve shook her head, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Know what?” she inquired.
Alfred leaned closer. “It seems that your dear husband has been boasting,” he said, his eyes filled with concern. “Boasting about your… How can I put this? Yourcurse.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching in her throat. “My curse?” she said in disbelief.
Alfred nodded, his expression grave. “He was boasting about how he could use your curse to his advantage.”
Genevieve’s heart sank, her mind reeling from his words. “Use my curse?” she queried, her voice thick with confusion and hurt.
Alfred nodded sympathetically. “He was telling everyone how he could use it to destroy his enemies.”
Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears as her heart overflowed with betrayal and disappointment.
“He… he would never say such a thing,” she stammered.
Alfred’s expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm. “I am sorry, Genevieve,” he murmured. “I know this must be difficult to hear, but I wanted you to know the truth.”
He paused, his gaze searching hers.
“You should be careful, Your Grace,” he added. “Your husband is not the man you think he is.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Excuse me,” Genevieve murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
She turned on her heel and walked away from Alfred, her face ashen.
She ascended the stairs in a daze, her eyes swimming with tears. She brushed past a pair of ladies, their voices a muffled hum, their words floating around her in fleeting wisps.
Her hands trembled slightly on the polished banister, but she barely noticed. Her eyes blurred and burned with the strain of unshed tears and deep shock. The tears clung stubbornly to her lashes and threatened to spill over at any moment.
She pushed open a door that had been left slightly ajar and slipped into the drawing room.
The distant hum of laughter and music faded away as she closed the door and was swallowed by the thick stillness of the room. Shadows pooled in its corners, and the scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air.
She lowered herself onto a chaise lounge and clutched its edges with both hands as her shoulders quaked uncontrollably.
Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, and she hid her face in her hands. Heat pricked her eyes, and bitter bile rose in her throat.
Wilhelm, the man she had come to trust, the man who had seen through the ridiculous rumors and embraced her for who she truly was, had been using her all along. He had used the rumors about her alleged curse to instill fear in his rivals and manipulate them to his advantage.
He had married her not for love or companionship, but for the advantage their union would offer him in his business transactions. She was nothing more than a pawn in his game, a tool to further his ambitions.
