Page 37 of In Need of a Duke
“I didn’t want to return to London, anyhow.” His brother circled the horse, then grinned down at Ian.
But Ian knew the truth then. Nathaniel might have been the second son—he certainly acted the part—but there was a chip in his armor. It broke Ian’s heart a little more.
“Take care of yourself,” he said gruffly.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. What do I have to worry about, anyway? I only live off your generous stipends, right?” Before Ian could counter, Nathaniel continued, “You’re more generous than you want to believe, Brother. Show some grace to yourself and win back your wife. She needs you.”
Whether it was the truth or not, Ian was through with questioning it, and he was done lying to himself. It wasn’t an heir which brought him back or Nathaniel’s reckless behavior. It had been Lottie. Always.
He was going to win her back.
It was nearlytime to clean up and dress for dinner when Ian returned to Stonehurst later that evening. Everything within him ached, and still it wasn’t enough.
There was no stillness to be had since the accident. His mind was always busy, or he forced his body to help quiet his mind.
He knocked on his bedchamber door, surprised when there was no answer. Charlotte was still recovering in his room. Or so he had thought.
But the bed had fresh sheets, untouched, and the curtains pulled back for the first time in weeks.
He entered, discovering the window cracked slightly to allow in fresh spring air. A few of her things remained behind, scattered around the room. A book, a handkerchief, and her green shawl.
The door to her dressing room was closed.
The knot in his chest tightened as he swallowed his disappointment. She must have felt well enough to finally move rooms today.
Very well.
He grabbed an empty claret glass from the sideboard by his dressing room, added a splash of water, and plopped the wildflowers he had picked for her in it. Ian placed them by his bed if she decided to return. The delicate snowdrops swayed as the water sloshed over the side of the engraved glass.
The problem was, as he stood alone in his grand room, Ian discovered he didn’t much care for finding pieces of her here, left behind like memories. But when he left the night of their wedding, he hadn’t ever experienced what it would be like to share this space with his wife. Of seeing her smile, the way her blue eyes lit up, or hearing her laugh.
As well as the baser things—such as hearing her name on his lips as he brought about her pleasure, of hearing her moan as he drove himself deep inside of her…
Charlotte had always been something he craved, from the moment he set eyes on her. She was a sweet temptation and after coming off a broken engagement, he should have known better than to have fallen for her.
Lesson learned. Even after all these years, he couldn’t rid her from his mind. And perhaps like an animal, chained and cornered, he had worked these last several years to free himself of her. To prove to himself he was stronger than whatever silly sentimental feelings consumed him.
He was not a man of feeling. Never had been. That only made a mess of things.
But he didn’t wish to repeat what his father had done, either. Even if he was the only one who now knew the truth.
Ian scratched his brow and glanced up at the ceiling, heaving a sigh, before ringing for a bath. There was no one to blame but himself for the way Charlotte responded to him. He had wished for so long to rid her from his life, and that was exactly what she had asked for at the very moment he decided they weren’t quite through.
The water was warm as he climbed into the tub. He grabbed a cheroot off the small table beside him and lit it, desperate to distract himself from the ache in his chest.
The ache was nearly unbearable.
It was a pain he didn’t understand. It wasn’t solely from his work with the wall. It had crawled into his heart and made a home there after feeling the weight of Charlotte’s nearly lifeless body against him. He thought it would fade once she finally woke, but it had only deepened in the weeks since.
She wished to leave him now.
The ache had twisted and grew, rooting itself in his chest until he couldn’t breathe. So, then he decided to rebuild the wall and keep his hands busy to distract his mind, which only kept him up at night. He hadn’t slept much since returning to Stonehurst.
Once, this had all been easier.
Hell, even a month ago, he had been on a yacht off the coast of Italy, enjoying the sun and the salt air. He had taken up sailing and quite enjoyed it.
Nearly half an hour later, he stood in his rooms with his trousers on and reached for a shirt when he heard the bedroom door close. He thought nothing of it until a shiver chased up his spine, and he realized someone was standing near the doorway, watching.
