Page 34 of His Forsaken Duchess
“Audrey.”
Her breath caught, and she whirled around to find the Duke standing in the doorway. His dark eyes burned with fury, his jaw taut with barely restrained anger.
“D-Duke…” she stammered, her composure faltering.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Audrey’s heart pounded, her hands gripping the folds of her dress. “I was… curious,” she admitted, her voice trembling despite her efforts to sound calm.
“Curious,” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Did I not make myself clear?”
“You did,” she said quickly, lifting her chin slightly in defiance. “But?—”
“But you chose to ignore my orders,” he snapped, stepping further into the room. “You had no right to enter this part of the castle.”
Anger radiated from him, tangible and suffocating.
Audrey’s mind raced, her instincts telling her to retreat, but she held her ground.
I won’t cower. Not now.
“I meant no harm,” she said softly. “I only wanted to understand.”
“Understand?” he barked, his voice rising. “You think you can understand what this place holds? What it means? You know nothing, Audrey. Nothing.”
His words struck her like a blow, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. His fury was palpable, and it sent a ripple of fear through her—fear that reminded her all too vividly of her father’s scorn.
“I see your pain,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It’s everywhere in this castle. You carry it with you.”
He flinched as though she’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists. For a moment, she thought he would lash out—not at her, but at the air itself, at whatever memories haunted him. Instead, he stepped back, his voice cutting like ice.
“Leave,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
Audrey’s breath hitched. “Do you mean the west wing or?—”
“Leave!” he repeated, his eyes narrowing.
His words stung, and for a fleeting moment, she considered arguing. But the intensity of his gaze discouraged her.
Lifting her chin, she nodded stiffly. “Very well.”
Without another word, she swept past him. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she descended the stairs, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of anger, fear, and pity.
“I cannot stay here for another moment,” Audrey said sharply, pacing back and forth in her chamber. Her dress swished with every turn, the sound sharp against the oppressive silence.
Miss Smith stood nervously by the trunk, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though afraid to interrupt. “Your Grace, perhaps?—”
“No,” Audrey cut her off, her voice brittle as she turned toward the wardrobe. She yanked a dress off its hanger and draped it over the trunk. “I will not remain in this castle for another minute, Miss Smith. Do you understand? Not when he speaks to me as though I were a disobedient child.”
Her chest tightened as the words left her mouth, her heart rate quickening. She pressed her fingers to her temples as memories of her father flooded her mind. She could hear his sharp, clipped voice whenever she failed to meet his impossible standards. His cutting remarks. The way his voice would grow louder and colder until she felt so small that she might disappear entirely.
Her breath hitched as the familiar sensation of helplessness crept in.
No, she would not allow her husband to do the same. Whatever her father had taken from her—her confidence, her sense of worth—she would not allow the Duke to strip her of it, too.
She clenched her fists, her spine straightening with determination. “I will not be treated as though I am obscure and little. Not again.”
Miss Smith took a tentative step forward, her voice hesitant. “Shall I begin packing, Your Grace?”
