Page 33 of What Desire Demands, My Duke

Reliving the memory was nearly as difficult as showing him this part of her. Elizabeth forged on, “Even though I’d told him that he could take whatever he wanted, I did not think that he would attempt to steal the ring you had given me two years prior.”

William’s dark eyes snapped up to her. Elizabeth held them, even though she was trembling.

“I could not give it up. It was the promise you’d made to me, the only reminder I had of you. I could not let him take that small piece I had, so I fought back and this is the result.” This and so much more than I cannot show you. “You say that I have become obsessive trying to find you all these years. But you don’t know what I went through during all those years. You haven’t asked and it seems as if you do not care. Even though, you were the one who left me after you promised you would love me forever. Even though, you were the one who sent no word and made me worry that something terrible might have happened to you. Even though, I had only been acting on the faith that I could help you overcome whatever it is that made you leave in the first place.”

Now the tears could not be held at bay. They slid over her cheeks, clogging her throat. Elizabeth could hardly speak, so she reached for the glove again and quickly tugged it back on, hoping to hide her trembling fingers. She rose and drew in a shuddering breath. When she wiped her cheeks, more tears replaced the others in a second.

“This conversation has caused me to lose my appetite,” she stated as strongly as she could even though her lip quivered with the force of her tears. “I will be in my bedchamber for the remainder of the day.”

She remembered a time when she’d once pinched William in anger. She’d been nothing but a child then, taken by her hot-headed nature, and William had responded in kind. That day had ended with the two of them refusing to speak to the other, stubbornly denying that either one of them had been in the wrong. Elizabeth couldn’t recall what their argument had been about, nor could she remembered how they’d made up. In this moment, the only thing that stood out to her was how different she’d been back then, before the scars riddling her body had reduced her to a withdrawn and pitiful mess.

He sees me as nothing but a weak shell of the girl he once knew. No wonder he treats me like this. No wonder he no longer wants anything to do with me.

She moved to leave but William’s hand clamped around her wrist, holding her there. Elizabeth didn’t dare to turn around. She bit her lip to hold back her sobs.

“Beth, I…” he began but he didn’t finish. Though she waited, hope filling her chest, he didn’t say any of the words she’d hoped that he would say.

So, without looking back at him, Elizabeth pulled her wrist free from his grip and left the dining room. It took all her willpower not to fall to her knees in her tears, managing to make it back to her bedchamber despite her blurry vision. And the moment the door was closed behind her, Elizabeth threw herself against the bed and cried.

Chapter 8

William watched Elizabeth go with every fiber of his being wanting to go after her. But his feet remained leaden, his body rooted to the chair. He couldn’t bring himself to follow her, as if he had no right to.

And he didn’t. Conflicting emotions rose within him at the story she’d told him. Anger, hatred, and regret. All those feelings were directed at himself.

With a harsh sigh, he leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face, as if that would rid his mind of her scarred knuckles. The sight had broken him into a million pieces and William was still trying to figure out how to put himself back together. He stared at the door she’d left through, willing her to come back so that he could fix it. He didn’t want to ask himself why he felt the need to fix it. He didn’t want to think about what this meant for his peaceful life without the weight of his past. All he knew was that he couldn’t live with knowing he’d made her cry.

William had known all about her incident. Five years ago, those rumors had run rampant throughout London and even though William had been away at the time, he’d heard about it himself. His stepmother, the Duchess of Brandon, had sent him a letter when he’d been spending some time in Africa and she’d told him all about the latest gossip of the ton. She’d written at length about the attack on Lord Gillet’s daughter.

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