Page 91 of His Auctioned Duchess
He stared at her, something fierce and uncertain flickering behind his eyes. Slowly, his gaze dropped to Jasper, who had bowed his head once more, shoulders shaking with restrained sobs. The silence stretched thin.
When at last Richard spoke, his tone was measured but dark. “You would have me forgive the man who destroyed my life?”
“I would have you see that hatred will destroy the one you have now,” Caroline said simply.
Her words struck deep, cutting through the fury like light through storm clouds. Richard turned away from them both, facing the fire once more.
Behind him, in the dimly lit room, Jasper spoke softly, his voice filled with a mixture of desperation and hope. "Your Grace," he began quietly, almost as if afraid to disturb the air, "I ask nothing for myself. Only that I might raise my child in honesty. Only that I might make amends for what I have done."
“Not bringing the constables for you is mercy enough. Allowing you to retreat to your country seat instead of killing you is mercy enough. You tried to hurt Caroline. I’ve been far too generous with you. Just because she asks, I will do even more. You and Louisa are welcome to visit. No child should be ashamed of their parents.” Richard said coldly without turning to look at him, “but understand me well, cousin. One mistake—one deception—and I will bury you myself.”
The words rang in the air with the weight of iron. Jasper’s mouth opened, closed again, and at last he bowed his head until his forehead touched the carpet. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Richard made no reply. He kept staring into the fire as if the flames might burn away what remained of his anger.
Caroline watched Jasper rise unsteadily to his feet. His eyes were red, but there was a strange calm upon his face, the look of a man who has glimpsed something beyond his deserving.
He bent at the waist in a deep, formal bow. “I will not fail you again,” he said.
Caroline inclined her head once in acknowledgment. Richard gave no sign that he heard. Jasper gathered his hat from the floor and backed toward the door, moving as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled. When the latch clickedsoftly behind him, the echo lingered in the quiet like the closing of a chapter long overdue.
Only then did Richard move. He exhaled slowly, shoulders lowering, as if the tension of years had been forced from him in that one breath. The fire popped, throwing a brief shower of sparks up the chimney.
Caroline remained where she stood, watching him. His expression was unreadable—no triumph, no satisfaction, only weariness. When she stepped closer, her hand light upon his sleeve, he did not draw back.
“Was that mercy so difficult?” she asked softly.
He gave a short, rueful sound that was almost a laugh. “It was impossible until you spoke.”
“Then it was not impossible,” she said.
He turned toward her, the hard planes of his face softened by the flicker of the fire. “I wanted him to feel the same helplessness he once forced upon me. The same fear you must have felt when he tried to pull you from me. But you–” He broke off, shaking his head. “You stopped me.”
Caroline met his gaze without flinching. “Not I,” she said. “Only the part of you that wished to listen.”
The faintest smile touched his mouth. “You think too well of me.”
“I think only what I see,” she replied. “A man who can fight without striking and win without destroying.”
He looked down at her, and for the first time that day his eyes warmed. “You are the only one who could call that a victory.”
She smiled faintly. “Because it is.”
The firelight played across the floor, painting their shadows in long, wavering lines. Richard reached for her hand and drew her gently closer until her head rested against his chest. He stood very still, feeling the delicate rhythm of her heartbeat against his own.
"For so many years," he began softly, his voice barely reaching above the gentle crackle of the fire, "I thought strength meant never bending, never yielding. I believed it meant standing firm and unmovable, like a great stone against a storm." There was a hint of regret in his words, as he looked back on the years spent holding fast to that belief.
He paused, a faint sigh escaping his lips, before continuing, "But mercy—mercy is the harder thing. It requires more courage, more strength than I ever imagined." The realization was one that had crept up on him slowly, transforming his understanding of true strength.
Caroline turned her face toward him, her eyes full of warmth and affection. Her voice was a mere whisper, filled with gentle encouragement. "Then you have learned it at last," she replied, her words a soft acknowledgment of his growth and understanding.
His hand lifted, reached out with a tenderness that was second nature now, to cup her cheek. The warmth of her skin against his palm was a comfort he cherished. His thumb moved lightly along the line of her jaw, tracing it with a featherlike touch. "You taught it to me," he confessed simply, his gaze meeting hers with gratitude.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, caught by the dancing flames in the hearth, turning them into small stars within her eyes. "Then learn it well, Richard," she advised, her voice soft yet firm. "The world will not stop testing you."
“I know.” He leaned forward, pressing a brief, solemn kiss to her brow. “But I shall have you beside me when it does.”
CHAPTER 28
