Page 41 of The Duke of Ruin
“Well, it is, I’m sorry to say. You and Miss Kingman have eloped. Headed to Gretna Green, are you?”
Simon startled. He stared at the baronet, nonplussed for a moment.
Well, of course they were.
Simon took a deep breath. “Yes. And we’d like to keep things quiet, at least for a few more days. Is there any chance of that happening?”
The baronet tipped his head to the side and back upright again, seeming to dither. “A slight one. I’ll do my best to keep my wife quiet—it helps that we’re so far from London, of course. But I daresay she’s upstairs drafting a letter to her sister already.” He winced.
“You could burn it,” Simon suggested.
“I could. But she’ll write another.” Sir Fletcher shook his graying head. “Never you mind. I’ll take care of it. Get yourselves to the anvil, and by the time anyone is the wiser, she’ll be your duchess.”
Except she wouldn’t.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
It seemed Simon could only think in curse words.
He gave a slight nod in lieu of saying good night and hurried up to the second floor, anxious to see Diana and hopefully put her at ease. Did he really think that was possible? There was no good end to this scenario, not unless she decided to disappear.
He opened the door to the sight of her pacing in front of the fire.
She briefly looked up at him but didn’t pause. “I-I-I c-c-can’t ev-even p-p-pack.”
Simon had never seen her so distressed, not even when he’d told her that her fiancé wanted to marry someone else. “Why can’t you pack?” He strived to keep his voice even and his tone soft.
“B-b-be-c-c-cause the c-c-c-lo…thes are s-s-still in th-the k-kitch-kitchen.” She stopped pacing suddenly and took several deep breaths.
Alarmed, he moved toward her, taking slow steps lest he agitate her further. “Are you all right?” When she didn’t respond, he wondered if she’d even heard him. “Diana?”
Finally, her gaze swung to his. Her blue eyes were as dark as midnight. “I’m f-fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
She turned from him then and stared at the fire. Inhaling deeply once more, she took a moment to repeat, “I am fine.” The words came out slow and measured, as if it had taken great effort. Was speech a problem for her? He wouldn’t have guessed and yet he seemed to recall a few other times she’d struggled… He swallowed the question before he could ask it. Now was not the time to broach the subject.
“I spoke with Sir Fletcher, and he made the assumption we were headed to Gretna Green. I said we were and asked him to keep quiet for a few days to buy us enough time to get you situated.”
She kept her gaze averted from him. “S-s-so…that’s…m-my…choice…then?” She shook her head. “Th-that’s…no…choice…at-at…all. You’ve f-forced my h-h-hand.”
He moved to her side and tried to take her hand, but she crossed her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t have to be your choice. It merely gives us the time we need to get to Blackburn. Then you can choose where you want to start anew.”
She remained silent, staring into the fire, her shoulders stiff and her body radiating tension. It was a far cry from the embrace they’d shared downstairs. Whatever happened, he would remember that kiss for the rest of his days. He’d never thought to experience that rush of excitement, of desire, of the promise of joy again. She’d given him a beautiful gift, and he would cherish it.
He took a step back. “I’m going to speak with Tinley and ask him to be ready to leave at first light. I’ll make sure our belongings are ready too.” He turned toward the door and added, “I’ll ask Mrs. Woodlawn to come up and assist you. Try to sleep, Diana.”
He wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing he could say or do to fix things. She’d had choice taken away from her—first by her parents and their demands for a lofty match, then by Nick when he’d decided not to go through with their marriage, and now by Lady Dunford-Whaley who would certainly tell everyone that Diana had run off with the Duke of Ruin. Even if she wanted to go back to her parents and manage the scandal of not marrying Nick, she now had a much bigger scandal to deal with. And this one would ruin her.
His nickname had never been more bloody apt.
He made his way back downstairs and came upon Mrs. Woodlawn sweeping the common room.
She started when she saw him. “Oh! I thought everyone had gone to bed.”
“I need to speak with my coachman.”
She nodded and made only brief eye contact. Something was amiss.
