Page 103 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

“I do not pay much mind to whatever nonsense comes out of your mouth.”

“That nonsense won me a thousand pounds. Show it some respect. I had to provoke him into a duel to win, but the rules say nothing about actually fighting the duel. Which is just as well, since Polly cannot tell one end of a gun from the other, and it would be very unsporting of me to shoot him. So, apologies and all that. Now, I’m hungry.” He waved at the two other men, who had watched the proceedings in silence. “Oi, lads! Let’s visit one of your clubs for some ale and eggs, and celebrate our escape from the jaws of death.”

Grinning jauntily, St. Blaise gathered the other gentlemen. Arms linked at the elbows, the trio paraded off to their hard-earned breakfast.

Suddenly, the park was empty but for Leo, Juno, and the birds. The sun spread sleepy rays across the grass, gilding Leo’s hair and dispelling the last wreaths of mist.

It was on similar mornings that she first came to love him, all those years ago. Soft, gentle mornings, when they were alone in the world, when they were wholly themselves, when the air was crisp and unsullied and full of hope.

And just as the sun dissolved the mist, so it dissolved the carefully constructed lie of her life: the lie that she remained a spinster for the sake of her art. It was a nice lie, and everyone did such a good job of believing it that Juno had believed it herself. She had embraced her light-heartedness, her air of frivolity. She had cultivated that air as carefully as Leo had cultivated his indifference. It enabled her to step lightly through life and never fall too hard.

Yet she had fallen, and her whole edifice of lies came crashing down around her.

How on earth had she ever thought he was only a small part of her life? Loving Leo was as much a part of her as art itself, as the heart beating in her chest, as her hopes and joys and sorrows and dreams.

She nodded at the gun. “Doyou know how to use that?”

He glanced at it. “Sort of. Mostly. In theory.”

“What happened, Leo? Fistfights and duels? Why did you do this?”

His beautiful, untouchable face creased in astonishment, as if he could not believe how simple she was.

“They hurt you. They should never have hurt you.” His eyes searched hers. “I would not change the past, because I would not want to change who you have become. But I would change the future, if it were in my hands.”

“You said…” Her breath was shaky. “You regret our tryst. You called it a mistake.”

“It was a mistake to ever believe I felt nothing for you but desire.”

“But you said you regret…” She frowned, trying to remember. He had not specified what he regretted; she only assumed he meant being with her.

Just as she had once wrongly assumed he thought her not good enough for him.

“What do you regret?” she asked.

“I regret…” He glanced down at the gun, his thumb sliding over the gleaming mother-of-pearl, and when he looked back up at her, it was with eyes as tender as the petals of a forget-me-not. “I regret it lasted only a few hours. I regret all the years I never saw you, all the nights I never slept beside you, all the days I did not spend with you. I regret not telling you that you are life itself, a wonder, the goddess of my heart. I regret all the times I hurt you and all the times I left you. I regret all the chances I missed and all the mistakes I made and all the fear that diminished me. And more than anything, I regret that I do not know how to be the man you need me to be.

“But I do not regret any minute I spent with you, and I will never,neverregret having you in my life.”

She had no words, no breath. She blinked away tears; they clung, cold, to her lashes.

He raised his eyes to the pale heavens, squeezed them tight for a heartbeat, then said, “I must—” He stopped and breathed out heavily. Finally, he added, his voice hoarse, “And I regret that I am not at liberty to say more, for I have embroiled an innocent lady in my affairs, a lady who does not deserve my treatment of her and to whom I owe an obligation. Forgive me.”

With his warm palm, he cupped her cheek. With his gentle thumb, he caught a runaway tear. He lifted that thumb to his lips, tasted that tear, and without another word, he turned away and was gone.

CHAPTER26

Leo pounded on the front door of Lord Renshaw’s house until finally it swung open, revealing the wide eyes of a harried-looking maid. He realized how he must appear: wild-eyed, unshaven, disheveled. Possibly even his hair did not look good.

“But they are all abed,” the maid protested, when he demanded an immediate interview with Lord Renshaw and Miss Macey. She sucked on her teeth, likely calculating whether it was a greater evil to turn away a duke or rouse her employers. “They won’t be awake for hours.”

And the staff had work to do, and Leo’s demands would upset everyone, and he was making enough trouble as it was. He would be back later, he said.

In his house, he demanded the newspaper. It had not been ironed, he was informed, but he did not care, he insisted, and ignored the black ink gleefully transferring itself onto his fingers as he flipped the pages in search of the shipping news. Here it was: A ship bound for Naples would depart at the next high tide, about four in the morning. Twenty-odd hours from now.

“Get me a ticket,” he ordered. “Pack me a bag. I will be on that ship.”

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