Titus’s breath was shallow now, his face ashen. “This is madness.”
“This is justice,” Michael said quietly. “You will not threaten Josephine or Edward again. They are under my protection now. And I protect what’s mine. Now get out of my coach.”
Titus didn’t need to be told twice, he almost fell in his haste to exit the carriage. The man was no fool, he must have felt Michael’s barely contained rage and knew he meant every word.
Michael reached up and rapped twice on the roof. The coachman stirred the horses into motion.
Now that he had routed this enemy, it was time to go to his beloved.
CHAPTER 34
Josephinestoodatherdrawing room window, her fingertips pressed lightly against the cool glass, watching Lady Rutledge with Edward in the square below. The boy laughed as he chased a hoop, his golden curls bouncing in the late afternoon light. Another child joined him, a dark-haired girl, and together they ran toward the far end of the square, their laughter ringing through the crisp autumn air.
He was happy. Safe.
The thought should have filled her with peace, yet her heart remained an aching hollow.
She had won the battle for Edward’s future, yet in doing so, had she lost her own?
She pressed her lips together, swallowing against the painful lump in her throat.
Michael.
It had been days since she had last seen him—since she had refused his offer to stay at Aycliffe House, retreating instead toher own home. Retreating from him. Putting distance between them. She had not irrevocably ended things between them, as she knew she should. Instead, she had told him she needed to think. Buying time. Prolonging their misery when she knew what she had to do but didn’t have the courage to do so.
She had seen the hurt in his eyes, and it had cut deeper than she expected.
He had been nothing but steadfast, devoted, hers, and yet she had wounded him. And in doing so, she had torn herself apart.
She missed him—missed him like the parched earth missed the rain. His voice, his touch, the way his gaze softened when it fell upon her. She could not imagine her life without him.
But was love enough? Was it right to condemn him to a childless existence, depriving his title of an heir?
A sharp knock at the front door startled her from her thoughts. A few moments later, the door to the drawing room opened.
"Her Grace, the Duchess of Aycliffe, " the butler announced, stepping aside to admit the duchess.
Josephine turned swiftly, her heart stammering in her chest. Though Michael’s mother had been nothing but gracious and warm, there was something about the duchess that always left Josephine feeling as if she stood under careful scrutiny. Maybe because in front of Michael’s mother she was acutely aware of her shortcomings. Aware of how inadequate she was. Of how she had caused her son no end of pain and continued to do so.
"Your Grace," she greeted, forcing a smile and dropping into a curtsy. "What an unexpected pleasure."
The duchess stepped forward, her eyes—so very like her son’s—sweeping over Josephine with a piercing, perceptive gaze.
"You have won your case," the duchess said, lowering herself gracefully onto the settee. "I had thought to find you happier."
Josephine stiffened.
"I am happy," she replied automatically, sitting on the chair facing the duchess.
The duchess tilted her head, her lips curving in an expression both knowing and indulgent. "Then why does it not seem so?"
Josephine’s eyes darted around, as if looking for the answer among the cushions strewn over the settee.
After a long, unbearable pause, the duchess continued, her voice gentler now. "Michael does not seem very happy either."
The words were not meant as a reproach, but she still took them as such.
Josephine swallowed against the rising pain. She had known, of course. Had felt it in the very air between them, in the way he had looked at her when she had pulled away.
