“Threw herself at you?” Malcolm echoed after a beat, his voice low as he stared at his older brother. “Roberta threw herself at you? At the brother who has not looked at a woman in years, who lectures me about restraint and duty until I want to scream? You expect me to believe my wife wanted you?”
Malcolm’s hands tore through his hair, his fingers seemed to dig into his scalp. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. It was loud and humorless, and somewhat frightening. He paced the distance between the table and the door, his boots loud on the floorboards. Meanwhile, his previously pale face had become red with anger once more.
“You have quite the nerve, Kenneth,” he spat, turning on his heel so that he could point a finger at his brother. “You stand in front of your wife’s family and have the gall to claim my wife and the mother of my children threw herself at you. Did she provoke you into laying your hands on her? Is that what you are saying?”
Kenneth stood frozen, remaining where he was. His broad shoulders remained stiff. When he did speak, he did not match his brother’s agitation. He did not raise his voice.
“I never touched her, Malcolm. Not once. When she tried to seduce me, I refused her, and that was when she turned. She told me she would tell you whatever she pleased, that she would tear this family apart, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.So I sent her away before she could. I thought I was protecting you, but...”
“Why was it a secret from me, then?” Malcolm demanded, his voice coming out of him like a roar of a strangled lion.
He strode toward his brother, making Madeline stiffen, ready to run toward the brothers to stop a potential fight once more. Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she readied herself to rush toward the two if need be.
“If she was the one who came to you, if you are telling the truth now, you had two years to say so. Two years, Kenneth. And you let me drink myself half to death, believing it was my fault. I thought I had driven her away. I thought I was not man enough to keep my own wife. Every night, I asked myself what I had done wrong, and the answer was here the whole time, locked behind your teeth. You could have told me. Youshouldhave told me. Why did you not?”
Kenneth’s jaw clenched. A muscle ticked beneath his cheek. The marble facade he showed everyone cracked for just a fraction, revealing the torture of the moment.
“Why?” he rasped as he looked into his younger brother’s wild eyes. “You loved her so much, Malcolm, to the point that you worshiped the ground she walked on. I did not want to destroy her image to you because it would also ultimately destroy you.”
“Did it not destroy me, anyway?” Malcolm asked. He shook his head in disbelief, widening his eyes at his brother as if he could not believe what he was hearing. “You looked at me and saw a weakling. A man too fragile to bear the truth. You decided for me, Kenneth. And the worst of it is that I proved you right. I drank and gambled and left my own children to fend forthemselves, all because you judged me too weak to hear it.”
“Malcolm—”
“No! Do not dare say my name!” Malcolm cried.
Then he turned to his wife. Roberta stood clutching her cloak, her large eyes shining with tears—tears Madeline did not believe for a moment.
When Malcolm looked at Roberta, she let out a small whimper. He responded instantly, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. He pulled her close, and she buried her face in his shoulder. It would have been a perfect picture of a man and a wife finally united and in love. But Madeline caught a brief smirk on Roberta’s face before it disappeared.
One more time, Malcolm turned to the rest of his stunned audience. There was no fire in his eyes. Even when he was drunk, there was a hint of sadness and hope battling in them. Now, they just looked dead.
“You claim to have kept your silence because you did not want to break and destroy me,” Malcolm addressed his brother. “But you chose to do it anyway when you chose to assault my wife. Now, you stand there pretending that you did it all to protect me. I cannot stand to listen to any more of your lies.”
Then, he and his wife left the room. The doors slammed shut behind them. The sound felt like an explosion, at least in Madeline’s ears.
Kenneth remained where he was, but he was also transformed. His shoulders had slumped, and his head bowed. His fists were clenched tight. He looked like he was suffering not just rage but also misery.
Madeline ached for Kenneth. She longed to reach out to him, touch his arm, and pull him back from the darkness into her embrace.
“Kenneth,” she whispered tentatively.
He seemed to flinch at the very sound of his own name. When he turned to her, there was only rage left.
“Out,” he commanded, his voice sharp but ragged like he was on the precipice, and about to fall. “Everyone, get out.”
Tristan and Cathy exchanged a look. After taking a deep breath, the Duke of Baxter gave a short nod, gently leading his wife by the elbow to the doors. There were no protests from either of them. The rest of Madeline’s family shuffled out without much noise.
But Madeline remained where she was. She did take another step toward him, stretching a hand toward him in her desire to provide him with comfort. She could not abandon him like this.
“Please, Kenneth. Let me stay with you. You do not have to be alone,” she pleaded.
“Madeline, please leave,” he said softly but firmly. “Leave the room. Leave me.”
“No. I am your wife. If something has wounded you, then let me bear some of it with you. That is what I am here for, is it not?”
He turned to her then, and what she saw frightened her more than his rage had. The man looking back was the cold, distant Duke she had met in the park. Every wall she had worked so hard to bring down had been raised again, higher than before.
“You are here to manage my household and my brother’s children,” he said. “Not this.”
