Page 10 of The Duke's Only Desire

Heavens, how could shenotknow him, even now? After all those nights when she’d lain in bed and dreamt of him, of his easy grin and his golden blond hair that curled against the collar of his red army uniform…her dashing and brave soldier who would come and save her, who would sweep her into his arms and carry her away.

But that dream died with his brother.

She’d loved him once, although she’d never dared utter her feelings aloud. Her heart had slowly become his through the letters Shay had written to her when he was in the army and she was still engaged to John. John had never written to her. Not once. But Shay had, from all the places he’d been posted, first with the Prussians and then later when he’d taken a commission with the British. He’d filled his letters with stories of army lifeand descriptions of all the places he’d seen and all the people he’d met. Afraid he would find her boring or dull compared to the women in his officer’s world, she had tucked into her letters small gifts to remind him of home…pressed flowers and leaves, paintings and drawings she’d made of London, pieces of ribbon, a bit of embroidery. She had fallen in love with him through his letters and those precious little gifts he’d sent from his travels, through every minute of the rare but wonderful visits he paid to her whenever he had returned to England. Fate had nearly wed her to the wrong brother.

“Good.” He stopped at the edge of the shadows. “Better for everyone you did.”

Nowhewas the one lying. “Why are you here?” She crossed her arms over her chest against the memory of his brutal rejection. Even now, after all these years, it still hurt. “You weren’t invited to this party.”

It hadn’t even crossed her mind to do so. They hadn’t been in contact for nearly five years. Five gruelingly long years since his last unexpected visit when he’d called on her in London on his way to Ravenscroft Manor from Spain, on several weeks of well-earned leave. At eighteen, she’d been starry-eyed and thrilled to see him again. They’d shared a wonderful afternoon of walks through the park and quiet conversations in the garden, speaking of nothing and everything… everything, that is, except her impending marriage to his brother.

But the wedding never happened.

She and Grandmama had been waiting at the village church for the ceremony to begin when word arrived that John Douglass had been killed the previous night. Still in her wedding dress, Sophie fell to the floor in uncontrollable sobs, but not because she was grieving. How could she grieve a man she had never known except for their one and only meeting when he’d said unforgivable things to her? No, she had cried tears of reliefand joy, and for that, surely she’d damned her soul, because on the heels of that news came word that Shay had been severely injured.

The doctors refused to let her see him, telling her that his condition was too severe for her delicate constitution to bear, too uncertain to receive any visits at all, even from his uncle Malcolm who had rushed to Ravenscroft Manor at the news. Grandmama, herself shaken and in tears—although for a completely different reason than Sophie—had taken her back to London to begin her mourning period, most likely so the old woman could put Sophie right back on the marriage market in hopes of yet snagging a peer. Her grandmother had been nothing if not mercenary.

Nasty rumors begin to pour through society only days after her return—that the fire was Shay’s fault, that he was responsible for his brother’s death, that he wanted the title for himself…Nonsense!None of that was true. But all her letters to Shay begging for an explanation went unanswered, even as the weeks advanced into months, even as he recovered and should have reached out to her, even as his own father died only two months later. No word, no plea to see her. Nothing…until he wrote to her to tell her to leave him alone.

She never saw him again.No onein London ever saw him again. He’d become a recluse who never left Ravenscroft Manor.

Until tonight.

A bittersweet pang tightened her chest. As she stared at him, saying nothing around the knot in her throat as he slowly came closer, her eyes burned until his shadow-covered face blurred, although she couldn’t have said whether her tears came from surprise or anger. They certainly weren’t from joy.

“I thought my invitation had been lost in the post,” he drawled.

“You were most definitelynotinvited.” She didn’t care if she were rude. He’d wounded her irreparably, and she had every right not to forgive him. “And you know it. So why are you here?”

“I’d heard there was to be an engagement ball tonight.”

She shivered, not from the cold air chilling through her silk gown but from the frigid tone of his voice. “You’ve come all the way to London to offer me congratulations?” Unable to stop the bitterness from dripping from her tongue, she added sarcastically, “How kind.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it.” He took another step, this time fully out of the shadows.

Her breath tore from her throat. His face. His handsome face—oh God.

She stared, unable to believe her eyes. His left side was exactly as she remembered, with its high cheekbone, smooth skin, and firm line of his jaw. But the right… Her hand flew to her mouth—oh, she was going to be sick! Through the hot tears blurring her eyes, she saw the thick scars of old burns which marred his skin, rough and hideous like ruined leather, and made him unrecognizable. A monster.

He let her stare, remaining as motionless as a statue, although she felt the cringe inside him and the self-abhorrence, both as palpable as the cold air pricking her skin.

“I haven’t come to congratulate you.” When he spoke, the left side of his mouth didn’t match the right in its asymmetrical movements. “I’ve come to stop you.”

“You’ve come…” she whispered through her fingers at her lips. “Why?” she choked out, the strangled words barely more than a breath beneath the stunned confusion paralyzing her.

“Because you’re already engaged to the Duke of Malvern.” His lips curled deliberately into a dark smile, ghastly and uneven, the scarred side of his face immobile. His icy words slithered down her spine. “To me.”