Page 61 of The Duke Meets His Match

She hadn’t even realized she was bleeding. She touched herself and felt a cut on her hairline, and she suspected what had caused the injury. Henry’s signet ring must have cut her when he’d flailed out. “I’m fine. It’s not deep.”

Henry stood behind them, his expression stark as he touched his throat. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I never meant for you to be harmed.”

Michael didn’t pay Henry attention. He helped her to her feet, his gaze traveling her from head to toe, then back to her face. He inhaled sharply. “You could have been gravely injured. Because of me.”

“No, no. It wasn’t your fault, and it’s a small wound.” Her heart hammered in her chest. Instinct told her that she needed to quickly put his mind at ease.

He shook his head. “You could have hit your head and been taken from me,” he said in a harsh, raw voice.

“No. It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Just an accident.”

Henry remained still. “I should have heeded your warning to cease, Chloe. I never suspected it would go this far.”

She felt Michael shudder as he drew in a sharp breath. “Go now, Henry. We’ll talk about this later.”

Henry hesitated for a heartbeat, long enough for Chloe to worry that he’d refuse to go once again. But then he nodded and crossed the room. He closed the door quietly on his way out.

Michael’s complexion was ashen, and a look of tired sadness passed over his handsome features. “Christ. I should have known it was too good to last.”

A warning voice whispered in her head. “What do you mean?”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I was selfish to think I could have you forever. I cannot risk your safety. What happened here tonight proves I’m unfit for—”

She became more uneasy as her dismay grew. “As I said, you mustn’t blame yourself. The letter was a physical reminder of that tragic day, and Henry should never have used it as he did. You didn’t harm me, and I’m fine.”

“No. Listen to me, Chloe. You need a man, one who is stable and competent. One who is in charge of his mind and body.”

“I have one.”

He shook his head. “I was a fool to think all would be well and that there was hope.”

“There is always hope.”

“Tonight proved that’s false. What if this happens again? What if I go back to that dark place?”

“Then we will handle it together.”

His jaw tensed. “No, we won’t. I will handle it. Alone. I cannot marry you. I will not marry anyone.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer. “Michael, please. You must not say such things.”

“I’m truly sorry for what I have put you through, but I am not the man for you. Live your life, Chloe Somerton. Marry and have children. Forget me.”

She grew desperate and reached for him, but he evaded her gasp. Her throat ached with anguish. “Michael—”

“Wait ten minutes, then return to the group.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me.”

He glanced back. “I cannot…I will not change my mind.” Then he turned and strode out the door.

Chloe stared at the closed door in shock and dismay. Then, slowly, she sagged and slid down the wall until she was curled in a ball on the Oriental carpet. Her fingers trembled as she touched her lips. They were still swollen from the duke’s passionate kisses.

How had things turned so quickly? Happiness had been within reach. Her future had never been brighter. One minute she was in his arms, passion overriding reason, the next had been a nightmare. She’d finally found a man who cared naught for her past and wanted to marry her, only to lose him so quickly.

She loved him with all her heart, and he’d rejected her.

Her misery was a steel weight, and she felt the nauseating sickness of despair grip her. Life was truly cruel. How would she survive the evening? How would she survive at all? Her heart ached at the loss, and she wanted to flee—to shut herself in her bedchamber and succumb to wracking, soul-drenching sobs.