Page 19 of Her Tempestuous Duke

Good. Because she didn’t want to be forced from it. She didn’t want to go back to Naples either, though she shied away from examining her reasons.

Lord Anthony frowned. “I suppose we could move to one of the more distant Pendorran properties—you needn’t have anything more to do with us. But I have done you so much harm, it will be found out eventually, and how will Minerva and I bear the shame? It is best we leave the country and you return to the duchy—you’ll find it in excellent order.”

No! If Parys accepted, she’d have to go back to Naples with Lord Anthony. Which was much too far away. What did it matter what the gossips said? Why did men care so much about their honor, their reputations?

“I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to take up the reins of nobility again—that sickness did me more harm than you can imagine. Return to Tremar while I think about your offer—I’ll send word when my decision is made.”

There was still hope, then, that she wouldn’t be sent abroad. If only she could speak to Parys in private—maybe she could reassure him that a cure would be found for his recurring illness. She could offer to tend to him when he felt weak. But if he didn’t want her as part of his household, that was his decision to make. She was Lord Anthony’s ward, and Parys Pendorran owed her nothing.

And even if the brothers could find a way to coexist as neighbors, she loathed the idea that Parys might think of her as his niece.

There was nothing for it. When Lord Anthony and the servants were ready to leave, she would be forced to leave with them.

Chapter Eleven

The wind had picked up again, and the sound of the waves lashing the rocks gnawed at Parys’ soul. To protect Minerva, he’d told Anthony he could remain at Tremar Park, and continue as Duke of Tremar. It meant Parys would be alone once more, save for his animals and the occasional encounter with a villager. But there were no friends for him in the village—he sometimes wondered if there was anyone in the entire world who would understand him.

He shrugged—this was a time for strength, not self-pity. He glanced at Anthony, swaddled in one of his precious blankets—the shipwrecked men had lost various items of clothing, and he’d felt obliged to replace them from his meager stock of beach-combed bounty. He’d given Minerva the boots. She was far too delicate to make a midwinter journey, albeit a short one, without decent footwear.

A shaft of agony pierced his heart. He’d been all but destroyed by his brother’s behavior—now, he feared to be brought lower still by Minerva’s departure. His feelings made no sense. They had known one another but a day and a night and had been enemies for most of that time.

The men were waiting at the head of the steep rock-cut steps leading down to the causeway. Minerva wasn’t with them. Could this mean—? No. He mustn’t trust to hope. Drawing in a breath, he bolstered his resolve. He must bid her farewell, and if he could do it in private, all the better. Waving at Anthony to wait where he was, Parys strode back into the courtyard and headed for the castle kitchen.

As he expected, she was there, crouched by the fireside with her arms around Caliban’s neck and her cheek pressed against him. Bathed in the firelight, she had become a miraculous creature gifted by the gods. He knew he would never forget her—her innocence, her beauty, her courage.

She had taught him the power of forgiveness, and he knew that, in time, he’d be the better for it. But at this moment, he knew more despair than when his brother had pushed him out to sea.

“Miss Harte? Minerva—they’re waiting for you.”

She raised her tear-stained face. Caliban licked the moisture away, accursed animal. If only he, Parys Pendorran, could have kissed away her tears. There was so much he wanted to do, to say, but only a few moments remained to them.

He gazed at her, trying to commit her image to memory, knowing that it was something he would treasure and redraw in his mind whenever he needed solace. There could be no future for them—he was a broken man—twisted, resentful, and uncomfortable to look at with his facial scar and constant scowl. Minerva, of course, would have no difficulty finding a husband worthy of her.

His mouth twisted. She immediately got to her feet and came toward him, clasping his hands in hers. Her fingers trembled, but he resisted the urge to chafe them. Too much contact would be his undoing.

What was there left to say? He couldn’t find the words, so he gazed into her eyes and hoped she would see what was in his mind and what lay in his heart.

“I am sorry to leave Caliban.”

Good. Safe ground for now. But what about him? It would be folly to ask. Why rip to shreds a heart that was already breaking?

“You could take him. I’m sure he’d go with you.” What was he saying? Forgiveness was one thing—giving away everything that was precious to him, quite another! Still, knowing Caliban was with Minerva would give him comfort. It would keep a connection between them, however slender the thread.

She raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think my guardian would approve of that. And I would never deprive you of him.”

She still held his hands. He brought them to his lips and kissed them before letting go.

He was shattering into a thousand pieces. If only she would stay! He would give anything to make her stay. Things might not work out between them, but at least he would have tried; he would have taken his one shot at happiness.

He couldn’t speak. As she continued to gaze up at him, it seemed that she had no words, either. Instead, she raised a hand to his face and traced his scar with her finger.

“I will never forget you, Parys. I will always remember this face—one that has seen so much. I just wish—”

Her voice broke on a sob, and he could resist no longer. He drew her into his arms and pressed her tightly against his chest. Whoever knew love could be this painful?

She clung to him as she wept, and he stroked her back and tangled his fingers in her hair, half-comforting, half-caressing. With every touch, he knew he was driving the wound deeper into his heart. Once she’d gone, could he ever hope to find love again? No—he had missed his chance.

Summoning all his strength, he held her away from him. “We must say goodbye, you and I. Thank you for your company and for what you have done.” He pressed his palm to his heart and bowed.