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Perhaps, he thought, he had died in some way in that glasshouse after all. There was no more fear, guilt, or any need to control others or protect himself with wrath.

And instead of wrath, what he felt inside his chest…was love. Wide, deep, all-encompassing, accepting, and forgiving love.

Love that gave him the strength of acceptance and redemption. The power to kneel and ask forgiveness of John’s family.

And then he needed to give himself to the authorities. He was a murderer. And even if he was a duke, he needed to be punished for what he had done, take responsibility, and face the consequences.

Even if the punishment for murder was hanging.

Even for a duke.

He looked at Lucien. “I won’t say a word about you or Pryde.”

Lucien’s face fell, but he nodded solemnly. Slowly, he stood up.

“Where’s my valet?” Dorian asked. “I have a trip to make.”

37

The wind howled through the garden, whipping Patience’s skirts about her ankles as she knelt amid the rosebushes. Thorns pricked at her hands through the thin gloves as she carefully snipped away diseased leaves, her shears trembling slightly. The overcast sky hung heavy and gray above, promising a storm.

Patience gazed at the drooping buds of the damask rose, already succumbing to the relentless assault of black spot, a common fungal disease that weakened roses before they could even bloom.

How fitting that they should mirror the state of her own heart, she thought bitterly. The man she loved, the man who had awakened feelings in her she never knew she was capable of, was the same man who had killed her brother.

And yet, like the pretty damask rose, she lacked the strength of the hardy gallica rose.

She also lacked Dorian.

Hot tears stung her eyes, and a strangled sob escaped her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall.

Her family had been quite distressed to see her return. Everybody knew she had broken Dorian’s condition that she couldn’t leave him for one year. Things had finally started to improve for them; with the debts paid, some of her papa’s meager income went to buy the food that Patience no longer grew. However, the biggest improvement in their position would come after one year, so they still couldn’t afford to hire servants or do the larger repairs that Rose Cottage sorely needed. Still, their spirits had lifted significantly.

What would happen now with Dorian? she wondered. Would he punish her family for her disobedience?

Even now, thinking of the way he punished her brought a shudder of desire. Despite her pain at his betrayal, and her broken heart, she still wanted him.

Still loved him.

“Patience?”

Anne’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts. Her sister approached, her golden locks teased by the wind, her kind blue-gray eyes filled with concern. Just like the day Papa had brought the news of Patience’s engagement, Anne knelt beside her on the damp earth. She laid a comforting hand on Patience’s shoulder.

“Some things never change,” she chuckled. “Even as a duchess, Patience still takes care of her roses.”

Patience chuckled softly as she cut off yet another diseased leaf. “Have you been working on another mathematical treatise?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Anne. “With Papa’s debts cleared, I do have more time and peace of mind.”

Patience smiled sadly.

“Cheer up, darling,” said Anne. “Remember the basket? The lock?”

Patience frowned. She hadn’t done the basket exercise for a few weeks now. Every day with Dorian, she had felt less and less need to turn away from her sadness, despair, or fear. And she’d started to listen to what those feelings were telling her.

“I don’t want to,” said Patience.

Anne raised her eyebrows. “No? What are you talking about? You were always the first one to suggest doing it.”