Page 67

He cleared his throat.

“Chastity was six years old and grieving the sudden departure of our mama just as I was. It was a punishment, you see. I couldn’t stop feeling all those emotions, crying because Papa had killed my lamb. A lamb was not a worthy pet for a future duke. If I’d decided to adopt a hunting hound, that would have been so much better. And Chastity was as bad. Already at that young age, she was reading books on the classification of species, microscopy, and classical mechanics, instead of playing the pianoforte, doing needlework, and learning to dance.

“And so Papa yelled and thundered at her, and she, even at six, told him she would rather have gone with Mama because Mama had thought she was too smart for her age and that giving her books on science was the only way to provide her mind enough challenge to develop.”

Dorian cleared his throat again and met Patience’s gaze. He wondered if she had experienced anything similar to Chastity, with her uncanny intelligence and talent for botany. Had John tried to defend her, as well, or would he have belittled her about her intelligence like Dorian’s own papa had done with Chastity?

“But Papa got enraged and slapped her across the cheek. I couldn’t just stand by. I picked up my sword and came between Papa and Chastity, shouting for Papa to back away and that he would not touch Chastity again.

“Chastity was crying, holding on to her cheek, and I was seeing red for the first time.

“Papa laughed and told the fencing master to fight me in a duel. The fencing master simply unarmed me. Papa always refused to fight his own battles, sending his servants to fight them for him.

“Then he threw me into the glasshouse and locked the door from the outside.

“It was summer. It was so incredibly hot. The humid air, barely any ventilation, the sun baking through the glass… I hid under the palms. They gave me some shade, but soon I was thirsty. Hungry. I spent two days there, drinking from the trough with dirty, slimy water that was kept inside to increase the humidity. I got sick and vomited. I’m ashamed to admit I was desperate enough for drink and for food and felt so bad that I knocked on the panes and cried for someone to let me out. It was on the third day that I saw Chastity coming to me, Lucien on her heels, crying that they were going to let me out.

“And Papa came behind them, screaming that he’d take a whip to Chastity if she took another step forward.”

Dorian’s beast screamed at him to not say another word. But he looked at Patience, who had the saddest eyes in the world, the eyes of someone who understood.

Who accepted him anyway.

“And it was that fear that turned the rest of my energy into rage. Fear of Papa doing something to Chastity again. I picked up one of the stone troughs and threw it into the glass panes.

“I had to get to her before Papa took out his whip. Glass shattered and flew just like the mirror the other day.

“I had to go through the hole to get to Chastity.

“I was just so enraged with Papa and so afraid for her. I think it’s the fear that’s always my downfall. I feel fear, and then I have to lash out. Have to rage. And attack. With words or with fists. Sometimes with weapons.

“Because if I’m not raging, then I’m afraid.

“Then I’m lonely.

“Then I’m so utterly unworthy that I just can’t deal with the pain.”

“Oh, Dorian,” Patience whispered.

She reached out and took his wounded hand in both of hers. They were small and so tender he could almost choke.

“You are very worthy,” she whispered. “You’re perhaps the worthiest person I know. The worthiest and the most wounded.”

He chuckled. He could hear and understand her words, but they didn’t reach his heart; he couldn’t accept them as the truth, even though hearing someone as brilliant and lovely and kind as her say them made his chest warm in response.

“I didn’t realize how much I cut myself. My hand. I must have cut the vein on my wrist. I don’t know. There were many cuts on my face, shoulders, and body as I pushed through the broken pane.

“Chastity screamed. Lucien screamed. I pushed Papa away from her, and his tailored coat was marred by smudges of blood from my palms.”

Dorian didn’t know how he was speaking so easily of this when the memories pounded in his head like a drum.

“Oh no, Dorian,” Patience said, and when he looked at her, tears rolled down her cheeks.

Because of him.

“Darling, I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

He took her face in his hands and wiped her tears with his thumbs. Then when she didn’t stop crying and new tears rolled down her pretty flushed cheeks, he kissed every one of them away, tasting salt.