Page 138 of The Sainted Duchess
“Your Grace,” he said to Maria and then “Your Grace,” again, to Stephen.
“Thank you,” she said. “Elinor?”
“In your rooms, ma’am.”
“Have her prepare some hot water and a cloth for her,” Stephen instructed. “You should get cleaned up.”
“I would rather speak to you first,” Maria replied. “It would be better.”
“Are you certain?”
She only nodded, and that was the only confirmation that Nicholas needed. He took her by the hand and guided her upstairs to his study.
She thought about the last conversation that they had here, and winced.
“It’s fine now,” he said to her. “We do not need to go through all this pain any longer.”
“I am trying to be optimistic,” she smiled. She noticed that his demeanor had changed completely now.
He was no longer the murderous Stephen she had encountered. In fact, he looked largely nervous.
“You must have ridden like a madman,” she said to lighten the mood.
“I did, and I would do it again.”
“I did not thank you earlier,” She nodded once, accepting the truth as it came.
“Do not,” he said at once. “If you thank me for finding you, I shall…” he closed his eyes a moment, “I shall not tolerate it.”
“Very well.”
“Can I…” He was glancing at her cheek. She nodded, and his touch was careful, the faintest graze of a thumb at the edge of the bruise.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “For this and for everything that led to this. I should not have pushed you to a point where you had to make the decision to leave. It was my responsibility, and it feels as though I failed you in that moment.”
“There is no need for an apology,” she said immediately.
“Yes, there is,” Stephen replied. “I shall never make the mistake of pushing you away again. It only gives men like Owen the chance to hurt those that I love.”
She felt the sentence take root.
“Those you love,” she repeated, very quietly.
His hand trembled against her cheek. He stepped back a fraction, swallowed, and squared himself.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that if I begin, I will not stop.”
“Begin anyway,” she said.
He drew a breath that seemed to cost him.
“I am sorry,” he said again, slowly, “When I heard you were missing, my mind broke. I thought I had sent you away the night we argued, and now the world had taken you at my word and done it properly. I stood in my father’s house and felt the walls closing, and all I could think was,If she dies, none of this will matter anymore.”
She stood quite still and let the words do the work he meant them to do.
“When I found you,” he went on, “and saw your wrists and your cheek, there was a moment where I believed I would not be able to stop until the room was all blood. I stopped because you said my name. If you had not…. Well, then. Owen would not have lived to see another day. I am not proud of that man. But he belongs to me, and I will not pretend he isn’t in the room.”
“Thank you,” she said. It was flattering, if anything, in a strange way. He was willing to kill for her.
