Bewitching the Duke

His anger emanated from him like the heat from a fireplace. And yet, he had never looked so handsome. His face was unshaved and dark with stubble. His clothes looked rumpled as if he’d slept in them, and judging by the smell of stale brandy permeating the air around him, he probably had slept in his clothes.

He slammed both of his hands on either side of her shoulders, trapping her against the cabinet. “Have you nothing to say?”

“Me?” She finally found her voice. “You tell me you wanted to kill my mother and then wonder why I ran off!”

“I was trying to make a point.”

“Well you did a very poor job of it.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Perhaps I did. But it was no reason to run off and tell no one where you were going. Do you have any idea how worried everyone is?”

She hadn’t really thought about anyone else for the past two days. Normally, all she did was think of other people’s feelings. “I’m sorry. I will apologize to everyone. But right now, I’d like you to leave.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell what really made you run off.”

She should tell him everything and be done with it. Once she told him, he would never want to see her again. But she didn’t want him to leave just yet. She had to find a way to stall. “How is your wound?”

“I am fine.”

She sensed he was nearing the end of his patience. “Are you certain?” She placed her hand on his forehead to feel for a fever. “You are nice and cool.”

“Selina,” he growled.

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; “I cannot tell you,” she admitted. “If I do you will hate me forever.” Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her to his handsome face.

“I could never hate you, darling.”

“Oh, you could. You have no idea.”

“Selina,” he said again, closer to her face. “If you don’t tell me now . . . hell, I don’t know what I shall do.”

“Do you hate my mother?” She had to know.

“I do not like what happened.”

“Do you hate my mother?” she pressed again.

His jaw clenched. “I did for many years. But I am working through those feelings, thanks in part to you.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “My mother was not at fault that night.”

“I know. You have told me that several times.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” she cried. “It was mine.”

He reached out and caressed her cheek. “Darling, you weren’t even there. The servants told me it was just your mother upstairs.”

“They lied to protect me. Everyone lied to protect me from you that night.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” he whispered hoarsely.

“My mother was too drunk to be of any use. Mrs. Roberts knew I had assisted my mother so she called me. They snuck me in the house and up the back staircase.” She paused to catch her breath. “The cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck. I had never seen that before. I didn’t know what to do. I tried unwrapping the cord but he still wouldn’t take a breath.”

He backed away from her. His face paled and mouth gaped.

“I am the reason your wife and child died that night. Not my mother.”