To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars)

“Are you all right?” Ian asked urgently when she remained silent.

Tess shook her head mutely. She couldn’t speak. She was too shaken, too devastated. She wanted to seek solace against Ian’s broad chest, but she couldn’t seem to move.

After a few more moments, however, she roused herself enough to speak. “I think you should have told me before this.”

“I didn’t want to shatter your illusions,” Ian replied in a low voice. “Richard was a saint in your eyes, and I felt obligated to preserve his memory. Moreover, he seemed truly repentant. He recognized his mistake and spent the two years before his death trying to redeem himself—to make himself worthy of your love. The army was the making of him.”

Perhaps so, Tess thought, remembering General Lord Wellington’s letter commending Richard for heroism under arms. Reportedly, he’d been a brave, gallant soldier, recognized for his valiant and honorable deeds. Was his heroism a direct result of his dishonorable past?

She was still debating the question when Ian returned to his desk and retrieved a folded parchment from a drawer. Crossing to Tess, he held it out to her.

“Richard wrote you a letter in the event he didn’t make it home and you learned the truth about Jamie.”

“A letter?”

“Yes.”

The seal was still intact, Tess noted as she accepted Ian’s offering. Seeing her name there in Richard’s familiar handwriting, she closed her eyes, trying to keep the worst pain at bay. She had been raw with grief at her betrothed’s death, and now, seeing his letter brought all the old pain rushing back.

Her eyes blurred with tears, she broke the seal and opened the letter.

My lovely, loving Tess,

If you are reading this, then you know about Jamie and his mother—the girl I wronged, just as I wronged you. Please know that I have striven to become a better man every day since. I knew I was not worthy of you, that I needed to earn your love and respect.

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. And if not, then I pray I haven’t destroyed the affection you once bore me.

I have one last favor to beg of you. Will you look after Jamie for me? Rotham has agreed to raise him, but a child needs a mother, and I know you will be wondrous in that regard.

Always your loving Richard

Feeling the tears slip down her face, Tess bowed her head.

Watching her, Ian balled his hands into fists. He wanted to hit something, preferably his damned dead cousin. He wanted Richard alive again so he could strangle the bloody bastard for putting Tess through this renewed pain.

He knew approximately what was in the letter: Richard was begging her for forgiveness. A forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

Seeing Tess like this, weeping silently, made Ian hurt deep down in his chest.

This was exactly why he’d kept the truth from her all these years. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to hurt her—and shattering Richard’s halo only added to the loss she’d already suffered. From her stricken expression he could tell he had devastated her once again, just as he’d done two years ago when he’d broken the news of her beloved betrothed’s death.

Ian breathed forcibly, battling a surge of emotion at his own impotence. He ached with the urge to comfort Tess, his heart wrenching at the crushing vulnerability he’d seen shimmering in her eyes. He wanted to hold her until that terrible look went away.

“Tess,” he entreated, taking a step toward her. “Please, love, don’t cry.…”

At the sound of his voice, she stiffened and dashed a hand over her wet cheeks. She wouldn’t accept his comfort, Ian knew.

The next moment she proved him right. Tess rose abruptly to her feet, clutching her hands together to steady their shaking.

“I cannot … forgive me, but I cannot stay here just now. I need to be alone.”

“Very well, I will leave you,” Ian offered.

He started to turn away, but Tess stopped him. “No. This is your house, Ian. I want to go home. To Chiswick.”

Ian went still. Of course she considered Chiswick her home, and not this London mansion where she was residing only to fulfill expectations of his duchess.

He searched Tess’s face, wishing in vain that he could wipe that lost, grief-stricken look from her eyes.