In the Dark with the Duke by Christi Caldwell Page 0,103

in the beveled mirror. Water dripped down his face, running down his cheeks, like the crystal tears Lila had silently shed.

“It all went so bad, so quickly. There were yells. I’ll never forget them. In the heart of it, I didn’t understand what was happening. But then the yeomanry charged . . . Men, cutting down their neighbors. They called their names, Hugh. They called their names . . .”

His chest moved rapidly, in a jerky, painful rhythm.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

His efforts proved futile.

Retching, he scrambled for the chamber pot. Finding it in time, he threw up. Emptying the contents of his stomach over and over again, until there was only bile and his sides ached from the force of his heaving.

Every muscle in his legs failed him.

Hugh slid to the floor at the foot of his bed, and setting his chamber pot beside him, he simply sat there. Until the morning sky gave way to dusk, and the ink-black night shoved away all hint of light, blanketing London in darkness.

All these years, he’d been consumed with himself. From the moment he’d fled the Fight Society and abandoned the closest to friends and family he’d ever recalled in life, to that fateful day at Peterloo, the thought had been about himself . . . and surviving . . . and never again perpetuating violence against anyone. But it had always been about Hugh—escaping and breaking the chains of the nightmares he carried.

Until now.

Lila and her happiness mattered more.

Lila, who could only bring herself to comfortably stalk in the shadows while still fearing the sunlight.

And in that moment, he resolved to help her find that which she wished, even if it cost him the last parts of his soul, and then he’d do what needed to be done—he’d leave her and this life behind.

For there could be no doubting that if she discovered the truth of him and his past? All that warmth and tenderness in her gaze whenever she looked upon him would die . . . and he could not bear it if that happened.

Nay, he’d attempt to give her back the gifts that had been taken from her. And after he did, he’d do the only other thing he could do . . . he’d leave.

Chapter 24

Sprawled on her temporary bed in her sister’s guest chambers, Lila stared up at the floral mural overhead.

Flowers, which her sister so loved she’d adorned every carpet, corner, and console with arrangements. Be they real, or paintings, or embroideries.

As a girl, Lila had hated the nights. In the dark, the shadows would twist and bend into monsters in her mind. So that she’d lain there with the coverlet drawn to her mouth, scanning her spacious chambers for the one that would pounce.

It wasn’t until a bright sunny day at Peterloo that she’d come to appreciate the dark for the gift it was. It allowed a person an ability to stay concealed. In the dead of night, most of the world slept. There weren’t crowds. No crush of bodies that could consume a person at an unexpected onslaught of danger.

It was why she’d been able to venture out amongst the living once more.

These past weeks—nay, the time in which she’d known Hugh—there hadn’t been that fear.

Oh, the memories were there. They always would be.

But when she was with him, the monsters had been quieted, and she’d become any other woman—unafraid, challenging another person, talking with them . . . and knowing passion.

Tiring of those flowers overhead, Lila flipped onto her side and proceeded to pluck at the rose adorned in lace upon the white coverlet.

He’d not come.

Of course, it shouldn’t have been any manner of surprise. After the speed with which he’d left her, everything had bespoke horror and said it would be the last she’d ever see him. But last night, when sleep hadn’t come, it’d had nothing to do with memories of Peterloo. Nay, it was as though after revealing all to Hugh, she’d purged those darkest of demons, and all she’d been left with was an eager anticipation of seeing him again that morn.

“No doubt he pities you,” she whispered. Because she was broken. Because Hugh, as a man of honor, would undoubtedly feel guilt over pressing her for a return favor now that he’d gathered the truth.

With a sound of frustration, she stretched a fist out and punched the pillow next to her.

A soft rap came at the door, and hope brought Lila springing up from her repose. “Come in,”