The Return of the Duke - Grace Callaway Page 0,107

shattering of Severin’s illusions continued from there.

For the first time, he witnessed what lay beneath the cultivated façade of the Hammond family. Mrs. Hammond had blamed her husband for marrying Imogen off to a cad because he was too busy dallying with his whores to pay proper attention to their daughter. Mr. Hammond had retorted that if his wife hadn’t been such an icicle in bed, he would not need to find pleasure elsewhere. Mrs. Hammond had shot back that he was a fortune hunter who’d married her for her dowry.

And on it had went. The pair shredded their canvas of perfection with malicious glee, hurling the strips of their discontent at one other. Finally, Severin had cut in to ask if anybody planned to help Imogen, who’d been sitting by quietly, her expression resigned. Luckily, Imogen’s older brother Roger had arrived and said that he would talk to Cardiff—do more than talk, if necessary, to keep his sister safe. Seeing the resolve in Roger Hammond’s eyes, Severin knew his time with the Hammonds was done.

Imogen had seen him to the door…and she had apologized.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she whispered. “I hope it will not ruin things between us.”

Things between them were already ruined, Severin had realized. Had been the moment he’d seen their relationship for what it was: an illusion. He had mistaken his boyish idealization of Imogen for love. As a man, what he felt for her was gratitude for the years of friendship, for her kindness to him when he had had no one else.

“You have been a good friend to me,” he said. “I wish you well.”

And Imogen had given him that sad, beautiful smile he’d adored as a boy.

“You love her, don’t you?” she asked.

“With everything that I am,” he said simply.

“But we will still be friends, won’t we?” She put a hand on his arm. “You will still be my knight?”

Seeing the desperation in Imogen’s eyes, Severin had felt a tug of pity and fondness. The concern he would have for a friend. Yet he did not think her fantasy was doing her any favors—and, out of respect for Fancy, he could not let it stand.

“My protection belongs to my wife.” Gently and firmly, he removed Imogen’s hand. “She will always come first. If you wish for us to remain friends, then you must honor that.”

Imogen’s eyes shimmered. “Then this is…goodbye?”

He nodded. “If your brother needs help dealing with Cardiff, he knows how to contact me. Take care, Imogen.”

He had left and spent the early morning hours wandering through the streets. He passed the tenements where he and his maman had lived, the alleyways where she’d sacrificed herself for their survival, the gin palaces where she’d obliterated her sorrows and lost herself. He walked the streets that had birthed him, where he had bled while his mother had been torn away, where he had known loneliness and hunger and despair. When he emerged at his own house, he finally left all of it behind.

Or, rather, the past was a part of him, but it no longer drove him. He was no longer running like a terrified, powerless guttersnipe. Because, as a man, he’d found what he needed: Fate had bestowed a gift upon him, giving him the love of a lifetime.

He let himself in, walking past his startled butler.

“Is Her Grace up yet, Harvey?” he asked.

“No, Your Grace.” The butler’s gaze flicked to the poesy Severin had bought from a flower girl. “When Her Grace returned last night, she asked not to be disturbed.”

Severin continued heading up the stairs. It had been a late night, and Fancy had looked tired when she left the soiree. His chest expanded with tenderness and pride as he thought of how entrancing she’d been last night. How she’d won over even a stickler like Princess Adelaide. His only regret was that he hadn’t been a husband worthy of her…but that was going to change.

Now that he understood his own heart, he would tell Fancy everything, bare his past and his soul. He would beg her forgiveness. Give her anything and everything she desired if she would let him.

Reaching the next floor, he ran into Eleanor, Toby, and Aunt Esther.

Disapproval glinted in his aunt’s eyes. “Are you just arriving home, Knighton?”

“I had business to attend to. Have you seen Fancy?” He tried but failed to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

“Francesca is still abed. She wasn’t feeling well after the party.” Aunt Esther sniffed. “Likely