he’d broken down her door, she saw the beast in him, wild and frustrated. He replied, but it seemed as though she had not spoken. “We marry. It is the only choice.”
In her dreams, she had imagined this moment. Alec proposing marriage. But in those dreams, he proposed from passion. From love. Never from duty. And certainly never with regret.
Marriage to Alec Stuart, Duke of Warnick, might have been Lily’s greatest desire . . . but she did not want it like this.
She had given him all she had—her love. And it was not enough for him. And so she gave him the only other thing she could.
His freedom.
“You forget, Your Grace, that you cannot force me into marriage.”
His eyes went wide with recognition as she invoked the most important clause in her guardianship agreement. “Lily,” he said, warning in the word.
She turned toward the door, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “I shan’t marry a man who regrets me. I may not deserve better, but I owe myself that.”
She did not expect him to reply. And she certainly did not expect him to reply with such anger. “Goddammit, Lily,” he thundered, deep and low and thick with brogue. She turned back to find the muscles of his broad, bare chest rippling with barely contained fury. “You think I would be the one who regrets? You think it would be me who was shamed?”
“I do,” she said, the words coming on a wave of confusion. “Of course it would be. Marrying Lovely Lily? The ruined Miss Muse? What worse a choice for a duke?”
He came toward her, and she thought he might take her in hand before he stopped short, crossing his arms across his magnificent broad chest. “Lily,” he said, the words no longer angry. Now, exhausted. Resigned. “I promise you. I would not regret you for a moment. You, on the other hand . . . you would regret every minute we’ve ever shared.”
Impossible.
“I would never regret it.” She stopped. “Alec. What I said—I love you.”
He turned away from her, reaching for his coat. “I shall take you home.”
This is my home. Wherever you are is home.
Tears threatened, and she resisted the words. Instead, settling on a single question. “Why?”
For a moment, she thought he might answer, his throat working, his gaze the only thing in the room. She willed him to answer. To reveal whatever demons loomed for him. When he spoke, it was not a reply, but a declaration.
“Not me. Another. Someone worthy.” And then he said, “We shall find the painting. And we shall set you free.”
Chapter 18
SOMETHING WICKED INDEED: SCOTTISH BRUTE SPIED AT SCOTTISH PLAY
England shall be your ruin.
As a child, Alec had heard the words dozens of times. Hundreds of them. Every time he had begged his father to send him to England. To follow his mother. To honor her. To find the place she loved—a world that had promised more for her than the Scottish borderlands ever could.
England shall be your ruin, the old man would say. Just as it was mine.
And now it was true.
Like his father, he loved an Englishwoman of whom he was unworthy. Unlike his father, he was willing to do anything to save her from a future replete with disappointment.
I love you.
He should never have made her say it. Should never have allowed himself to bask in it.
But even now, those words rioted through him, making him ache. It would make everything to come that much more difficult—knowing that she would stay with him if he asked. That she would lower herself to be with him.
He had one way of protecting her from that life. One final chance that would give her the life of which she dreamed. And so he stood alone in the largest box at the Hawkins Theater—belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Duncan West, the newspaper magnate and his legendary aristocratic wife—waiting for the show to begin. He wore a coat and trousers that ostensibly fit him, but nevertheless felt as though they would strangle him, slowly, throughout the evening.
“You look terrifying,” King said as he stepped through the curtain and into the box, his charming wife on his arm.
Alec bowed low over the marchioness’s hand before standing straight and saying, “My lady, I am ever amazed by your patience and tolerance with such a fully tactless husband.”
Sophie laughed at the words. “It is a great trial, as you can imagine, Your Grace.” She paused. “For what it is worth, I do not