Rowan fought every natural instinct in him to keep from drawing Marce into his arms and insisting that everything would be fine. He was not taking her home, nor would he expect her to continue with their arrangement. Giving Marce her freedom also meant allowing himself a measure of independence, something that terrified him. As a duke, he had more autonomy than most men, though wealth and status did not keep the loneliness at bay.

“There has been a grave misunderstanding between us—“

She shook her head, causing a single curl to fall to her shoulder. “There has been no misunderstanding. I knew exactly what you expected of me, and I decided to call off our ruse. You were very clear about what you think of my life and me. I believe common whore said it all.”

“You heard me incorrectly.” He pivoted away from her. The anguish in her stare was too much for Rowan to handle. Her every word drove a dagger deeper and deeper into his heart. “I did not mean…”

He’d said what he said, and in that moment, he’d meant every word.

“I said those horrid things to cover my own hurt, the pain inside that grew a thousand times worse each time I saw how content you and Tobias were together…without me. Insinuating such an intimate connection, however—especially using the words I did—was something I did out of anger. At both of you, yes. But mostly at myself.”

“What I do or do not do is none of your concern, Rowan,” she fumed.

“I know you and Tobias have developed a kinship, one I am not a part of. One I did not realize I wished to be a part of until I witnessed the pair of you in the meadow.” Or had it been when she waved to Tobias as they stood in the gardens?

She took a step toward him, her finger pointed at his chest. “And if we decide to continue our friendship, that will not concern you either.”

“I understand that, Marce.” Rowan longed to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He longed to ask for… Ask for what? He would never ask her to continue playing his wife. He had no designs on Craven House, nor any say in her future plans. But bloody hell, he wasn’t ready to simply walk away and return to a future of seclusion either. As sad as it might sound, she was one of the few constants in his life. “I am here to beg for your forgiveness.”

She stumbled back a few steps as if she’d been pushed as his proclamation settled in the air between them. Her eyes narrowed in doubt. “Do you know how hard it has been to keep this from my family?”

“I never asked you to keep us a secret.”

“There is no us!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “And the alternative was to tell my family—my four siblings—that I was essentially selling myself to a duke and pretending to be someone I am not.” Her bitter laugh echoed in the room. “I’ve raised them to know they are worth something—that they are worth everything. I’ve longed for nothing more than for them to find happiness, no matter where it comes from. I preached about decorum, appropriate behavior, and the need to refrain from any activities that could be deemed scandalous—if not for themselves and their futures, then for the future of their other siblings. And the entire time I was acting the hypocrite. And it was you who made me into the charlatan I am today. You forced me to make a decision that went against every moral fiber of my being. Yes, I could have turned down your proposition; however, what chance would my family have had for a future if I’d turned you away that night?

“If I am a whore, I am—was—only your whore, Your Grace.” She punctuated each word with a jab to his chest. “I came running when you summoned me. I pranced about in fancy garb, entertained your mother, took a title that was not mine to use, and forgot about every dream I had for my own life. For eight long, tiring years. I lied to my family. I became a woman burdened with secrets. And the worst part? In the end, I sold out on my principles. I did the impossible. I will actually gain more from our union than is proper. I have saved enough coin to purchase another home where I can live the life I should have all those years ago. But at what cost? A steep one for certain. And all of this while you, a high-and-mighty, arrogant duke, go on like nothing happened. No lingering remorse over the decisions you made.”

“You are correct,” Rowan’s rage returned, but it was not focused on Marce—he was furious with himself. “Unlike you, and your family, I will walk away from this as I was before, but do not be so naive as to think everything that happened did not affect me. Our pasts are as entangled as those of our parents. Certainly, I had no right to command what I did of you. Without a doubt, it was unfair of me to force you to befriend my mother. Do you think I enjoyed being the only one to hold my mother’s hand while the midwife told me she’d not likely live but a year of two longer? Do you think I wanted to keep my father’s betrayal from my mother? His infidelities?”

His lungs burned as he struggled to gain enough air to alleviate his physical aches—his emotional pain was certain to be with him until he drew his last breath.

“I watched my mother suffer while my father found happiness—possibly love—in the arms of another woman. With another family. That is what I’ve lived with for all these years. Even when my father passed away, I was still the wounded boy I was the night I witnessed my father in this very room…reading a bloody book to a bunch of children who were not of his blood, while my mother and I suffered her loss…alone.” Her eyes widened in shock, and Rowan pushed himself to continue. “Question my actions and decisions all you like, Marce, but you can never despise me as much as I loathe myself”—He swallowed to keep his voice steady—“for everything I’ve put you through. For everything I demanded of you. Here I am, languishing on and on about how I suffered, yet it was you who gave up, who…sacrificed more than I ever did or will. I should be at your feet begging for your mercy, doing all in my power to give you what I took from you.”

He fell into silence, his chest heaving as he attempted to calm his erratic pulse.

Before him stood the most beautiful, confident woman he’d ever met. Her chin notched up in defiance—or perhaps acceptance of everything he’d laid before her. Only a hint of color stained her neck and cheeks as her bosom strained against her bodice.

The single curl still hung over her shoulder with the rest cascading down her back.

Without thinking, Rowan reached forward and brushed it behind her shoulder. They both froze when his fingers grazed her collarbone, their stares meeting.

His eyes searching…for what, Rowan did not know.

While her pensive gaze was one of somber sadness.

He had made her this way. Rowan hadn’t been acquainted with Marce before entering Craven House eight years prior, but without question, he knew he was responsible for turning her into the guarded, skeptical woman who stood before him now. If he’d dealt with his anger and the hurt caused by his father differently, how would both of their lives be altered now?

A light knock sounded on the door, and Rowan wanted to scream for the interloper to go away, to leave them to their private moment and never return.

But when the latch released and the door swung open, Marce quickly stepped away from him.

Their moment of honesty was gone as she receded to the far corner of the room, refusing to even so much as glance in his direction as a man entered.

There was no doubt that he was Marce’s brother, his light hair and blue eyes were proof enough as he cleared his throat and looked between his sister and Rowan. “Our meal is growing cold, and Payton is anxious to return to the baron’s residence. Shall I have Darla delay—”

“No, no,” Marce said, waving away the man’s words. “My guest was just departing.”

“I can have another place setting laid out if he wishes to join us.” From the scowl marring the man’s face, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“As I said, he was just leaving.” With a quick smile, Marce gestured for Rowan to proceed her from the room. “This way, please. I will show you out. Garrett, I will join you momentarily.”

With one final look at her, Rowan conceded. “I am staying at Tobias’s townhouse.”

“You should be on your way to Scotland,” she retorted, low enough that her brother did not hear.”

“I find I have things to attend to in London before it is possible for me to travel elsewhere, my lady.” He hadn’t come to cause her any trouble…quite the opposite, in fact. He hadn’t wanted her to fret about losing her home.

Judging by the way the man eyed him as he passed, if Rowan took one step out of line or refused to depart, her brother would be there to set him straight.

It did not escape his notice that Marce had made no attempt to introduce them. She had no plans to ever let him meet her siblings. She likely never expected to see him again.

Defeat and rejection threatened to overtake him as he entered his coach and slumped into his seat. Mustering any outrage at being dismissed in such a fashion eluded him. How was it possible to feel utterly lost and denied what he wanted, when he’d never had any clear goal of what he hoped to attain in the first place? It wasn’t until Tobias rapped on the coach wall, signaling the driver to set off, that Rowan remembered his friend had accompanied him to Craven House. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Marce—and Craven House—without making things right with her.

If anything, he’d made it worse.

And had been banished from her life—all in under an hour’s time.

Rowan was used to securing favorable business ventures in that timeframe, but the situation with Marce—and the way his entire chest ached at what they’d spoken of, both what she’d shared with him and what he’d confessed to her—was unthinkable. He hadn’t breathed a word of his past to anyone but Tobias, and even with his dear friend, the accusations leveled against his father were done with rage and fury…not the remorse, relief, and pain he’d felt sharing the story with Marce.

To find that they’d lived similar lives all these years… She’d kept him and their arrangement a secret from her siblings and shouldered the burden of it all, and he’d made certain his mother never learned of his father’s infidelities and Rowan’s deceptions.

But, what now?

Should they go their separate ways, put the past behind them, and simply learn to live with everything that had transpired between them?

Leaning his head back against the coach wall, he closed his eyes. The gentle sway of the conveyance on the maintained London streets soothed his aching head but did naught for his frayed nerves. “Have I been gravely wrong all these years, Tobias?”

Tobias chuckled, and Rowan squinted at him across the dim interior.

“This is important,” Rowan sighed. “Do you think my father meant for Marce and her family to have Craven House upon his death?”

Saying the words aloud was much the same as admitting his entire life had been an utter failure. He’d despised his father for so long before his death that they’d never discussed things that were important. Marce retaining the deed to Craven House could have been one of those things. He’d been too stubborn and absorbed with his own feelings of hurt that he had no inkling of his father’s wishes.

“As you know, I didn’t know your father well; however, I can attest to the fact that Lady Marce thought it was so.”

“If anything, I am more confused now than before.” Rowan shut his eyes tightly again, not wanting to witness Tobias’s reaction to his musings.

“Mayhap there is more you should speak to your wif—Marce—about.”

Rowan sat up straight, pinning Tobias with a questioning glare. “How am I to do that? I have been banished from Craven House.”

“She said that?”

“Of course not,” Rowan scoffed. “She would never speak such a thing, but I was curtly dismissed and shown to the door without a backwards glance.”

“She is angry, Ro,” Tobias said, crossing his arms. “And rightly so.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

“And likely hurt.”

“Hurt?” Rowan sputtered. “Are we not both reeling with pain? I told her she could keep the bloody house. I don’t want it…I never wanted it.”

“A threat going on for nearly eight years is not something one forgets overnight.”

“Her life would have been completely different if I hadn’t sought her out—”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Tobias said on an exhale. “However, at least it would’ve been her own.”

It was true…he’d made the decision for her. She hadn’t had a genuine choice at the time when he proposed their arrangement. And Rowan had been master of his life since he was a mere boy. Making decisions and choosing his course with a mind clouded by anger or resentment. And he’d forced Marce to make her decisions based on her fear and his threats.

He’d sought to give his mother happiness, even for a brief time, but he’d only succeeded in causing Marce harm. It would crush his mother to know that her son was a liar—a deceitful man not above his father’s sins.

All the time he’d spent dedicated to protecting Leona had done nothing but cause everyone pain. In the end, Rowan realized he’d decided what was best for his mother without asking her, as well. The duchess would never have chosen to love a woman as if she were her own daughter only to have her stripped away.

Rowan had not given Marce the option where Leona was concerned either.

He had done what was best for Rowan—and Rowan alone. And had deceived those around him to assuage his own guilt from the past.