Page 42 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)
The silence that enveloped Grosvenor House upon their return felt different from the cold distance that had marked their recent interactions.
It was charged with possibility yet heavy with the weight of unspoken truths that could no longer be avoided.
Evangeline followed Lucian through the familiar corridors with growing awareness that the next hour would determine whether their marriage could be salvaged from the wreckage of misunderstanding and pride that had nearly destroyed them both.
"The library," Lucian said quietly, gesturing toward the room that had witnessed both their most intimate conversations and their most devastating confrontation. "If you are amenable to continuing our earlier discussion under less public circumstances."
"I believe privacy would be advisable," she agreed, noting how he maintained careful physical distance even as his manner suggested genuine desire for honest discourse.
The formal courtesy between them felt almost more painful than open hostility would have been, emphasizing how far they had traveled from the growing intimacy that had marked their relationship before misunderstanding had poisoned everything.
The library welcomed them with its familiar scent of leather and old paper, its towering shelves bearing silent witness to the intellectual partnership that had first drawn them together during those precious evenings when conversation had flowed as easily as wine.
Now the same space felt like a courtroom where their marriage would face final judgment, with only truth serving as advocate for their future happiness.
Lucian moved to his customary position behind the great desk, then seemed to reconsider, choosing instead to stand before the fireplace where morning light filtered through tall windows to illuminate his scarred features with unflinching clarity.
He appeared older than his years, worn down by the morning's confrontation and the weight of secrets he had carried alone for too long.
"I owe you an explanation," he began with the sort of careful precision that suggested he had rehearsed these words during their silent carriage ride. "For my behaviour these past days, for the cruelty I have shown you when you deserved only kindness and respect."
"An explanation would be welcome," Evangeline replied with dignity that concealed the trembling in her hands, "though I confess myself curious about what could possibly justify such a complete transformation in your regard for our marriage."
He was quiet for so long that she began to wonder if he had reconsidered his intention to provide honest answers to questions that had tormented her since their devastating confrontation.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of a man confessing to crimes that had eaten away at his conscience.
"I overheard your conversation with Lady Worthington," he said without preamble, his dark eyes fixed upon some point beyond her shoulder as though he could not bear to witness her reaction to his admission.
"Some days ago, when she called to offer her support during our difficulties.
I was in the corridor outside, and I heard. .."
"You were eavesdropping on a private conversation?" Evangeline's voice rose with indignation that temporarily overwhelmed her curiosity about what information he might have gained through such dishonorable means.
"Not intentionally," he said quickly, though his expression suggested he found no comfort in such a defense. "I was returning from the morning room when I heard voices in the corridor. Your voice, specifically. And when I realised you were discussing our marriage..."
"You lingered to listen rather than announcing your presence like a gentleman," she finished with ice that would have done credit to a duchess of far greater experience in social warfare.
"Yes," he admitted with the sort of stark honesty that stripped away all pretense of noble motivation.
"I lingered, and I heard Lady Worthington speak of your burden in being bound to a man so altered by his experiences.
I heard her express sympathy for your circumstances, pity for the life you had been forced to accept. "
Evangeline stared at him with growing comprehension of the magnitude of his misunderstanding, remembering that particular conversation and the context he had clearly missed entirely. "And from her expressions of sympathy, you concluded what, precisely?"
"That you shared her assessment of our marriage as a burden to be endured rather than a blessing to be cherished," he replied bitterly.
"That your loyalty stemmed from duty rather than affection, your defence of our union from obligation rather than genuine desire to preserve what we had built together. "
"You heard Lady Worthington pity me for being married to you, and you assumed that I agreed with her assessment?" Evangeline's voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow seemed more threatening than shouting would have been.
"I heard enough to understand that you viewed our marriage as a prison rather than a partnership," he said with the sort of weary resignation that suggested he had replayed the conversation countless times in his memory.
"And I realised that asking you to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of a union you had never wanted was both selfish and cruel. "
"Did you hear the part where I defended you?
" she demanded with growing fury at his selective interpretation of information that should have reassured rather than devastated him.
"Did you hear me tell her that your sense of honour was remarkable, that your intelligence was considerable, that under different circumstances. .."
"Under different circumstances," he repeated with bitter emphasis. "Meaning circumstances where you were not trapped by necessity into accepting a damaged husband whose presence brought you nothing but social complications and personal sacrifice."
"Under different circumstances meaning if you were not so determined to punish yourself for surviving when better men died!
" she snapped with such force that he actually stepped backward.
"If you were not so convinced of your own unworthiness that you could not recognise genuine affection when it was offered freely rather than extracted through duty! "
Her passionate declaration seemed to strike him with unexpected force, his scarred features registering shock at her interpretation of words he had apparently misunderstood so completely.
For a moment, hope flickered in his dark eyes before being ruthlessly suppressed by years of accumulated self-doubt.
"Evangeline," he said quietly, "you need not pretend feelings you do not possess for the sake of salvaging our arrangement. This morning's events have vindicated my competence and destroyed Edmund's schemes—you are free to seek the sort of happiness that association with me makes impossible."
"Free?" she repeated with dangerous quiet. "You believe this morning's triumph has somehow liberated me from our marriage?"
"I believe it has eliminated the external pressures that forced you to defend a union you never truly wanted," he replied with the sort of calm rationality that made her long to strike him. "You may now choose your own path without fear that abandoning me will result in scandal or destitution."
"And what if the path I choose leads directly back to you?
" she challenged with growing desperation at his continued inability to comprehend the truth that should have been obvious to a man of his intelligence.
"What if the life I want is the one we have been building together, when we are not busy destroying it through stubborn pride and willful misunderstanding? "
"Then you would be making a choice based on incomplete information," he said with the sort of gentle finality that suggested he had already resigned himself to losing her.
"You deserve a husband who can offer you beauty rather than scars, social triumph rather than constant speculation about his mental fitness, children who will not inherit their father's damaged. .."
"Stop." The single word emerged with such authority that it silenced his litany of self-incrimination immediately.
"You will not stand there and tell me what I deserve or what I want.
You will listen while I explain exactly what I have discovered about my own feelings during these terrible days when you have been systematically destroying the most precious thing either of us has ever possessed. "
She moved closer to him with the sort of determined grace that had marked her finest moments as duchess, her dark eyes blazing with emotions too powerful to be contained by mere social convention.
"I fell in love with you during our library conversations, when you shared your thoughts on poetry and philosophy with such intelligence and passion that I forgot entirely about your scars.
I fell in love with you when you rescued Wellington and claimed the credit belonged to others.
I fell in love with you when you defended me before your cousin's accusations with such magnificent courage that even society's opinion could not withstand the evidence of your character. "
"Evangeline—"
"I am not finished," she interrupted with the sort of regal authority that reduced him to respectful silence.
"I fell in love with the man who manages his estates with such care for his tenants' welfare, who reads Wordsworth by firelight, who faces mortal combat to defend his wife's honour despite believing she wishes to escape their marriage.
I fell in love with you, Lucian Hollowbridge, not with some idealized version of what you might have been before the war marked you. "