Page 27 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

The storm battered Draycott Manor, lashing against the tall windows with a fury that seemed to echo the rage burning within His Grace, Graham Morland, the Duke of Draycott. His carriage hurtled through the night, the wheels slipping in the thick mud as the coachman fought to keep the horses under control. Inside, Graham sat rigid, his jaw clenched, his mind swirling with the aftermath of the evening’s event

"Fool," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible above the roaring wind. "What was I thinking?"

The memory of the duel flashed before him. It had started as a simple matter of honour, but had spiraled into violence that left his opponent bloody and broken on the ground. A rush of anger had clouded his judgment, and now, as the storm raged outside, it mirrored the tempest within him.

He leaned his head back against the worn leather of the carriage seat, eyes closing as the faces of the gathered onlookers haunted him. He had seen their expressions—disgust, fear, and worse, pity. The ton had always watched him closely, but never had their gaze felt so suffocating.

What have I become?

Graham’s hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms. The question gnawed at him, but he had no answer. The night had unraveled too quickly, slipping from his grasp before he could control it. And now—now he was returning to Draycott, to the solitude he both despised and clung to. It was better this way, better to keep the world at arm’s length. There was no room for anyone else in his life anymore, not after everything that had happened.

Outside, the rain poured harder, blurring the landscape into a dark, shifting sea. The horses whinnied, their hooves stumbling over the uneven ground as the carriage took a sharp corner. Graham opened his eyes just in time to see the road veer dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

“Hold steady!” he shouted to the coachman, leaning forward as his stomach twisted with sudden fear. The coachman yelled something back, but his words were lost in the wind. Another crack of thunder ripped through the sky, and before Graham could react, the carriage lurched violently. The horses neighed, their panicked cries rising above the storm as the wheels slipped on the treacherous road.

Everything happened in a blur. The carriage tilted, then flipped, crashing onto its side with a deafening thud. Graham was thrown from his seat, his body slamming into the hard wooden wall of the cabin. A sharp pain shot through his chest as the impact knocked the air from his lungs. For a moment, all was silent, save for the steady drum of the rain against the overturned carriage.

Graham’s vision blurred; his thoughts disjointed as he tried to make sense of what had happened. He attempted to move, but a wave of pain surged through him, leaving him gasping for breath. His leg was twisted beneath him, the sharp edge of something—glass, mayhap—biting into his skin.

"Curse it all," he groaned, his voice weak, the fight already draining from him.

His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, the rain mingling with the blood on his face as it poured relentlessly from the sky. He could hear the horses somewhere nearby, still struggling in their panic, but his world had narrowed to the throbbing pain in his body and the cold numbness creeping through his limbs.

This is it, he thought bleakly, this is how it ends.

***

Hours later, Graham awoke to the sensation of being lifted, his consciousness pulling him back into the harsh reality he wished to escape. Rough hands gripped his arms and legs, pulling him from the wreckage of the carriage. His vision blurred, swimming with shadows, as his body screamed in protest with every jolt. Each movement felt like a new assault on his senses, the pain sharp and unyielding. Somewhere through the haze, he could hear frantic voices, their panic barely masked.

"Pray, do exercise caution! Get him inside—quickly!" one of the voices barked, his words tinged with fear and urgency.

Graham’s world narrowed to flashes of pain and muted sounds as they carried him. The ground shifted beneath him, unsteady as his body was maneuvered toward the manor. His servants' pale faces loomed above him, blurred by the storm, their words slipping through his consciousness like water through cupped hands. Footsteps rushed around him, too quick, too loud, but all he could focus on was the fire spreading through his limbs and the cold weight of dread in his chest.

The great doors of Draycott Hall loomed ahead, the familiar sight distorted by his fading awareness. He had walked through them a thousand times with pride—yet now, they seemed impossibly distant, as though belonging to another man, another life.

They laid him down on his bed, the softness of the mattress doing little to quell the agony. His muscles seized with each shallow breath, the weight of his injuries pressing down on him like lead. The storm outside lashed at the windows, but it paled in comparison to the storm brewing within him—an unrelenting tempest of fear, anger, and something darker.

The servants’ voices faded into the background, retreating with hurried steps as they left him alone in the suffocating darkness. Graham tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey; he was trapped, confined not just by his broken bones but by the magnitude of what had happened.

His eyes fluttered open, and through the haze of pain, a reflection caught his attention. The mirror across the room—once an object of vanity, now an instrument of horror. He stared, struggling to reconcile the grotesque figure with the man he had been. His face—his once proud, commanding face—was now a twisted mask of blood and bruises. A deep gash ran down his cheek, the flesh swollen and raw where the glass had torn through skin. His once sharp jawline was now marred by ugly contusions.

Graham's breath hitched as he stared, the horror of it sinking deeper. This can’t be me. This isn’t me.

But the truth stared back at him, undeniable, and a deep chill settled over his heart. This is who you are now.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for the mirror, to touch the ruined face, as if somehow he could erase it all. But no touch could undo what had been done. The storm outside roared, but the one inside him—fury, grief, and shame—was louder.

This is what you deserve, a cold voice whispered in his mind, relentless and sharp. All of it. For your sins, for your pride, for everything you once were.

He closed his eyes, wanting to block out the voice, the pain, and the reflection, but it wouldn’t leave him. The image of his ruined face burned behind his eyelids, searing into him, a reminder of what he had become. The man he once was—admired, strong, untouchable—was gone. And in his place stood only the broken wreckage of what remained.

Days passed, but time seemed to blur for Graham. The pain was constant, a reminder of the price he had paid for his recklessness. His body ached, his leg enveloped in a heavy splint, and his face was bandaged, though he knew what lay beneath. The physicians had done their best, but some wounds could never truly be healed.

His thoughts, however, lingered not on his physical injuries, but on the deeper scars that had yet to heal. Lady Charlotte, once the light of his life, had been the first to turn her back on him. After his initial injury, she had visited him once, but that had been enough. He had seen it in her eyes—revulsion, horror. The woman he had loved, the one he had believed loved him in return, could not bear to look at him.

You are no longer the man I knew. Her voice echoed in his mind, sharp and final. I cannot stay.

He had not asked her to. After that day, he had let her go without a word. What would have been the point? He had become a monster, a beast, and she had done what anyone would do—run.

I am better off without her, he tried to convince himself, but the hollow feeling in his chest said otherwise.

His anger, once a small ember, now burned brightly within him. He had trusted Charlotte, had allowed himself to be vulnerable with her, and she had cast him aside the moment he was no longer the man she wanted. That was when he had made his vow—a vow to never allow anyone close again. The pain of betrayal was far worse than any physical wound, and he would not endure it a second time.

But despite the walls he had built around himself, Graham could not shake the memory of her departure. Her rejection had cut deeper than any blade, leaving him cold and bitter. He had once been a man of promise—a duke with a bright future ahead of him. Now, he was nothing but a shadow, haunting the empty halls of his estate, a beast in the eyes of the world.

***

A fortnight later…

The storm outside howled once more, Graham found himself pacing the length of his study, his cane tapping softly against the floor with each step. The familiar pain in his leg pulsed with every movement, but he ignored it. It was better to focus on the physical pain than the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He paused by the window, staring out into the rain-soaked landscape. Draycott Manor, his ancestral home, stretched out before him, dark and imposing. It had once been a place of life and laughter, filled with music and light. Now, it was as empty as he felt. The servants moved silently through the halls, avoiding him unless absolutely necessary. Even they had learned to fear the Duke of Draycott—the beast who ruled this desolate place, as his behaviour had grown even darker after the accident and especially after Charlotte’s betrayal.

Better this way, he told himself, but the thought rang hollow. No one can hurt me if I keep them at a distance.

A knock at the door broke the silence, and Graham turned, his expression hardening as Mr. Fenton, his steward, entered the room.

“Your Grace,” Fenton said, bowing slightly before approaching. “A letter has arrived.”

“A letter?” Graham’s voice was low, almost disbelieving. “From whom?”

“It is from a solicitor, regarding an old matter of business with... a family you once knew,” Fenton replied, handing him the letter.

Graham’s eyes narrowed as he took the envelope, his fingers tracing the seal before breaking it open. The contents were brief but puzzling. The solicitor mentioned a connection to a family he had not thought of in years—Miss Lennox’s family.

“Why now?” Graham muttered, his brow furrowing as he read the letter again. It was vague, referencing a matter of estate business, but it left him with more questions than answers.

Fenton watched him carefully. “Shall I respond on your behalf, Your Grace?”

“No.” Graham’s voice was sharp, his decision made. “I’ll handle this myself.”

As Fenton bowed and left the room, Graham turned back to the window, the rain blurring the world outside. The storm continued to rage, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing within him.

A storm may pass, he thought, his grip tightening on the letter, but there’s always another to follow.

He couldn’t shake the sense that this letter was the beginning of something far more dangerous than he could have anticipated.