Page 95 of An Unwanted Spinster for the Duke

“You don’t have to. We’ll just ride and scan the forest for things that shouldn’t be there. Have you ever thought of protecting your land?”

“Hmm. Sounds interesting,” she admitted.

But then she shut down again—closed off so he couldn’t read her.

“You know… the only time my father ever offered a kind word was when we went hunting,” Dominic revealed suddenly, and realized he craved her approval more than was safe.

“Oh.” She looked surprised, probably thinking men like him had the world at their feet. “I suppose that might be true for the adult Dominic, but not the boy trying to earn his father’s favor.”

“Yes. It was also my escape.” His gaze drifted to the horizon as he fought to push painful memories aside—of his father, his mother.

The thought ofhermade his hands clench into fists.

“Riding and being with nature—and animals, especially—are the only things that give me peace,” Marianne confessed.

Dominic had suspected there was more to Lord Grisham than ruthless ambition.

Was he cruel in other ways, too?

Marianne was already waiting when Dominic arrived at the stables, her horse saddled, her posture perfect. But her face lit up when she saw him.

They exchanged a few quiet words before separating briefly to tend to their mounts, both immersed in the comforting rhythm of the familiar task. Still, the moment apart tugged at something in Dominic. He missed her already, and they hadn’t even ridden out yet.

Once they were side by side again, they rode in silence through the woods—the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled.

The wind danced in Marianne’s hair. Sunlight filtered through the trees and kissed her cheeks. Occasionally, she glanced over at him, smiling softly.

The ride was peaceful, grounding. Until they reached a small clearing.

Dominic drew his horse to a stop, his heart suddenly tight in his chest.

“Marianne,” he said, his voice lower than usual, almost hesitant. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She turned toward him at once, the playful ease in her expression vanishing.

“What is it?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

He hesitated. “Linpool.”

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Linpool?” Then, her lips curled into a small, teasing smile. “Really? We’re out in the middle of nature, and you’re thinking of him? Are you still jealous?”

Her tone was light, but he could hear the note of relief beneath it, as if she’d feared something worse.

He didn’t return her smile.

“He’s not what you think,” he said quietly. “He…” He paused, the words sticking like stones in his throat.

For a second, he wasn’t sure he could speak them aloud.

But he forced a breath through his nose and continued, “He was my mother’s lover.”

Marianne’s expression shifted instantly. The humor vanished. Her eyes widened, and she sat straighter in the saddle.

“Yes,” Dominic uttered bitterly. “My mother was unfaithful, and not just with Linpool. There were others. She—” He stopped and looked away, his jaw tightening. “She died from a venereal disease she contracted. One that worsened rapidly. And it wasn’t the sort of thing anyone wanted to call a physician for. There was shame. Silence. She diedalone.”

The leaves rustled around them, but otherwise, there was only quiet. Marianne didn’t speak at first. Her eyes were on him, searching his face as if she could touch the hurt there if she only looked hard enough.

Then, her lips parted, and she exhaled slowly. “Dominic… I’m so sorry.”