Page 103 of Bound By the Duke

She stared at him, her mouth opening and closing.

It was maddening, trying to understand this man. Because if she did, she feared that would confirm a particular suspicion—that he had never truly gotten over his first wife.

“When then?” she still dared to ask, though her voice had lowered. “When will I be your wife in every sense of the word?” Her voice cracked into a softer, broken plea. “When will you let me be that for you?”

When will you let go of the past, Percival? she wanted to add.

He read the unspoken question in her eyes and gritted his teeth. She seemed to think she had a good grasp of her emotions, but the questions she had already posed were enough to make his face twist violently. They cut him to the quick.

She is already my wife.

Percival didn’t have to lie with her to prove that point. Her purpose wasn’t only to satisfy his sexual desires. Already, she was entirely, utterly his. Nothing could make her more so.

But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t explain, not without bringing up the past. So he chose the only shield he had left—coldness.

“Never.” His voice rang through, hoping he was able to convey his finality on the subject. “You will never bear my child. I do not want an heir. I will never lie with you.”

She staggered, as if she had been slapped and he knew then that his words had hurt her. She stared at him, and her trembling lips struggled to part. “You mean…” Her voice faltered, thenhardened, trembling with fury born of heartbreak. “You mean I will always be a failure.”

That last word tore through him. Once again, he had allowed himself to be misunderstood.

A lump formed in his throat, his chest tight with something dangerously close to regret as he watched her go cold. He never wanted to hurt her but if hurting her would keep her alive then he was willing.

“I want to have a child, Percival. I want to give you a child. I want to give Lottie a sibling.” She pressed on, her hand rising to her chest. “It is not only duty; it is my heart. And you—” Her voice broke with the confession, unshed tears brimming in her eyes. “You are stealing that from me.”

His face hardened. Those words had struck too close, and he knew he had to shield himself.

“Leave.” He looked away.

She blinked, stunned. “What?”

“I will not have this conversation with you again.” His voice was a growl now, leashing something darker. “Leave, Aurelia.”

“No, I will not leave.” She shook her head, the words tumbling out, pleading and angry all at once. “Not until?—”

“Leave!” he thundered before he could help it.

It was maddening. It was suffocating, acting like that, hurting someone he cared about so much. He couldn’t even look her in the eyes.

He was nothing but a coward.

The ensuing silence was crushing. His order echoed through the room, leaving no room for argument.

Her breath turned ragged. Clearly, she was fuming, but with her head held high, she turned on her heel and left the room.

The soft rustle of her skirts filled the silence as she walked away, each step firm in her haste to get away from him.

When the heavy door shut between them, Percival stood there, his fists clenched, his back rigid.

The silence roared louder than any storm.

CHAPTER 32

The morning sun spilled over Whitmore Estate, its warmth golden and peaceful. But inside, Aurelia felt anything but peace.

Her bags were packed.

The gown she wore was simple. It was perfect, travel-ready, though her fingers trembled as she smoothed the fabric.