Page 32 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

“With time, his advances became more obvious, more persistent, and I knew I had to escape.

I tried the first time and failed. He caught me before I even reached the estate's boundary, and afterward, he had me locked in the house like a prisoner. All the doors were kept locked, all the windows on the lower floors were barred, and there was always someone watching me.”

Graham's breathing had grown audibly harsh, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue at her own pace.

“But being locked up only made me more determined,” Joan said, a note of pride creeping into her voice.

“I knew that if I didn't escape soon, I would never have another chance.

So I planned more carefully the second time.

I studied the guards' routines, found a window on the second floor that they had forgotten to bar, and gathered supplies slowly over several weeks.”

She turned to look directly at Graham, needing to see his reaction to the most crucial part of her story.

“That's how I ended up at the inn where we met,” she said simply. “I had been traveling for two days, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and Benedict's house. I was exhausted, terrified, and completely alone in the world.”

Graham was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as though he were struggling to control his response. When he finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet, filled with a rage so controlled it was almost more frightening than open fury would have been.

“If that bastard were still alive,” he said with absolute conviction, “I would kill him myself. Slowly and painfully, and I would take great pleasure in watching him suffer for every moment of fear he caused you.”

Joan looked up at him, seeing the sincerity burning in his dark eyes, and felt something warm unfurl in her chest. The protective fury in his voice, the immediate and complete condemnation of Benedict's actions, was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

“Benedict is no longer going to be a problem for anyone,” she said quietly. “According to Georgina, he died several months ago, though she was rather vague about the circumstances.”

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, the dying fire casting shifting shadows across the book–lined walls. Finally, Graham asked the question Joan had been dreading, his voice gentle but filled with curiosity.

“Joan,” he said carefully, “Why did ye sleep with me that night? I've wondered about it for five years – even more so after we were wed, but I never wanted to press ye for answers you might not be ready to give.”

Joan felt her cheeks burn with a heavy mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more complex. She forced herself to meet his eyes, needing him to see the truth in her face.

“I had always hated being touched,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire. “By anyone, for any reason, as a result of my uncle’s advances. The very thought of physical contact made my skin crawl, made me feel sick and trapped and desperate to escape.”

Graham's expression grew even more gentle, if such a thing were possible, and Joan could see understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes.

“But when you touched my hand while we were drinking that night,” she continued, her voice growing stronger with each word, “When your fingers brushed against mine as you passed me the glass, I felt warmth instead of revulsion.

For the first time in my life, a man's touch didn't make me want to run or hide or disappear entirely.”

She paused, gathering her courage for the most difficult part of her confession.

“And I was terrified of being caught by Benedict again, of not being able to escape a second time. I knew that if he found me, if he dragged me back to that house, I would never have another opportunity to flee. So I wanted that one night to be mine, to be a choice I made freely rather than something that was taken from me.”

Joan's voice grew softer, more vulnerable, as she continued.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to choose something for myself, to want something, and actually be able to have it. I wanted to understand what it meant to give affection rather than have it stolen from me.”

Graham's eyes darkened with emotion so intense that Joan felt her breath catch in her throat. Before she could lose her courage entirely, she added the final piece of her confession.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man who was kind, who made me feel safe instead of terrified. Even if it was only for one night.”

The silence that followed her words seemed to stretch endlessly, filled with the weight of years of longing and pain and hope. Then, without warning, Graham reached for her, pulling her into his arms with infinite gentleness, as though she were made of the most delicate porcelain.

“Joan,” he whispered against her hair, his voice rough with emotion, “Ye will never be in a position like that again. Never, do ye hear me? Ye have your freedom now, mo ghràdh, complete and absolute freedom. Even if it means letting ye go, even if it means living without ye, I will never hold ye back or restrain ye or trap ye in any way.”

His arms tightened around her as his voice grew more fierce, more protective.

“And I will kill anyone who dares to try to take that freedom away from ye. Anyone who tries to harm ye or frighten ye or make ye feel anything less than the extraordinary woman ye are.”

Joan laughed softly against his chest, the sound surprising them both with its genuine warmth.

“I'm sorry for stealing your money that night,” she said, her voice muffled by his shirt. “It wasn't much, but I know it must have been inconvenient.”

“I don't care about the money,” Graham said immediately, his voice rough with emotion and something deeper that made her heart race.

“Ye could have taken everything I owned, and it wouldn't have mattered. Because ye took my heart and mind with ye when ye left, and those were worth far more than any amount of gold.”

Joan said nothing in response to that declaration, but she allowed herself to relax fully into his embrace, feeling safer and more cherished than she had ever thought possible.

As sleep began to claim her, her defenses lowered by exhaustion and emotional revelation, she murmured against his chest the admission she had never intended to make aloud.

“I couldn't take your ring when I left that night,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“It was on the table beside the bed, and I could have, but…

I saw how much it meant to you. It looked like something that had been in your family for generations, something precious and irreplaceable.

I couldn't bear to steal something that important from someone who had been so kind to me.”

Graham's arms tightened around her, his heart racing beneath her cheek with such intensity that she could feel it like a drumbeat against her skin. His voice, when he finally spoke, was thick with emotion that she couldn't quite identify.

“Aye,” he whispered into her hair, his accent thick with feeling, “It did mean something to me. It means everything to me.”

He held her as she drifted into sleep, marveling at the trust she had shown him in sharing her painful history, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could have found her sooner – perhaps even before that first night at the inn, before she had been forced to endure years of fear and uncertainty.

But she was here now, safe in his arms, and he silently vowed that he would spend every day of his remaining life ensuring she never felt trapped or helpless or alone again.

The woman who had captured his heart five years ago with her courage and vulnerability had grown into someone even more precious – a survivor, a mother, a duchess who defended her family with the fierce protectiveness of a lioness.

As her breathing deepened into the rhythm of true sleep, Graham continued to hold her, watching the play of firelight across her peaceful face and feeling more content than he had ever thought possible.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to prove his devotion and earn her trust more completely.

But tonight, she was exactly where she belonged – safe in his arms, surrounded by his love, protected by his promise that no one would ever hurt her again.