Page 100 of Duke of Wickedness

“You—” she started before cutting herself off. If she let her temper off its leash, she wouldn’t stop until she’d gotten it all out of her system, and that, no doubt, would leave her red-faced and screaming in the middle of a ballroom. That wasn’t what she wanted, and more than that, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

So she sucked it all back in, buried it all deep down. She leveled him with a stare, and then she turned on her heel and marched out to the garden, where she could detonate in peace.

Or, rather, where shecould havedetonated in peace if David hadn’t followed her.

But he did, and so she detonated in his direction.

“What iswrongwith you?” she demanded the literal instant they were out of earshot of the party. “Really. Have you lost your godforsaken mind?”

David didn’t even protest, which made everything so much worse.

“Oh, it’s very likely,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck miserably.

This did not make her feel less inclined toward yelling.

“You made all this fuss about discretion—” In this moment, Ariadne did not deign to recognize that she appreciated thisdiscretion, actually. “—and then you threaten a viscount in the middle of the ballroom? Do you really think people won’t talk?”

“I know,” he said miserably. “I’m sorry.”

“And who gave you the right?” she went on, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “You sent me away. Do you remember that? You were the one who sent me away!”

“I did,” he admitted.

“And then with thestaring,” she spat. “You keepstaring. Staring like—like Imatter.”

“You do matter,” he said.

“Don’t,” she warned darkly. “You broke my heart,” she said,hatingthe way her voice caught in her throat. “I tried not to let you, but youdid. And now you’re doing it again, because you look at me like…like I’m the last person on earth, when Iknowyou don’t feel that way. And why, David? Why? Is thisfunfor you? Are you just torturing me for pleasure?”

“God,no,” he said, and this time, his voice broke too. “I… Christ, Ariadne, I’m so sorry. I know I need to leave you be. I know. I want to set you free. I want you to be happy. But I just—I can’thelpmyself.”

He reached out a hand in her direction, and if she’d thought he looked like a fallen angel before it was nothing compared tothe way he looked now, all anguish and misery and pain. He snatched his hand back before he made contact.

“I’m so selfish,” he said, his voice quiet. “Because I know I can’t have you. But I can’t let you go. I’m like a moth to a flame. I—I want you so much that it defies logic. I can barely breathe for wanting you. But I can’t have you.”

Like the flame he had named her, Ariadne felt a flicker of something deep inside her. She didn’t yet dare to call it hope.

“Why not?” she asked.

He froze like she’d thrown a bucket of water over him.

“What?” he asked, looking numb.

That bold little flame flickered, held, grew.

“Why can’t you have me?” she pressed.

He looked so wretched that she ached to comfort him, but she couldn’t, at least not yet. This—this was important. She felt herself on the cusp of understanding something that had previously eluded her.

“I…” He looked very young and very lost. “I told you about my father,” he said.

She nodded. “You did.”

“But I didn’t tell you—” He cleared his throat. “My mother. I told you part of it, but I didn’t really explain.” His sentences came choppy, rough, like they were hard to put together. “She—My father. Hebrokeher.”

The anguish in his voice made her own heart break for him—for the mother he clearly still mourned and for the boy who had seen his parents’ failures all too clearly.

“And I can’t,” he managed, voice thick. “Ican’tdo that to you, my darling. Ican’t. If I looked at you and saw that I’d done that to you… I think it might actually kill me.”