Page 16 of His Forsaken Duchess (Beastly Dukes #1)

Fifteen

C edric’s chest constricted as he watched Audrey disappear beneath the ice. The sound of it cracking still echoed in his ears, sharp and unrelenting, but the world around him seemed muted, frozen in the same instant as the lake. Time stopped, leaving him trapped in a moment that felt all too familiar. His mind was flooded with images—his mother’s pale face, the stillness of Cecilia. The memories pressed down upon him, threatening to paralyze him.

But then his body moved of its own accord, instinct overcoming fear. Cedric tore off his greatcoat, the heavy fabric hitting the ice with a dull thud, and lunged toward the jagged opening in the lake. The cold air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy shock that enveloped him as he dove into the water.

The frigid lake closed around him, a merciless and numbing force that stole his breath. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself forward, his eyes straining to see through the murky depths. The light was faint and distorted, and his chest burned with the effort of holding his breath. Then, a flicker—a movement.

Audrey.

Her skirts billowed around her, trapping her like a net. Without hesitation, Cedric reached for her, his hands finding her arm. Relief surged through him as he pulled her close, her lifeless form heavy in his grip. He swam upward, his strokes powerful but desperate as he fought against the cold and the pull of the lake.

His shoulder struck the ice, the jarring impact nearly loosening his hold on her. Gritting his teeth, he adjusted his grip and pushed her toward the solid edge of the ice. His lungs burned, his limbs numb and sluggish, but he forced himself to lift her onto the unbroken surface. With a final burst of strength, Cedric hauled himself out of the water, collapsing beside her.

“Audrey,” he rasped, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

She lay still, her face pale, her lips tinged with blue. A knot of terror tightened in his throat. She wasn’t breathing.

“No,” he growled, his voice rough and low, the sound barely above a whisper against the winter air.

He leaned over her, his hands trembling as he placed them on her chest. His mind raced, recalling the knowledge he’d gained years ago during his time aboard the pirate ship—a rudimentary trick one of the sailors had shown him to save a drowning man.

He pressed down on her chest, then released. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

He tilted her head, adjusted her jaw, and repeated the compressions, each movement growing more urgent. Water trickled from the corners of her mouth, but still, she did not stir.

Cedric felt panic clawing at the edges of his control, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Audrey,” he said again, more forcefully this time. “Breathe!”

And then, a cough. A small, fragile sound that shattered the suffocating silence.

Audrey’s body jerked, water spilling from her lips as she drew in a shallow, gasping breath. Relief flooded through Cedric, so overwhelming that for a moment, he thought his knees would give way.

“Thank God,” he breathed, his voice barely audible above the pounding of his heart.

He slid his arms beneath her, cradling her close as he stripped her of her soaked cloak and replaced it with his dry greatcoat. The heavy wool enveloped her, and he pulled it snugly around her trembling frame.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You’re safe now.”

Audrey’s eyes fluttered briefly, but she didn’t speak. Her head lolled against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady. Cedric pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he rose to his feet with her in his arms. She felt impossibly small, her usually vibrant presence dimmed by the cold.

“I’ll get you back to the castle,” he promised, his words more for himself than for her. The sound of his voice anchored him, driving him forward as he carried her to his horse.

Carefully, he lowered her into the saddle, her weight leaning heavily against him as he climbed up behind her. He wrapped an arm around her to keep her secure, his other hand gripping the reins as he urged his horse into a gallop. The icy wind bit at his damp clothes, but he barely felt it. All that mattered was the steady rise and fall of Audrey’s chest against his own.

The journey back to the castle passed in a blur, his mind focused solely on reaching safety. When the grand facade of Haremore Castle finally came into view, he sighed in relief.

The door opened almost before he could call out, Potts stepping onto the porch with his usual grace. But at the sight of Cedric and Audrey, the butler’s expression shifted to one of alarm.

“I’ll summon the physician at once,” Potts said, his tone brisk.

“Please do,” Cedric replied, his voice firm despite the ache in his throat. “And have the other horse retrieved from the lake.”

Potts nodded, disappearing swiftly as Cedric dismounted, Audrey still cradled in his arms. He strode into the castle, his boots leaving a trail of water on the polished floor.

“Mrs. Potts!” he barked, his voice echoing through the halls. “Bring warm blankets. Now.”

Servants scrambled into motion, their wide eyes darting between Cedric and the unconscious Duchess in his arms. He ignored them, his focus unwavering as he took the stairs two at a time.

Audrey’s room was blessedly warm, the fire in the grate crackling with life. Cedric laid her down on the bed with a care that belied his urgency, his hands brushing damp strands of hair from her pale forehead. Her skin was icy to the touch, her color so alarmingly pale that his chest tightened with fear.

“You’ll be all right,” he murmured, though his voice wavered. “You must be.”

The door burst open, and Mrs. Potts hurried in, her arms laden with blankets. “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, her usual cheer replaced by worry. “What happened?”

“She fell into the lake,” Cedric said, his voice rough. “She’s freezing. We need to warm her.”

Mrs. Potts nodded, leaping into action as she directed two maids to stoke the fire and draw a hot bath.

“She’s breathing, at least,” she said, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she arranged the blankets over Audrey. “That’s a good sign. But we must act quickly.”

Cedric answered her questions with clipped precision, his focus never straying from Audrey. His clothes clung to him, heavy and damp, but he paid them no mind.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts said firmly, her sharp eyes narrowing on him. “You’re drenched. You must change, or you’ll fall ill yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Cedric said, though his trembling hands betrayed him. “She?—”

“Will need you to be well if she’s to recover,” Mrs. Potts interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. “Go. Change into dry clothes and leave the rest to us.”

Cedric hesitated, his gaze lingering on Audrey’s still form. Every instinct screamed at him to stay, to keep watch over her. But Mrs. Potts’s words carried weight, and he knew she was right.

With great reluctance, he rose to his feet. “See to it that she is kept warm,” he said, his voice low. “And let me know the moment there is any change.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts replied, her expression softening as she shooed him out.

Cedric cast one last glance at Audrey before stepping out of the room, the ache in his chest growing with each step.

Cedric’s steps were heavy as he walked down the dim hallway toward his father’s bedchamber, the past pulling him deeper into its shadowy grip. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the brass handle. The air here always seemed heavier, as if the room itself carried the ghosts of those who had been lost.

With a measured breath, he pushed the door open. The hinges creaked softly, the sound echoing in the otherwise oppressive silence. Inside, the room was as it had always been: eerily quiet, the heavy drapes drawn to keep out the sunlight. The air smelled faintly of dust and something sharper, like regret.

Cedric’s gaze fell on the writing desk, where an assortment of liquor bottles sat in disarray, their gleaming glass surfaces catching the faint light from the fireplace. He crossed the room with deliberate steps, his boots sinking into the thick carpet as he approached the desk. Lowering himself into the worn leather chair, he leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees as he released a shaky breath.

The liquor stared back at him, a silent invitation. Cedric ran a hand through his damp hair, the ends still clinging to his forehead from his earlier exertion. His fingers trembled as he reached for a tumbler. He hesitated before taking one of the bottles, its label faded from years of neglect. The cork gave a soft pop as he pulled it free, and the sharp scent of gin assaulted his senses.

His stomach churned immediately, a wave of nausea rising unbidden. He almost put the bottle away, the temptation repelled by the bitter memory of his father’s indulgence. But something held him still, his grip tightening around the neck of the bottle as if it were a lifeline.

“Destruction,” he muttered, his voice low and hollow, the word both an accusation and a truth. It hung in the air, directed as much at himself as at the poison in the glass.

He poured a measure of the gin into the tumbler, the liquid gleaming as it settled. For a moment, he simply stared at it, his mind filling with unwelcome echoes.

This is what destruction looks like, a voice whispered in his head. This is what you’ll become.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill in the room. Cedric leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. He hadn’t intended to summon the memory, but it came unbidden, crashing over him with the force of a tidal wave.

The bedchamber had been dim, the curtains drawn tight against the midday sun. Cedric entered cautiously, his boots sinking into the thick carpet. His father sat slumped at the writing desk, a tumbler clutched in one unsteady hand. His other hand rested limply on the desk, his fingers splayed as though even they lacked the energy to hold on to anything.

“Father,” Cedric said, his voice tentative.

The Duke barely stirred, lifting the glass to his lips and downing its contents in one long gulp. As soon as the glass was empty, he reached for the bottle, splashing gin into the tumbler with an unsteady hand. Some of it spilled onto his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

“You shouldn’t do this,” Cedric said firmly, striding forward. He reached for the glass, but his father yanked it away, nearly falling off his chair in the process.

“Leave me be,” the Duke growled, his voice slurred yet sharp. “It’s all I have left.”

Cedric’s chest tightened, the words hitting him harder than he cared to admit. “That isn’t true,” he said, kneeling before his father. “I am here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The Duke laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of mirth. “You’ll go. Everything goes. Victoria, Cecilia… even the bloody sun has abandoned me. This”—he held up the tumbler, its contents sloshing precariously—“is the only thing that stays.”

Cedric reached for the bottle, but his father’s hand shot out, gripping it with surprising strength.

“Don’t you dare,” the Duke hissed. “Don’t you dare take it from me.”

“You have a life to live,” Cedric pleaded, his voice breaking. “You have me.”

The Duke’s eyes, bloodshot and empty, met his son’s. “A life without them is no life at all.”

Cedric’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, to shake some sense into the man who had once been his hero. But no matter what he said, no matter how much he begged, his father simply poured himself another drink.

Cedric watched, helpless, as the Duke drank until his words became a garbled mess, until his head slumped forward onto the desk, incoherent and unseeing.

When he finally left the room, his shoulders sagged with the weight of his failure. He had given everything, and still, it had not been enough. His father’s grief had consumed him, leaving only the shell of the man Cedric had once known.

Cedric’s eyes snapped open, the memory fading into the dim confines of the present. His breathing was shallow, his chest tight as though the air itself had turned against him. He glanced at the tumbler on the desk, the clear liquid taunting him with its stillness.

Audrey’s face swam before his mind’s eye, pale and lifeless as she had been on the ice. The cold terror he had felt then returned, clawing at him with relentless ferocity. For one harrowing moment, he thought he would lose her. The fear had gripped him, tightening around his heart like a vice.

“She could have died,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. The words cut him deeply.

He pushed to his feet, his movements stiff and deliberate as he crossed to the fireplace. The flames danced, their light casting long shadows over the room. Cedric stared into the fire, his jaw tightening.

Audrey’s near-death had made one thing painfully clear: he could not allow himself to care for her. He had already lost too much—his mother, Cecilia. The curse of his family seemed inevitable, an invisible specter that hung over every woman he had ever loved. He would not add Audrey to that list.

Helping her restore her sister’s reputation had already been decided. But now, it was more than a duty—it was a necessity . If he could free her from the clutches of the ton’s gossip, she could return to London, where she belonged. And he… he could retreat to the safety of his isolation, where no one else could be hurt.

Perhaps, by saving her sister, he might finally atone for Cecilia’s death. The thought was bitter, but it spurred him on.

Cedric reached for the tumbler, the cool glass smooth against his fingers. For a moment, he lifted it, his hand hovering near his lips. The firelight glinted off the liquid, but as he stared into its depths, his stomach churned with revulsion.

Destruction.

The word echoed in his mind. With a sharp, decisive motion, he turned and threw the contents of the tumbler into the fire. The flames hissed and roared, the liquid vanishing in an instant.

Cedric stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving as the silence settled over him once more. He had made his decision. Now, he only needed to see it through.