Page 139 of Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 2

A lexander Wycliffe stood in the grand entryway of Carrington Manor, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited for the inevitable. He had been in countless rooms like this, grand estates with their rich tapestries and pristine marble floors, but this one—this one made his pulse quicken, and not for reasons he was proud of.

His heart was heavy, the grief of his father’s death still fresh, a burden he carried alongside the weight of the title he had never wanted. Duke of Harbeck. The title sounded hollow to him, like a cloak that did not fit. His father’s sudden passing had thrust him into a world of expectations he had spent his life trying to avoid, and now… now he was here.

Of all places.

He had not wanted to come to Carrington Manor. He had not wanted to see her . But it had been expected of him. Lord Carrington had been one of his father’s closest friends, and now that he was the Duke of Harbeck, it would be seen as an insult if he failed to make an appearance. Still, the idea of seeing Genevieve after five long years stirred something within him he could not quite name. Dread. Anticipation. Shame.

The sound of footsteps broke his thoughts, and his breath caught as Lady Genevieve Carrington swept into the hall.

She had changed, and yet she had not. Her beauty, as striking as ever, had taken on a certain elegance, a grace that had not been there before. Gone was the carefree girl who used to smile at him like he held the world in his hands. In her place was a woman, composed, her features sharp with controlled coldness. Her eyes, however, were the same—those deep, stormy eyes that had once made him forget everything else. Now, they stared back at him, colder than winter’s chill, filled with the bitterness of old wounds.

He straightened, the words he had rehearsed evaporating the moment their eyes met. The tension between them was palpable, thick with the weight of the past they had never truly confronted. She stopped a few feet away, her posture rigid as though she was keeping herself from stepping any closer.

“Your Grace,” she said coolly, the title laced with formality, though her tone hinted at something far deeper, something unresolved.

“Lady Genevieve,” he replied, dipping his head slightly. He had not meant to sound so stiff, but it was difficult to keep his voice steady when his mind was pulling him in so many directions—grief, regret, the simmering attraction he had never fully extinguished. “It has… been a while.”

Her lips curled, but it was not a smile. “Yes, it has. Five years, in fact.”

The unspoken accusation lingered in the air between them. Five years since he had disappeared from her life without a word. Five years since he had chosen duty over desire. Since he had broken both their hearts.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, a sharpness flashing in them as she folded her arms across her chest. “Sorry? For what, exactly? For disappearing? For breaking promises? Or perhaps for not coming to see me sooner?”

Her words stung, but Alexander could only nod, his throat tightening. She had every right to be angry with him. But he could not explain it, not now—not with his grief over his father still raw. He had not come here to rehash the past. He had come to pay respects, but now, standing before her, every moment they’d shared—every mistake he had made—seemed to claw its way back to the surface.

“I was… young, then. We both were,” he managed, his voice low. “I did not know how to… how to balance what was expected of me with what I wanted.”

Genevieve’s expression hardened. “And what was it that you wanted, Alexander?”

His name on her lips, after all these years, sent a jolt through him, igniting something deep in his chest. She was angry—furious even—but beneath the anger was something else. The same spark that had drawn them together all those years ago, the same flame he had tried so hard to snuff out.

“I wanted you,” he admitted, more to himself than to her. The words were almost a confession.

For a moment, her steely gaze faltered, and he could see the flicker of something vulnerable beneath her cold exterior. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the same icy composure.

“You do not get to say that now,” she snapped, her voice tight. “Not after everything.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice as his eyes locked onto hers. “You are right. I do not deserve to say it. But that does not mean it is not true.”

They stood in silence, the unspoken emotions between them swelling to the surface. He could feel the magnetic pull of her, even now, and it took every ounce of willpower not to reach out, not to take her in his arms and erase the distance between them.

But he did not. He could not. Not when there was still so much left unsaid, so much unresolved between them.

Genevieve broke the silence first, her voice softer now but no less firm. “We are no longer those people, Alexander. You have become a duke, and I… I have learned to live without you. It would be wise for both of us to remember that.”

With those words, she turned and walked away, her skirts sweeping across the marble floor. He watched her go, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He had come here to grieve his father, to step into his new role, but instead, he found himself grieving something else, something he had lost long ago but never fully let go of.

As the door closed behind her, Alexander ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. The past had never seemed so close, and neither had she.