Page 25 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke (Regency Beasts #3)

" I do not do this because I want to harm myself, Cecilia. You must understand that I carry wounds that I find hard to ignore," Theo told her with a dark look.

"What wounds?" Cecilia asked.

Since she had realized he would answer her questions, she would get him to speak. Perhaps in talking about them, he would find the healing he sought.

"I was never meant to be Duke of Emerton," he said. "I had an older brother. Matthew. He was perfect in all ways, at least when my father was present."

His laugh was humorless and dark and she stilled her hands, setting them in her lap to listen to him. He had a distant look on his face as though he was reliving the days he was speaking of.

"He was everything I failed to be and was smug about it.

Such a little prick. He was quick with his sums, quick in learning his letters and proficient in languages," he continued.

"It didn't matter if he pushed his younger brother into cupboards and locked him in for hours on end or tripped him.

He could do no wrong. The perfect Emerton heir.

My father encouraged his bullying by saying it would make me strong and smarter and then perhaps I wouldn't be an utter embarrassment.

I was slow to learn my sums. Slow to master my letters and slow in learning etiquette and that made me detestable to my father.

Do you know what he said when Matthew got himself killed riding his horse? "

She shook her head when his eyes turned to her, wide and unblinking, his mouth stuck in a humorless smile.

She had never seen such a grotesque look and while it scared her, it set pity pooling in her blood. Pity for the young boy who had grown under such a dark cloud.

"He said he would ensure he didn't die before I did so I would never get the title.

" He laughed humorlessly. "He mourned my brother's death, blaming me for his foolishness.

How was I to know he would be so stubborn as to go riding when he was piss drunk?

He looked damn near stupid in death too.

Face down in the mud. When the constables had come to inform my father of his death and bring us to see the body, I had laughed because of how foolish he looked even in death.

My father struck me then and called me a curse on the family name.

It was why he paid men to force me into the army, and didn't even purchase me a commission.

I damn near died too. that's why I have all these scars.

I got caught in a fire trying to save William.

When they wrote to inform him, the man had asked them to ensure never to report details about my existence to him ever again.

That I was dead to him. It must have surprised him when he succumbed to consumption a few months after that.

When I got the letter, I delayed my return, not wanting to be in this house that reminded me of everything I never wanted to be. "

He went silent then and she knew he had finished his tale. His words wrenched her heart.

"You're nothing like him," she told him and he grinned even though his eyes lacked any humor.

"Of course not," he said, grinning. "The man was too self-righteous to do half of the things that I do.

I think of him rolling in his grave every time I sit in what used to be his study.

I had my uncle remove every piece of furniture he had used and replaced it but I didn't touch the bedroom.

It gave me great satisfaction to sleep in his bed and stare at his portrait as if he could see me.

The useless son who had inherited his title. "

"What about your mother?" she asked wondering why the woman would have let her child suffer such a fate without offering comfort.

He scoffed.

"She blamed me for causing her to be the object of my father's ire even if he hadn't been kind to her before I was born.

He was only mildly softer towards her when Matthew had been born and proven himself somewhat adept," he answered.

"she hated me but it was a distant hatred that paled in comparison to the open hatred of my father. "

"Your father was wrong about you, Your Grace," she told him. "There is no one more worthy of the Emerton title than you."

He scoffed, visibly disbelieving.

"You're the only one who believes that, Cecilia and that is because you have a very trusting heart," he told her. "Perhaps you're only saying these things to make me feel better."

"I do not say things I do not mean, Your Grace," she told him. "Neither does my brother. You would not be his friend if you were nothing more than a philandering drunk."

He scoffed.

"Your brother doesn't like me. He merely tolerates my presence."

"You are wrong on that note," she said with a smile. "He might not say it in words but he cares for you."

"Even if he doesn't and you don't, that is still a minuscule population that doesn't perceive me that way," he argued. "Everyone sees me as nothing more than a philandering drunk. A poor excuse for a duke. Only good for bedding and drinking with."

From his words, she deduced he was bent on self-deprecating as a means of dealing with his grief and no matter the words she spoke, it would never suffice to make him feel otherwise or forget everything he had once thought about himself.

This was an age-old wound that mere words from a girl would not suffice. Still, she couldn't give up. Her heart bled as though she felt every wound he had felt as a child.

She had thought she had had reason to grieve her childhood because her parents passed when she was very young but she realized there were worse fates.

"And they're wrong," she said, hoping her conviction shone through her words. "They do not know how you care for your duties. They do not know you. If you were so incompetent as they assume, you would be in debt yet you hold one of the most powerful and affluent titles in England."

His eyes met hers with an unreadable look but she hoped he would at least draw comfort from her words.

She wished she knew some other way to help him, but she had never been exposed to grief like his.

Theo was not a man moved by words but her words had his heart tightening in his chest as warmth flooded all the areas his father had scared with his bitterness over the years.

"You are respected by many," she continued. "Even if you don't know it. Believe that it is true. Stop listening to whispers from those with nothing better to do and listen to those who care for you. Your friends. Your household staff. Even among the ton , there are those who respect you."

He read the sincerity in her eyes and felt it in her hands as she squeezed his tightly yet he frowned pulling away from her. She didn't know him well enough to say such words about him or know his struggles, but she was trying.

He didn't like how his heart drank in her words, craving even more to soothe the hurt he had been carrying. He didn't like how he had wanted to hear those words for so long even if not from her.

He didn't like how shame filed him as he realized that though he claimed to hate his father he had tried harder each day to try to please the man and gain his approval but he always came up short.

"You may think I don't know you well enough to say these words but you forget I have known you since I was a girl," she added with a smile. "You have done well as duke and if there should be any consolation, know that the fact is causing your father to roll uneasily in his grave."

Her smile was bright and playful and chased away some of the anger he had felt. All he wanted to do in that moment was kiss her and he did just that, putting his gratitude into words.

She had touched him in the deepest depths of his soul that he had hidden from the light and now he didn't know how to act in front of her or behave.

He had not felt so vulnerable since he was a lad and again he felt like the little boy he had been, panting for his father's approval even if he kept falling short of it.

Now his wounds felt raw and exposed and the pitying look he read in her gaze made him want to hide. He was ashamed she had seen him as anything but the calm and confident man she had thought him to be and now he didn't know how to remedy it.

When he pulled away, he despised the look in her eye and turned away from her, rising to his feet.

"I am not well enough to continue our lessons today, Cecilia," he told her. "You may take your leave."

"I didn't come for our lessons, Your Grace," she told him and he heard her feet shuffle closer. "I wanted to…"

"No," he interrupted sharply.

She was a few steps from him and he felt her retract her hand. His skin burned even if she hadn't touched him and he knew her touching him would evoke another emotional response he wasn't equipped to handle and neither wanted to feel.

"Return to your estate, Cecilia," he told her, squaring his shoulders. "I have no need of your presence tonight."

"I… Yes, Your Grace," she answered, the resignation and hurt audible in her voice spearing him. "I bid you a good night then."

When the doors to his study closed softly as she took her leave, he called in his butler.

"Yes, Your Grace?" the man asked when he arrived.

"Ensure she is seen into the hansom safely," he ordered.

"Yes, Your Grace," he answered and left, leaving him blissfully alone.

The room he had relished as his dominion suddenly felt gaping as the silence felt too loud and threatened to crush him. He looked round at the study he had redecorated to his taste to remove every trace of the man who had been before him and still felt the weight of the man's presence in the room.

"You are not worth anything, Theodore." The man's voice came clear as day. "I am glad you will never be duke."

He moved to his sideboard and poured himself an unhealthy amount of whisky, downing it quickly and letting the burn distract him from the words pouring into his mind.

Soon he had dulled his mind with enough alcohol that the only thing drifting in his mind before he succumbed to sleep was Cecilia's face.