Page 104 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“From what? Westbury was arrested. The danger is past.”

Leo’s hand tightened on the arm of the chair. “There will always be danger.”

“Yes,” Philip relented. “There will always be. But that’s life, Leo. Danger exists. Loss exists.” His voice softened. “But so does love, if we’re brave enough to accept it.”

Something cracked in Leo’s carefully constructed defenses.

“I don’t know how,” he choked out. “My father?—”

“Your father never let anyone love him,” Philip finished quietly. “And he died a miserable, lonely man, leaving you with a legacy of pain you don’t have to perpetuate.”

The truth of those words hit Leo with brutal force. Images flashed through his mind: his father’s cold eyes as he ordered another ice bath, his mother’s indifferent gaze as she turned away, the endless lessons in emotional detachment that had shaped his life.

And then, Beatrice. Her quiet strength, her unwavering honesty, her refusal to accept anything less than the truth. The warmth that had begun to thaw the frozen pieces of his soul.

“I’ve been a fool,” he said hoarsely.

Philip smiled slightly. “A family trait, it seems.”

Leo stood up abruptly, ignoring the pain in his side. “I need to go to her.”

“You need a physician,” Philip countered, eyeing the blood-soaked waistcoat.

“Later.” Leo was already moving toward the door.

“Leo.” Philip’s voice stopped him. “Don’t make the same mistake I did. Don’t waste another day.”

The ride to the Ironstone townhouse passed in a blur of pain and determination.

Leo barely noticed the streets blurring past the carriage window, his mind fixed on what he needed to say, in the hope that he wasn’t too late.

The house was quiet when he arrived; most of the servants had already retired for the evening, and Beatrice’s father and stepmother were asleep.

Isabella received him in the parlor, her gaze deadly as she eyed him like an executioner.

“Please. I need to speak with her,” Leo pleaded.

Isabella’s fists clenched. “Fine. But if I hear a single sob from my sister, I’ll kick you out myself.”

He took the stairs two at a time as Isabella led him up, ignoring the dizziness that threatened with each step, until they reached the door to Beatrice’s chambers.

“I’ll be here. Waiting,” Isabella said like a warning, and Leo nodded.

Then, he knocked, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent corridor. No response came from within.

“Beatrice,” he called, knocking again with greater force. “Please, I need to speak with you.”

Nothing but silence answered him.

He glanced at Isabella, who merely crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He turned back to Beatrice’s door, and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.

“I deserve your silence,” he said, his voice rough with emotion he no longer tried to conceal. “I deserve your anger. But I’ll stay here until you open the door.”

Half an hour passed, marked only by the steady tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

Leo remained standing, though his legs threatened to buckle beneath him, his wound throbbing with increasing urgency.