Page 26 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

T he last time Juliana had been this scared was when her father died and Francis arrived in London with a smug expression on his face, announcing he was taking over as the head of the family. Back then, she had felt immense fear and had wished she could do something—anything—to ensure that her uncle left, but he never did.

Now, as she paced in front of the door to the parlor, where Lord Somerton was being treated, she couldn’t slow her erratic heartbeat. Her dress, still soaked with his blood, had begun to harden and stink, but she did not care about that. Rather, she cared about how much blood he’d lost, and how all of it was her fault.

If only she had stayed with Portia and not followed Norfield. If she had mingled and clinked glasses with others instead, they would not have found themselves in this situation.

“Perhaps you should rest, Your Grace. You have been pacing for over an hour now,” Lincoln advised, a hint of concern in his eyes.

Juliana had an inkling that he wasn’t concerned about her, but the injured man behind the door.

She paused and took a deep breath. “I am all right, Lincoln,” she told him with a slight smile.

The man nodded once and said no more, just like how Vincent had done when they arrived home. He’d carried Lord Somerton out of the carriage and up to the parlor without pausing to catch his breath.

She’d also seen the look on his face. It was evident he was angry and anxious. Once again, she had proved him right by meddling in his business and causing Geoffrey to flee. Now, after this and all that had happened, anyone would think that she was Geoffrey’s accomplice, married to his enemy to ensure that he always escaped whenever he came close to being caught.

I would tell him.

She would tell him again, explaining slowly if she had to, that she had absolutely nothing to do with Geoffrey. But would Vincent believe her this time? He’d said that it was their last chance and that no matter what happened, he had to apprehend Geoffrey. But he had failed, again, because of her.

Another sigh escaped her lips as she turned slightly to the door. Barely a second later, it creaked open, and out came Vincent, exhaustion written all over his face.

Juliana ran to him instantly, her eyes hopeful as she placed a hand on his shoulder, waiting for news.

Vincent’s eyes lazily traveled over her face, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Why have you not changed out of this dress?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That is hardly what is important right now. How is he?” she asked, a hopeful expression on her face.

“The physician came just in time. He will live.”

Relief flooded her veins, and she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek. Instead of wrapping his arms around her like he normally would, Vincent peeled her arms from around his neck.

She frowned in confusion as she stepped away from him, tilting her head to the side as she tried to make sense of his behavior.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked, her eyes roaming over his body.

Perhaps he was hurt during the commotion and he didn’t say anything.

However, the moment Vincent took a deep breath, Juliana knew he was not hurt.

“Are you aware that it could’ve been you in Somerton’s place?” he snapped, running his fingers through his hair. “Norfield could’ve shot you, and…” he trailed off as he backed away from her.

Lincoln and the other footmen who had been waiting seemed to understand that their masters needed some privacy and retreated down the corridor.

Juliana quickly closed the distance between them, her heart swelling as she realized that his anger stemmed from his worry about her.

“I apologize, husband.” She placed a hand on his chest again, rubbing it just the way he liked.

But again, Vincent removed her hand from his chest.

“How difficult is it to listen to instructions and follow them? Had you stayed away as I asked you to, this night would’ve gone differently,” he scolded, not once looking at her.

“I admit that what I did was reckless, but I was speaking to Portia when Norfield walked in. I looked around for you to alert you, but you were nowhere to be seen, so I decided to keep an eye on him. I simply wanted to help.”

“I do not want your help! How many times do I have to say it?” he spat.

A maelstrom of emotions flooded through her—annoyance, anger, confusion, and surprise. He’d never spoken to her in such a tone before.

“Vincent.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair and let out a loud sigh.

“I believe it’s best if you return to live with your family,” he muttered.

Juliana’s heart sank. “For how long?” she asked shakily as she met his eyes.

Vincent licked his lips and began walking away.

“For how long, Vincent? How long would I live with my family?”

“You said you missed them greatly anyway.”

“That does not answer my question, Vincent.”

Vincent whirled around then, his eyes cold. Distant.

Juliana’s breath hitched at the look in his eyes. Of course, she’d seen it many times before—he had always been a cold man.

But it had never quite frightened her as it did at that moment. The light in his eyes…it was like pinpricks of frost freezing his gaze.

“You will stay with your family, Juliana, and I won’t hear any objections.”

Now, it was crystal clear that he was giving her a command. That he would not hear any arguments.

“It is true that you could be targeted by Norfield there, but it would not be as dangerous as being around me. I will post guards around the property. They will ensure your safety and that of your mother and sisters.”

He must have thought he was the only pigheaded one.

“No.” She shook her head, a lock of her hair escaping its pins.

Vincent’s frosty eyes narrowed on her. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, firmer this time. “I want to be with you.”

Vincent’s jaw ticked. “I will not repeat myself, Juliana. You will follow my orders,” he commanded, his tone arctic.

“And I will have you know that I am not a dog for you to bark orders at, Vincent,” Juliana fired back, her pulse fluttering in her neck. “I am your wife, and we are meant to be together?—”

“We cannot be together anymore, Juliana.” The words fell from his lips with a poisonous finality that stunned her.

“Excuse me?”

Juliana did not know what to feel. Affront? Anger? Fear? Panic?

“Surely you jest,” she scoffed. “This is a temporary situation. Until Geoffrey is apprehended?—”

“No.”

The word cut through the atmosphere like a poisonous spear.

“Once Geoffrey is caught, we will live separately.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Affront it was. The emotion was bubbling up her chest like lava newly ejected from an active volcano.

“My work for the Crown will always make you a target,” Vincent pointed out coldly, his words digging a hole of despair in her chest. “Today has made that painfully clear.”

“And is this the way you want to deal with it? Not by dealing with the problem that is your work, but me, your own wife?”

Was that it? He’d always seen her as an obstacle to his work for the Crown and nothing else?

“That’s not the real reason, is it, Vincent?” she challenged him, her voice rising despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed to near slits. “What?”

“This is not about my safety. It is not about me at all,” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re merely seeking a way to get me out of your hair. You have never seen me as a wife, have you? All I’ve ever been to you is a burden.”

Vincent did not so much as react to her words.

“Think what you will.” He looked away from her, his profile sharp against the gathering darkness. “I do not care. Just—just do as you are told.”

The casual cruelty of his dismissal stole her breath. This was not the man who had held her through the night, who had whispered sweet nothings against her skin, who had assured her that he would never push her away.

And yet here he was, doing the very same thing. The man who stood before her now was cold. Calculating. Unreachable.

“How can you look at me and say—?” she started to say, but Vincent was already turning away.

“A maid is packing your things as we speak,” he added, his tone crisp. Businesslike. Devoid of warmth. “A carriage will take you to your mother’s dower house first thing in the morning.”

“Vincent—”

“Goodnight, Juliana.” He was walking toward the door now, his movements sharp and precise.

“Do not walk away from me,” she demanded, despising that her voice cracked on the last word. “We must discuss this properly?—”

“There is nothing more to discuss,” he said, without looking back. “I will advise you to get some rest. It will be an early departure.”

The door closed behind him with a soft and final click that sounded to Juliana’s ears like the final note of a requiem.

She stood frozen in the center of the corridor, shock rendering her unable to comprehend what had just happened. And so she held out hope that he would return, that he would apologize to her and take back those dreadful words.

But the minutes stretched into long hours, and Vincent did not return.

The journey to the dower house passed in a blur of muted colors and indistinct shapes. Juliana stared out the carriage window with unseeing eyes, her mind still fixated on that moment when Vincent’s eyes had gone cold…and on the words he’d said.

“I do not care…”

Juliana had resolved in her heart that she would not cry over him, but now, riding in this carriage, she couldn’t help but face the reality—that she was being cast aside and sent back to her family like an unwanted parcel. His words had made his sentiments rather clear.

“We will live separately.”

Two of his men rode alongside the carriage, their presence a constant reminder of the danger that precipitated her exile—and of Vincent’s determination to keep her at arm’s length.

No. He was throwing her away .

The dower house soon came into view. And, despite herself and the circumstances surrounding her return, Juliana felt a small stir of warmth in her chest.

The carriage had barely rolled to a stop before the front door flew open. Her youngest sister, little Gina, bounded down the steps, her curls flying behind her, propriety forgotten in her excitement.

“Julie!” Gina cried, launching herself at her older sister as soon as the carriage door was opened. “We had no idea you were coming! Mama will be beside herself with joy!”

Juliana couldn’t find it in herself to reprimand the child for disregarding decorum so blatantly and gathered her into her arms. She did need comfort, after all.

“Hello, my dearest. You’ve grown at least an inch since I last saw you.” She smiled into her hair.

“Two inches, according to my dressmaker!” Gina replied proudly. Then, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is the duke with you?”

The innocent question pierced Juliana’s heart.

“No,” she replied, doing her best to keep the melancholy out of her voice. “He remains in our townhouse. He has matters he must attend to.”

Well, that was half true.

Her youngest sister’s disappointment was fleeting as she linked their arms. “Well, you’re here! That’s what matters. Come inside, come inside!”

Juliana let her sister’s enthusiastic welcome soothe the ache in her chest, let her warmth fill the hole that Vincent’s indifference had made in her heart.

“Look who’s come to visit!” Gina shrieked as soon as they were in the drawing room, and all eyes turned toward them.

“Juliana!” Ava’s dark eyes lit with surprise and delight.

They embraced warmly as Emily’s questions tumbled over one another. “How long will you stay? Will you stay with us until your birthday?”

“Give her a moment to breathe.” Their mother was standing by the door to the dining room, her expression a mix of pleasure and concern. “Juliana, this is unexpected. Is everything all right?”

“Of course, Mama,” Juliana replied, the lie coming more easily this time, despite the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. “My husband just wanted me to enjoy some time with my family while he attends to certain matters.”

Yes, matters that were obviously more important than her.

Lady Ridgewell’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I see. And how long will you be staying with us?”

“I’m…not entirely certain.” Juliana busied herself with removing her gloves to avoid her mother’s penetrating gaze. “A fortnight, perhaps.”

“A fortnight?” Now, her mother’s tone sharpened. “Why would your husband send you away for so long? Has something happened?”

“Mama!” Ava interjected, and Juliana could have hugged her at that moment. “At least allow her to settle in!” Then, she turned to Juliana. “Come on! Let’s go to your old room. It’s still the same way you left it.”

As they ascended the stairs, Juliana felt her emotions falter between relief and extreme anxiety. She did not know how she was going to survive this time apart from Vincent under her mother’s scrutiny.

But as soon as they entered her room and set her bags down, she realized it was Ava who she should have been wary of.

“Something’s wrong,” her sister noted. “I can see it on your face.”

Juliana turned away, busying herself with unpacking a small valise. “It’s not serious, Ava. Merely…minor marital disagreements.”

Ava arched an eyebrow. “Minor disagreements don’t result in a wife being sent back to her family,” she pointed out, and Juliana barely managed not to flinch. “Tell me what’s happened, Julie.”

But Juliana truly was not ready to tear off the bandage on that particular wound. It was still fresh. Too fresh.

“Please, Ava. Not now.” Her voice held a note of weariness that her sister no doubt caught.

“Very well,” Ava conceded, albeit reluctantly. “But you know you can always come to me whenever you’re ready, don’t you?”

Juliana managed a small smile. “Thank you. Truly. It seems you’ve matured while I was away. I’m glad. Now, tell me everything that’s happened since I left.”

And she threw herself into listening to every bit of her sister’s account of local gossip and other family matters, determined to put her husband out of her mind.

Vincent stalked the seedier districts of London like a predator on the hunt. Gentlemen’s clubs, gambling hells, taverns—no stone was left unturned in his search for Geoffrey. The elusive cad had disappeared into the labyrinthine streets of the city, but Vincent would find him. He had to.

Now, he paused outside a particularly disreputable establishment, its windows glowing with sickly yellow light. The sign above the door depicted a woman in a state of partial undress—one of the more elegant brothels in Covent Garden, though that wasn’t saying much.

He pushed open the door and was greeted by the scent of cheap perfume and the sound of forced laughter. A heavily painted woman approached, her dress cut low to reveal more than it concealed.

“Good evening, My Lord,” she purred, correctly assessing the quality of his attire if not his rank. “Looking for some company tonight?”

“Information,” Vincent replied curtly. “I’m looking for a man. Tall, fair-haired, with a dimple on his right cheek.”

The woman’s smile faltered slightly. “We don’t give information about our clients, My Lord. Bad for business, you understand.”

Vincent produced a gold sovereign, letting it glint in the dim light. “I understand perfectly.”

Her eyes narrowed, calculating. “Never seen him. But Madame Rousseau might know something. She keeps track of special clients. Second floor, end of the hall.”

Vincent nodded his thanks and made his way up the narrow staircase, ignoring the curious glances from the patrons. His thoughts drifted unbidden to Juliana.

What would she think if she saw him moving through this world of shadow and vice? Would it confirm her worst fears about the nature of his work? Would she understand how dangerous the work he did was?

It was for the best, he told himself for the hundredth time. Better that she hated him and lived than loved him and died. The memory of her face—the hurt and betrayal in her eyes when he had coldly dismissed her—haunted him. But he would bear that burden gladly if it meant keeping her from harm.

My Juliana.

Juliana was arranging her hair for dinner when her mother entered without knocking, her face set in lines of tightly controlled anxiety.

“Juliana,” Lady Ridgewell said without preamble, “I must know the truth. Why are you really here?”

“I’ve already explained?—”

“You’ve explained nothing,” Lady Ridgewell interrupted, her tone unusually sharp. “Your husband has sent you away barely a month into your marriage, and there are armed men stationed around our house. Has he mistreated you? Are you with child? Has there been some terrible scandal?”

“No, Mama, nothing like that.” Juliana set down her hairbrush with deliberate calm. “I’ve told you all I can.”

“Which tells me there is more to tell!” Lady Ridgewell paced the small room, her agitation growing. “Do you know what people will say? A duchess sent home to her mother like a misbehaving child! The gossip will be merciless. Your sisters’ prospects could be ruined.”

“Always the prospects,” Juliana muttered, a lifetime of frustration suddenly bubbling to the surface. “Always appearances.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mama.” Juliana turned back to the mirror, but her mother was not to be deterred.

“No, you clearly have something to say. Speak plainly, Juliana.”

Perhaps it was the strain of the past days or the accumulated burden of years spent being the responsible one, but something in Juliana finally broke.

She rose to her feet and faced her mother.

“Very well. For years— years , Mama—I have been the one holding this family together. Since Papa died, I have managed the household, balanced the accounts, raised my sisters, and soothed your nerves. I have sacrificed my youth to ensure that theirs was not entirely blighted by our reduced circumstances. And not once— not once —have I received so much as a word of thanks or even acknowledgment of all my efforts.”

Her mother stared at her as though she was seeing her for the first time. “That’s not true. I’ve always appreciated?—”

“No. You’ve always expected ,” Juliana corrected, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “You have expected me to step into the role of both daughter and mother, to shoulder burdens no child should have to bear. And I did it willingly, Mama. I did it out of love for you and my sisters. But I am tired of being the only adult in this household.”

Lady Ridgewell’s face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How can you say such things? After everything I’ve suffered?—”

“We all have suffered,” Juliana said quietly. “The difference is that some of us were not permitted the luxury of falling apart.”

Lady Ridgewell pressed the hem of her dress to her lips, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Unable to face the confrontation any longer, she turned on her heels and fled the room, leaving Juliana standing alone, the weight of unspoken truths heavy in the air around her.

Juliana sank back onto the stool before her dressing table and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The face that looked back at her was tired, the eyes shadowed with a weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. In the space of a few days, she had lost her husband’s trust and fractured the veneer of her relationship with her mother.

She closed her eyes, thinking of Vincent—of the cold look in his eyes when he had sent her away, of the walls he had erected between them.

Was this to be her fate? To love a man who refused to let himself be loved in return? To shoulder the fate of a family on her own, without any support from her husband?

A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts. Expecting one of her sisters, she called for them to enter. But it was her mother who appeared in the doorway, her face still bearing the tracks of tears but composed into a semblance of dignity.

“The girls are waiting for us downstairs,” Lady Ridgewell said, her voice carefully neutral. “Shall we go?”

Juliana nodded, rising to her feet.

Whatever reckoning between them would have to wait for another day. For now, they would maintain the picture of familial harmony, as they had been for so many years.

As they descended the stairs together, Juliana wondered fleetingly if Vincent was thinking of her, if he missed her presence as keenly as she felt his absence. Or had he already consigned their brief happiness to memory, locking away his heart as effectively as he locked away his secrets?

The thought brought a fresh wave of pain, but she pushed it aside before it could take root. Juliana had decided that she would not cry over him, no matter how much his blatant indifference and disregard broke her.