Page 24 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 24

T heir visit was cut short, Madeline apologizing profusely while Thalia insisted she wasn’t at fault. Soon after, she found herself on the worst carriage ride she’d ever endured, the tension thicker than a knife could possibly cut through.

She hardly knew where to look, gaze flickering between the window, the floor, her hands tightly wrung against her lap. Their poor chaperone looked as if she were trying to sink into the chair itself, and Thalia could hardly blame her. Every so often, she’d lift to catch Charlotte’s eye, only to turn away from her smoldering gaze.

“Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” she began. “I shouldn’t have kept this a secret from you. I’m not even sure why I did.”

“Because it’s horribly demeaning, that’s why!” Charlotte hissed between her teeth, slouching back into her seat while her arms crossed tightly.

It was horribly unladylike, but Thalia hardly thought the proper time to point that out. She watched her friend fume for another moment or two before a frustrated snarl escaped Charlotte’s lips.

“I just—I can’t believe him! I mean, I absolutely can—I knew it was suspicious when he brought you home without any prior warning.”

Thalia nodded half-heartedly, uncertain still as to what she could say to make the situation any better.

“Then, you made a deal with him?” Charlotte asked. “Pretend he’s courting you for… for what reason, though?”

“He didn’t want you worrying about him anymore.” Not entirely the truth, but Thalia couldn’t bear to be so blunt about it. To know your brother found your efforts annoying, distracting… it was simply too much.

“So he wanted me out of his hair,” Charlotte grumbled. “Good to know he thinks so highly of me.”

“Charlotte.”

“He’s so—so emotionally stunted, Thalia!” Charlotte groaned loudly, flopping onto her back as she threw her hands up in frustration. “He has this whole notion of being in control of everything, and—and I know he’s the head of the house, and he quite literally is in control of so many people’s livelihoods, and the well-being of Stonewell—I just—!” She stopped herself, forcing a breath before falling silent. Thalia watched as her chest rose and fell, her eyes squeezed shut, and she muttered something under her breath.

“Are you alright?” Thalia asked.

A beat passed, and eventually, Charlotte sat up once more. “I… will be. But, are you alright? I mean, he hasn’t done anything… untoward, right?”

“N-No, of course not!” Thalia shook her head furiously, memories of the library turning to ash in her mouth. “Charlotte, your brother has been nothing but cordial with me. I promise; he hasn’t done anything I disapproved of.”

Charlotte appeared somewhat relieved, but she looked… more tired than Thalia had ever seen before. “I guess… I didn’t realize how much I hoped he was being genuine. When I see you with him… I don’t know. He felt different to me, like he was enjoying the idea of courting you. Like he really wanted to give the idea of marriage another go.”

Thalia’s eyes widened slightly, and she did her best to keep her voice even. “Gabriel… has no interest in marrying?”

Charlotte shook her head, fists clenching. “Since the day Father died—after Mother betrayed us all, he swore he’d never let himself be open like that. Love someone like Father had.”

This was so much, and so suddenly. Thalia felt herself grow faint, and she leaned against the back of her seat. “I… had no idea she’d done that to you. Charlotte, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

Charlotte remained quiet, her gaze boring into the cushion beside her.

Thalia swallowed, wanting both to comfort and satiate her curiosity. She felt terrible for even considering asking further, and instead, reached out to grasp Charlotte’s hands. It felt like such a hollow gesture, but Charlotte squeezed back immediately, panic overtaking the younger Harding’s voice.

“Thalia, if he’s toying with your heart—you would tell me, wouldn't you?”

Could she tell Charlotte? What was there to even say? Thalia was still reeling from the previous revelations—their mother’s betrayal, Gabriel’s adamant stance against marriage—and Thalia’s being felt as if she’d been torn to pieces and scattered to the winds. But, that wasn’t what Charlotte needed right now. So, Thalia exhaled softly and offered a nod.

“If… if he is, I will let you know.”

“Promise?”

Gracious, but that little word felt like a dagger to Thalia’s soul. She hadn’t even done anything wrong, and yet, it felt so much like the final twist. “It’s… the least I can do, after lying so long to you.”

Charlotte offered a weak smirk, a peal of loose laughter escaping her lips. “It hurts to find out, but… I understand why you did it. I promise I’m not upset with you, all right? I just,” she sighed, visibly exhausted. “I wish I knew what was real and what isn’t. Gabriel is entirely too convincing of an actor, sometimes.”

You have no idea , Thalia thought bitterly.

* * *

It was the first time in quite some time that Gabriel felt giddy about anything. The truest sense of the word, untainted by a desire for vengeance or control. As soon as the ladies left the mansion, he wasted no time preparing the mansion’s interior for the alluded-to shipment, and now, nearly the whole of the entryway was filled to the brim with customized gowns, all specially tailored for Thalia.

Brilliant emeralds, rich and deep burgundies—it was a myriad of beautiful colors that spoke of wealth and sophistication. After today, no one in the ton would look upon his little rabbit with disdain.

The crunching of wheels against gravel caught his attention, and Gabriel gestured toward the servants to abscond throughout the house. Running a hand through his hair, he approached the front doors and pushed them open, greeting the carriage with a relaxed smile.

“Welcome back, ladies. Your arrival is just in–-” he stopped, shoulders stiffening as Charlotte came bounding up the stairs with a storm cloud hanging over her. “Charlotte, what’s wrong?”

She immediately pushed past him, stumbling into the entryway before finally noticing the dresses. With a snarling outcry, Charlotte shot him the dirtiest look to date before making for the main staircase.

“Charlotte?” Gabriel tried calling after her, only to hear another pair of footsteps climb up the entryway. He turned, facing Thalia head-on as she, too, looked rather melancholy. “Why is it every time you’re alone with my sister–”

“Please, Gabriel,” Thalia begged. “Not now.”

Gabriel frowned, stepping to the side and allowing Thalia to pass. His hand instead went to help the maid, who quickly excused herself with a nod of her head and hurried into the nearest door. Before he could speak, he heard Thalia’s choked gasp at the sight of the dresses. “I suppose this comes at an inopportune time, then?” he asked.

Thalia met his eyes, weariness replaced with trepidation. “What is this?”

Gabriel extended a hand, disconcerted as she loosely accepted it. “Charlotte… told me you barely got a gown during your shopping trip.” He gestured towards the racks, a sour fury bubbling in his stomach. “I had thought this would be a pleasant surprise, but you look… disappointed.” He frowned, then shook his head. “No, you’re angry, aren’t you?”

Thalia opened her mouth to argue.

“You are,” Gabriel interrupted. “You just don’t wish to upset me by confirming it.” He tried to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, but she pulled free quickly, stepping ahead of him and into the sea of gowns. In three steps, Gabriel caught back up to her, trying again to grab her hand, snarling as she pulled away from him again. “What happened?”

Thalia turned to him, clearly shocked by his outrageous tone. She slipped behind a dress mimicking the ocean itself, her face partially obscured. “It’s nothing. I’m simply tired, your Grace.”

Gabriel could feel his temper beginning to rise into his chest. “This isn’t fair, Thalia. You’re clearly upset with me.”

Thalia pretended to be preoccupied by the gown’s beadwork, delicately tracing the pattern with her bandaged finger.

“What on earth happened to your finger?” Gabriel stepped forward, trying to grasp her hand once more. And, once more, she pulled away, his voice nearly snapping with impatience. “Thalia Sutton, I swear to all that is holy, if you don’t stop playing coy with me–”

“What, Your Grace? What will you do?” Thalia’s face flushed with anger, hands trembling at her side as she glared Gabriel down. “Will you hunt me through the mansion like the pathetic prey I am? Or perhaps you’ll simply drag me upstairs and take what you want from me once more!”

It was the first time a woman had genuinely wounded him in such a manner, as if she’d raised her hand and slapped him. Hard.

“What are you talking about? I do not take what hasn’t been given to me; you know that, Thalia.”

Thalia laughed, cold and cruel, teetering on the brink of collapse. “Do I, though? I hardly know you at all, so obscured in your own secrets and ploys. What sick pleasure do you derive from playing these games, Gabriel Harding? What does a wolf benefit by helping the rabbit live a few hours longer, knowing full well she’ll soon be left bleeding in the woods once more?”

Gabriel was positively reeling; it was getting harder by the second to remain composed. “You make it seem as if I’m going to simply abandon you.”

“Aren’t you, though?” Tears edged at the corner of Thalia’s eyes, but she completely ignored them, with every word she spoke to him. “Once you get what you want—once the hunt is over, and you’ve fed on your kill—won’t our little arrangement come to an end? That’s all it’s ever been about, hasn’t it? That’s why you’ve never explicitly stated what you truly desire from me—and I was stupid and naive enough to believe that… that…”

“Thalia…” he said, his arm outstretched, desperate to take her hand, to bring her in and dry her tears. “You’re clearly upset, and this is no place to discuss such delicate matters.”

“Everything I am has been stripped away, Gabriel,” Thalia sobbed. “My home, my title, my social standing—I have nothing left that remains a delicate matter.”

Those last words stung in a way he hadn’t expected. Gabriel’s mind whirled, their shared moment in the library rushing to the forefront of his mind. Fractals suddenly came together into one, devastating picture, and he exhaled sharply, realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“I knew it wasn’t real from the start,” Thalia said. “You told me as much. It’s my fault, at the end of the day, for allowing myself to get caught up in it all.”

He could have died there and then, struck down by the absolute hopelessness in Thalia’s voice. Gabriel internally berated himself for his weakness, for allowing them to develop beyond mere strangers.

There was a chance, here and now, to break their tether completely. To re-construct his image as cold and distant, repair walls built up over years and torn down in mere days. She was giving him a chance; his little rabbit stood in the open field, no longer hidden away, and waited for the inevitable.

And Gabriel remained still. Remained silent.

A short, breathy sigh escaped Thalia, still tinged in tears as she worked to wipe her face. “Thank you, Your Grace. The gowns… really are quite lovely. I’ll make sure to wear them, if you deem me worthy to be seen in public by your side.”

“Thalia…”

“I wish to go upstairs,” Thalia continued. “Rest before dinner, if Your Grace wills it.”

He wanted to reach out. Grasp her hand and pull her into his chest, then hold her so she would never escape him again. To snarl in her ear at the absolute lack of respect she was showing him as the master of the house, as the Duke of Stonewell.

But, even now, Gabriel stared at her bandaged wrist, and found his anger directed not at her, but the man who’d twisted her good nature in the first place. And, much to his concern, at himself.

“You are free to be yourself in this house, Thalia. Do as you wish.”