Page 59 of An Orphan for the Broken Duke

She looked into his eyes, letting him see her innermost feelings.

“I ought not to want this,” he breathed as he continued to look into her eyes. “It ought to be the last thing… I tried so hard to fight it, Violet. You have no idea how much.”

“I do,” she said. “Because I fought just as hard.”

“Tell me,” he asked her. “What do you want? Really?”

She considered the question and the answers that she could give. Did she want a real marriage? Did she want love and companionship and all that went with it? Did she want someone she trusted in her life? Did she want to stop worrying about others?

So many answers but the more that she thought, the more obvious the answer became. So, she held his stare, she licked her lips, and she spoke in a whisper so soft that Rhys might have missed it if his face were not so close.

“What do I want? You, Rhys. I want you.”

With those words said, her walls finally came tumbling down. And standing on the other side in the rubble, waiting for her, was Rhys. He did not speak. He did not look surprised. He was determined, sure of himself, and he knew exactly what he wanted.

Rhys leaned forward, his lips puckered, his head slightly tilted. He brought her face towards him, and Violet gave herself over completely. Sometimes, it was not such a bad thing to not be in control…

And when their lips met, Violet knew that she had made the right decision. And not just concerning the marriage, but Rhys, tonight, her confession. Their kiss was like a light in the darkness, bright and powerful and safe. It erupted and wrapped around them both, blinding them from the night, and announcing them to the world.

It was a kiss felt not just on Violet’s lips but in her heart. No doubt. No second guessing. No thoughts other than how right this was. And that alone was proof that she had done the right thing.

And when they parted, they did not shy away, or suddenly look afraid and worried. Rather, Rhys smiled at her, and she saw his relief just as she felt it in herself.

“Who would have guessed?” Rhys said with a smile.

“Not me,” she said back. “Not that I am complaining.”

‘Neither am I, Violet,” he said. “Neither am I.”

Twenty-One

Rhys had a dream that night… no, it was more akin to a nightmare.

He went to bed in soaring spirits. As he tucked himself in, he felt the tingle on his lips that still held Violet’s sweet taste. As he pulled up the covers of his blankets, he felt their warmth as if Violet was holding him tight. And as he closed his eyes, he remembered so clearly the words they spoke together, and how right they had felt.

For a few moments there, Rhys was in a state of perfect peace and harmony, and he knew without question that he had made the right decision. This is what it meant to care for another, and this was what it meant to not be afraid.

That was when the nightmare took him.

It was one he had before, one that at a certain point in his life had been as common as breathing. But that was years ago, and Rhys had foolishly allowed himself to forget… or maybe he just hoped that enough had changed in his life that he would never have to think about it again.

The nightmare started with a screaming match. He stood in Eleanor’s room, berating her for being so immature and foolish. She wept and claimed that she was in love, and he refused to listen. She asked that he trust her, and he denied such a request. She begged that he be reasonable, and he told her that as long as she lived under his roof, she would do as she was told.

The nightmare quickly shifted after that. It brought him to a small room in a house he had found on a farm in the north. The smell of blood hung in the air… the stench of death. Before him was a bed with sheets coated in dried blood that had turned brown, and without having to ask the question, Rhys knew the answer.

He fell to his knees and wept. This was his fault; there could be no denying it. He had driven his sister away, forced her into exile, and now she was dead. Anger flooded him. Guilt and shame both. Most of all, it was that simmering realization that burned in the back of his mind’s eye… a truth that he could no longer refute.

To love was to know pain. To care for someone was to invite failure. And if Rhys ever dared to love and care for someone again, this would be their fate…

Rhys woke in the middle of the night, screaming his sister’s name.

It took him a moment to realize where he was and what had happened, but that did not ease his suffering. He cast his mind back to earlier that night, the kiss and the confession of affection. What had felt so right and so pure suddenly burned like acid and roiled his insides so that he thought he might be sick.

He was weak. He was foolish. And worst of all, he had invited someone new into his world just so that he could hurt them like he had his sister. And because he cared for this person, because they trusted him, it would make that moment when they suffered all the worse to bear.

What have I done?

Rhys almost skipped breakfast that morning.