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Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

“And then…you inferred quite plainly that you do not feel the same.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The woman I love made it very clear that I have nothing to offer her.” Pain rippled through him. “Why is that so bad, Theo?” he pleaded, instantly cursing himself, but he couldn’t stop. “Why is the thought of being mine so terrible? I’d be yours, too, you know. I want to be yours. I thought…I thought you perhaps saw something of value in me…”

“Rafe…”

Her broken whisper had his eyes sinking shut. He couldn’t believe he’d just said all of that aloud.

A forehead thumped against his shoulder, and she banged it there a couple times. “I wish you hadn’t run away.”

He stared across his study, unseeing. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t face you after that.”

Coward.

She abruptly pulled away. “Come, let’s sit.” She was already halfway to his couch when she realized he wasn’t following. She shot him a look that screamed, make haste, you numbskull.

He finally got himself moving and grabbed his crutch. “What are we doing?” he asked as he made his way over.

She pointed at the couch. “Sit. We’re going to do what we should have done back in Ironcrest.”

He lowered himself carefully and winced as sharp pain streaked up his leg. She frowned at his thigh, then seemed to shake herself out of something and sat down next to him. “We’re going to talk.”

Rafe let out a slow breath. He supposed they should.

44

Theo

We’re going to talk.

And at least this time she knew he couldn’t get away. But she really bloody hated the reason for that. She glanced at his thigh again. At the looseness of his trousers. They hung off his frame. When she’d touched him a moment ago, his bones had been so pronounced; he’d felt so different from the last time she’d touched him. She’d almost broken down and started sobbing right then and there.

But she shoved all of that away. She needed a clear head if they were going to have a successful conversation. Part of her was still so angry with him for running. But she could see the war he was having with himself even now. She’d learned so much about him during his stay at Ironcrest, so much about what haunted him and had made him into the man he was today. But there was one thing she hadn’t realized until just now.

The Duke of Ironcrest…hated himself.

I thought you perhaps saw something of value in me.

She’d almost laughed. Because truly? He was incredible. He’d overcome such trials. Appalling, sickening trials. He’d made it out to the other side, a kind man. Gentle and soft despite his hard exterior. He had a dry humor she couldn’t get enough of; he cared about his estate and tenants, was loyal and protective of those he loved, and possessed something most men in her experience lacked—morals.

She studied his hard jaw, extra sharp now, gaunt. He stared straight ahead. Avoiding. Hurting.

He was the strongest man she’d ever met. Yet, she knew he saw himself as the opposite. The jealousy over Mr. Turner…she was starting to believe it wasn’t just about her. Which seemed utterly inane. The duke sitting next to her was jealous of a blacksmith. Saw Mr. Turner and felt inferior.

His father had obliterated every vestige of his self-worth, of his self-esteem.

Rafe cleared his throat, and it shook through the weighted silence. “So… You know how I feel. I vomited it all over you. Your turn.”

“You paint a beautiful picture.”

He finally glanced at her. “I try.”

Her lips quirked. All right. Time for her to explain, and hopefully not hurt him in the process. “I think you’re an incredible man—an incredible person.” He tried to look away, but she quickly grabbed his jaw and forced his attention to remain on her. “No. I mean it, Rafe. You’re amazing. You’re resilient. You’re smart and understatedly witty. You have a strong moral compass, which should be impossible given what you’ve been through. I see it. Sebastian sees it. Her Grace sees it. I don’t know the dowager, but considering she pushed you to speak with me right away—well, I have to believe she’s quite the brilliant woman. So I’m sure she sees it too. And that man with the dark hair standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you back there looked like he was ready to dismember me if I came anywhere near you. I imagine that means he feels similarly to me.”

She ran her knuckles over his cheek, and his eyes fluttered, then his features twisted right after, as if he were angry at himself for showing weakness.

It wasn’t weakness.

The ability to feel wasn’t weakness.