My Groom Ran Off With My Sister — So I Walked Into The Dark With London’s Most Scandalous Duke
Part 2
The freezing rain continued to hammer relentlessly against the crumbling stone arch of the bridge above us.
I stared blindly at the dark, muddy water churning angrily in the small stream mere inches from my ruined boots.
His question hung heavily in the freezing air, demanding a raw honesty that polite society had painstakingly trained me to suppress.
I realized the suffocating pressure of maintaining my family’s pristine reputation had vanished entirely the moment Brian fled.
I admitted to the scandalous Duke that I was completely, utterly freezing from the inside out.
I expected him to offer a hollow, socially acceptable platitude, or perhaps the same sickening pity I had endured from my own father.
Tyler simply leaned his broad back against the damp brickwork of the bridge.
He pulled an engraved silver case from his interior pocket with practiced ease.
He smoothly withdrew a cheroot and struck a match against the rough stone coping.
The sudden bright flare of yellow sulfur illuminated the harsh, unforgiving planes of his face for a split second before dying down to a dull, glowing red cherry.
I told him that they all thought he was a terrifying monster.
The reckless words slipped out into the darkness before my rational mind could stop them.
I did not know why I said it, except perhaps the freezing air had finally shattered the last remaining filter of my aristocratic upbringing.
He did not look at me, keeping his dark gaze fixed firmly on the black silhouette of the trees at the edge of the gardens.
He admitted freely that the horrific stories they told about him in their drawing rooms were mostly true.
He stated plainly that he had ruined his family’s historic legacy and gambled away fortunes.
He advised me to go back inside immediately and find a safe, boring younger son to marry if I had a single ounce of self-preservation left.
I gripped the freezing stone edge until my knuckles ached with the immense effort.
I told him I did not want a safe, boring son.
The rebellion tasted incredibly sweet on my tongue, washing away the bitter ash of the last four days.
Tyler finally turned his head to look directly at me.
In the dim ambient light filtering through the glass doors, his eyes were pitch black, unfathomable voids.
The air between us suddenly felt incredibly thick, the physical space narrowing imperceptibly without either of us taking a single step.
He smelled intensely of male heat, sharp winter spice, and the bitter dark edge of smoke.
He asked me what it was that I actually wanted, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate murmur that sent a strange shiver racing down my spine.
I looked back at the glowing windows of the ballroom, seeing a silent, ridiculous pantomime of swirling pastel colors and forced smiles.
It was a gilded, suffocating cage that had very nearly snapped my neck.
I told him I wanted to burn it all down to the absolute ground.
He stared at my pale profile for a long, agonizing moment before slowly reaching out his bare, warm hand.
His rough thumb brushed over the delicate ridge of my knuckles through the thin silk of my glove.
Would I really let a scandalous stranger strike the match to my entire life?
