Emma pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders, drawing strength from its warmth. I've made my peace with it. You should, too. I can't. Why not? Because, he turned to face her fully, his expression raw. Because seeing you dismissed and judged and treated like you're less than them makes me want to burn this entire society to the ground. The violence in his voice startled her. This wasn't the controlled Duke. This was the angry boy who'd hidden in gardens, who'd raged against his father's cruelty.
You can't protect me from this, Emma said softly. No matter how much you want to. I know. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken things. Emma watched him wrestle with his frustration, saw the way his breathing slowly steadied as he forced himself back under control. Lady Beatrice seems formidable, Emma said carefully. Charles's jaw tightened. She is. Do you? Emma hesitated, not sure she wanted the answer. Do you spend much time with her?
As little as possible. But you're engaged. In name only. The contract was signed. The terms agreed upon, but we've barely spoken beyond pleasantries. He turned back to the gardens, his profile sharp in the moonlight. She doesn't want a husband. She wants a title and a fortune. I'm simply the most convenient means to both. And what do you want? The question seemed to catch him off guard. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze distant. I want, he trailed off, shaking his head. It doesn't matter what I want.
It matters to me. Charles looked at her, then really looked, and Emma saw something crack in his expression, something desperate and longing and utterly lost. I want to be free, he whispered. Free of the title, the expectations, the endless weight of a legacy I never asked for. I want to wake up in the morning and choose my own path. Make my own decisions. Live for myself instead of for dead men's dreams. Then do it. I can't. Why not? Because 300 people depend on the Winterborne estate for their livelihoods. Because my mother's pension comes from the estate income. Because the alliance with the Harrington family will secure trade agreements that benefit half the county.
His voice grew hoarse. Because walking away from my duty would destroy lives, and I'm not selfish enough to do that. Emma's heart ached. She understood the trap he was in. The cage built from honor and responsibility and love for people who depended on him. So you sacrifice yourself instead, she said quietly. It's not a sacrifice if it's expected. Yes, it is. It's just a sacrifice no one acknowledges.
Charles exhaled slowly, the breath misting in the cold air. You see too much. Or maybe I'm the only one willing to look. He turned to her, and the distance between them felt both infinite and non-existent. Emma could feel the heat radiating from him despite the winter cold, could see the conflict in his eyes, the war between what he wanted and what he could have. Emma, he said softly. What are we doing? I don't know. This can't end well. I know. In 6 weeks, I'll marry her and you'll, I'll leave. Go back to France or somewhere else. Somewhere I can forget.
The lie tasted bitter, but she said it anyway. Will you forget? Emma wanted to say yes. Wanted to promise him that this, whatever this was, would fade with time and distance, but she'd never been good at lying. No, she whispered. I won't. Charles closed his eyes, his jaw working. When he opened them again, they were wet with something that might have been tears if Dukes were allowed to cry. Neither will I, he said hoarsely.
The confession hung between them, raw and irrevocable. Emma's hands trembled. She wanted to reach for him, to close the distance, to offer comfort or seek it. But she didn't dare because if she touched him now, if she let herself have even that small thing, she wasn't sure she'd be able to let go. We should go back inside, she said, though everything in her wanted to stay. Yes. But Charles didn't move. Neither did she.
They stood there in the freezing cold, two people trapped between duty and desire, counting down the days until everything fell apart. And somewhere in the ballroom behind them, Lady Beatrice laughed, a sound like breaking glass.