The Unclaimed Duchess Read online

  “That should not have happened,” he finally moaned, pain evident in his tone of voice. “That was a terrible mistake.”

  Chapter 16 Anne flinched. The words Rhys said were painful, of course, but the tone of his voice hurt her even more. He sounded empty. Broken. Defeated. And all because of what she had done in the name of her love for him.

  When he sank into a chair near the window and placed his head into his hands, her torment increased. He was naked, and not just in body. His emotions were naked as he sat there, for the first time, she saw them all. All the anguish, all the heartbreak, all the anger that had been caused by whatever secret he kept from her…they were alive on his crumpled face and in his shaking shoulders.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said once more, but this time it seemed it was meant for himself, not her. “I shouldn’t have been so weak as to allow it. But it felt so good, you felt so good.”

  Anne slipped from the high bed, gathering a sheet to wrap around her body as she did so. She moved toward him slowly, well-aware that she was now approaching something akin to a wounded animal. She would have to tread carefully.

  “Rhys,” she whispered as she reached out a hand for his bare shoulder.

  He wrenched his arm away, his dark gaze flashing up as if he had only just remembered she was still in the room with him.

  “No!” he cried as he returned to his feet and moved away.

  She stared as he snatched up his trousers from the floor beside the bed and stepped into them, covering himself from her gaze in more ways than one.

  But when he turned back, his wild eyes still glowed in the fire. In fact, Anne was shocked by how stormy they were.

  “Please don’t touch me, not now,” he said, his breath coming in deep pants and his voice shaking. “You shouldn’t have done that, Anne. You knew I couldn’t have you this way.”

  She stared at him. Somehow she’d convinced herself that if only she could force Rhys to take the pleasure it was obvious they both desired, she would soften his stance toward her and their future. At the very least, she had reset the clock on whether she could be carrying his child. Certainly he couldn’t withdraw from that.

  But she’d underestimated the depth of his pain. His face did not reveal a softness toward her now or even a resignation that they might be forced to remain living as husband and wife.

  No, she saw only betrayal and horror as he stared at her.

  “Rhys,” she whispered, her voice breaking just as his had. “I-I am yours. Tonight I hoped to remind you of that.”

  He shook his head. “No. You took advantage of what I told you in the countryside.”

  She opened her mouth, but he didn’t allow her to speak.

  “I told you then that I couldn’t make love to you for fear of creating a child who would suffer from the events surely to come. A child who would only complicate those events further.” He stared at her, his face blank again, his eyes no longer wild. But the dead emptiness of them disturbed Anne almost as much as his emotionality of before. “Isn’t that why you made love to me?”

  She fisted her hands at her sides and forced herself to draw a deep breath.

  “Yes. Part of why I did this tonight was because I knew if I became pregnant it would complicate your plans to abandon our marriage. But don’t you understand? I can’t allow you to separate from me without a fight! I love you, I love—”

  “Stop!” he cried out in a rough tone that raked over her flesh and up her spine. With a long step, he grabbed her arms and shook her gently. “I can’t! Why don’t you understand when I say that?”

  “Because you won’t tell me why!” Anne shook free of his hands. “If this is to be our end, then you owe me that! And I won’t give up on you or on us until I understand what drives you to do and say these terrible things.”

  He stared at her, as if he had never seen her before. He stared and stared until Anne shifted beneath his focused regard and fought the urge to turn away and run from the room. She could not back down.

  “You want to know why,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “If you truly want to send me from your life, I fear that is the only way to obtain what you desire.”

  A muscle in Rhys’s cheek jerked. “Very well. If you want this secret so badly, if you want to carry this with you, I leave you to it. You can taste its bitterness and feel its sting just as I have since the moment it was laid at my feet and destroyed everything I ever thought or hoped for.”

  He returned to the chair he had first sat in and sank back into its cushions, almost as if he could no longer bear his own weight. Anne shook as she watched him in silence, on the cusp of finally understanding what had started this heartbreaking mess that threatened to destroy her life and her future.

  Rhys looked up at her, his stare even and fully focused for the first time since he left her in his bed.

  “Anne, I’m not the man you think I am. That fact has dictated my every action from the moment we returned from our wedding trip.”

  Anne’s brow wrinkled. This wasn’t an answer, only a deeper riddle. Her tone was sharp when she snapped, “I don’t understand what you mean. Explain yourself.”

  He flinched. His naked shoulders had begun to shake and he swallowed hard before he said, “I tried so hard to protect you.”

  “I don’t want your protection!” she cried, the anger she’d been repressing bubbling free once more. “I want the truth! Tell me now.”

  His gaze flashed up. “I have obtained irrefutable proof that my father was not the Duke of Waverly, Anne. It turns out I’m a bastard, and with that fact comes only utter ruin and scandal.”

  It was the first time Rhys had ever admitted what he knew out loud. Even when he spoke to Simon, he’d never laid out the facts in such clear and undeniable terms. Hearing them again made his stomach turn in disgust and his heart race.

  Slowly he lifted his gaze to judge Anne’s reaction to the awful truth she’d pursued with such dogged interest and focus. She stood rooted in the same spot, staring at him. But her expression was no longer one of frustration or anger or even love.

  No, now all he could see when he looked at her was the absolute horror that glittered in her gorgeous, dark eyes. There was no room left for anything else now that she had heard the truth.

  Rhys looked away. He’d expected as much when she found out what he was…or what he wasn’t. What he hadn’t anticipated were his own feelings in regard to her reaction. It hurt to see her look at him with such an expression of disgust. Actually hurt wasn’t a strong enough word. Deep within his chest, down into his stomach, it was as if he had been lit on fire from within. The feeling was like a death.

  But he supposed it was. The death of her love for him. An emotion that had been unasked for, unwanted when she first expressed it, but now…

  Now that it was gone he realized how much he’d come to depend upon her love for him. To want it, for it felt like the only true and good thing in his life.

  Silence hung between them for a long time before Anne finally stepped forward. She moved with jerking steps, but eventually she reached him. To his surprise, she dropped to her knees on the floor before him and then her arms came around him. She held him, stroking his hair and wrapping her warmth about him.

  “Oh Rhys, oh my dearest,” she whispered, her tone so soft, so gentle that it felt like a caress. “How terrible for you to have carried this secret with you. I cannot imagine how its weight must have choked you. I’m so very, very sorry for the pain you’re enduring.”

  Rhys stared straight ahead for a moment, confused by her reaction, but also undeniably warmed by it. He drew back from her a fraction and looked down into her upturned face. In the soft firelight, she was more beautiful than ever. And there was no censure in her gaze. The disgust he had thought he read there at first, he now realized was a deep and powerful pain on his behalf.

  “Do you not understand me?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m not l
egitimate, Anne.”

  “I understand,” she said softly, but her expression didn’t change.

  “I don’t truly belong to the Waverly line or deserve all that comes with it,” he insisted.

  Still she did not falter. “Yes, I heard you.”

  He frowned, uncertain if she fully grasped what he’d revealed. “I’m not the man you married!”

  Now her expression changed. She tilted her head, shock flooding her features, but then she lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek, caressing his skin with her warm palm. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch briefly.

  “Of course you are. Because of the way you were raised, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I didn’t marry your name or family history.”

  “But those things are why your father arranged this marriage for you,” he protested.

  She shook her head. “But I married you. You are my husband.”

  She smiled, and for a brief flash Rhys forgot his every trouble. For the first time since Simon had torn his world to shreds, he didn’t feel the throbbing sting of disappointment, anger, and heartbreak. In fact, he felt a strange surge of hope when he looked into his wife’s face.

  She was a lifeline. And in her eyes, he could almost see a world where he could let all this go, where he could take her offer of love and acceptance. Where he could stay with her forever and never give a damn about bloodlines or blackmail again.

  But the hope faded and reality returned within a few moments. With difficulty, he pulled away, rising from the chair and pacing to the window. He stared outside into the dark night, as mysterious as his own life had become.

  “No, Anne,” he said softly. “I’m not that man anymore. I can’t be, and you must understand why now that you’ve heard the truth.”

  “Please look at me,” she said from behind him after a long pause.

  Slowly he faced her. Although she was clad only in his bedsheet and her dark hair was tangled around her face, she didn’t look any less the powerful duchess. He had never seen her look so much like she fit that role. She was regal now in the way she stood and in the strength of her tone when she spoke.

  “You can tell me anything you like, Rhys,” she said in a voice that brooked no refusal. “But you cannot change certain facts. You and I were married. Our union was consummated, not only physically, but in the deep bond we developed in the countryside. And”—she looked around the room with a slight blush—“and in this very room tonight. You cannot deny those things.”

  “No, but—” he began.

  She moved toward him. “There is no but. When we wed, I vowed to stand beside you through all your triumphs and your pains, no matter how complicated or deep they were. I meant that promise.”

  Rhys shook his head with a growl of frustration. “And on the day we wed, I vowed to protect you, Anne. The only way I can do that now is to have you leave my side forever. If we’re apart when this truth comes out, people will see you as a victim of my scandal, not a partner in it. Perhaps that will shield you in some small way from the pain and agony about to be rained down upon my head and the heads of all who are near me.”

  Anne stared at him, her eyes wide and mouth partly open. It was odd. In this moment she seemed more shocked than she had been when he told her of his unfortunate parentage. Finally she swallowed hard and seemed to gather her composure.

  “And is that true?” she asked. “Did you make me a victim of your scandal? Did you somehow know the facts of your parentage before we wed and kept them from me as some kind of strange trickery?”

  Rhys hesitated. He could lie to her, tell her that he’d been fully aware of who he was before they exchanged vows. But in the end, he wasn’t sure it would matter to her. In fact, he wasn’t entirely certain she would believe him. It seemed she could read his emotions even when no one else could.

  So he slowly shook his head. “No. I found out the day I left London.”

  The color drained from Anne’s cheeks. “Simon revealed your parentage to you when he came here that day.”

  Rhys squeezed his eyes shut. That afternoon seemed like years ago now, but the pain was as alive as if it had been five minutes before. He relived the encounter in a swift flash and shuddered as he forced himself to look at his wife.

  “Yes,” he whispered, and his voice broke.

  Her bottom lip trembled slightly, but her tone was one of pure anger when she said, “Why did he tell you? If he knew something so horrible, something that would surely break your heart, why would he hand it over as a weight for you to bear?”

  Rhys dipped his chin. She was only repeating the questions that had flowed through his own mind that terrible afternoon Simon had come to him. He’d been furious with his friend, until he knew the whole truth. He owed Anne the same.

  “Don’t judge our old friend too harshly,” he said softly. “It’s a complicated situation. For one…”

  He trailed off, the next sentence almost too difficult to speak out loud. Slowly he composed himself as Anne waited, unspeaking and not pushing.

  “Anne, my true father is the late Duke of Billingham. Simon and I are brothers, not just in the sense that we are close friends, but the same blood flows through our veins.”

  There was a long, shocked silence, not that Rhys blamed Anne for her stunned expression. Simon’s father had hidden his true nature from everyone, pretending a kindness and honesty he didn’t possess.

  “But—but Billingham was revered as so pious, so faithful and true a man!” she finally stammered.

  Rhys shook his head. “While we were in Billingham for Simon’s country party, the two of us uncovered a great deal about his…our father that belies that exalted reputation. Apparently the duke hid a great deal about himself, including his penchant for producing some number of bastards. I’m not the only one.”

  She sucked in a breath at that admission, but after a moment of silence, she nodded. “You know, now that you’ve said you and Simon share blood, I can see the truth. There are a few similarities to your face, and sometimes Simon stands a certain way that puts me to mind of you.”

  Rhys blinked. “I hadn’t noticed those things.”

  She smiled, but it was a sad expression. “Perhaps I was more focused than you were.” She shook away the sadness. “The fact that Simon discovered you shared a father certainly gives me some indication of why he would want to tell you the truth, but he must have known what it would do to you.”

  With effort, Rhys refocused on his tale. “He tells me that his first reaction was to tell me what he knew, but then he realized exactly what you say. I think he was ready to keep the truth held inside of him for the rest of his life but something forced his hand.”

  Anne tensed. “What?”

  He frowned. “It seems someone else knows about my parentage. And this person is no gentleman, but a villain who intends to blackmail my…my brother and me to protect this shameful secret. So you see, Simon had no choice but to reveal the truth to me so that we could determine the best course of action to deal with this blackguard.”

  Anne covered her mouth with her hand, but not before a gasp of pure shock and horror escaped her lips. “My God, Rhys!”

  How much he wanted to comfort her, but he realized there was no solace he could offer. No way out of the situation that had been created. All he could do was continue to tell his tale and let her have the full weight of it so she would finally understand.

  He sighed. “It seems the person will be in London within days to give us his demands. Once that has been done, a decision will have to be made.”

  Slowly Anne moved forward. Rhys watched, mesmerized, as her hand moved out and then her fingers slowly wrapped around his bare arm. It was a gesture of comfort and love so pure and genuine that Rhys felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. He blinked, forcing them away.

  “How much all this must have hurt you,” she whispered.

  The air left Rhys’s lungs in a gasping sob, but then he regained his composu
re.

  “Yes,” he admitted, trying to temper his tone and his emotions. “To know that my entire life has been a lie and that someone is out there who will blackmail me or reveal this devilry…it sickens me, Anne. It disgusts me.”

  She swallowed hard, like she was fighting the urge to cry, but she didn’t release him. “But perhaps this person can be reasoned with. Perhaps you can keep the truth from coming out, after all. There must be some way.”

  “Anne, you cannot hope for that to be true,” he said gently. “Even if Simon and I were to be able to come to terms with this person or silence him in some other manner, I haven’t yet decided that the truth shouldn’t come out.”

  “You would reveal this yourself?” Anne gasped in surprise.

  He shrugged. “I don’t yet know. The fact is that I’m living a lie and there are bloodlines to be upheld.”

  Anne released his arm suddenly and took a long step away. Her stare was filled with stark disappointment.

  “That is your main concern? Bloodlines?”

  He nodded. “Society will know the truth and judge me, but when I produce no heirs, they will also know that this shame against the Waverly name ended with me.”

  “And that, as much as ‘protecting’ me, is the reason you didn’t want to make love to me,” she whispered. “You believe denying this marriage the joy of children will somehow atone for the wrong that was done to your father when you were born another man’s son.”

  He swallowed at her very precise summation. “Yes.”

  She let out a breath of what was obviously deep frustration.

  “Have you learned nothing from all this?” she asked as she shifted the sheet around her higher. “Bloodlines aren’t what matter. I think you have seen that people are what matter. Actions matter.”

  Rhys pursed his lips at that statement. Perhaps it was meant to soothe him, but all it did was conjure up a hundred memories of the ways he had treated those around him. None of them was pleasant.

  “And my actions have proven I was a bastard in deed long before I knew that fact in name,” he said as he clenched his fists at his sides. “Perhaps those I’ve hurt over the years deserve their moment to crow over my ultimate fall.”