"I merely observe that your welfare need not be destroyed along with my own. You entered this marriage from necessity rather than choice, and altered circumstances might reasonably prompt new priorities."
The words felt like betrayal even as he spoke them, yet he forced himself to continue the cruel charade that would make their separation easier for her to accept.
"New priorities," she said with ice that seemed to lower the temperature of the entire room. "I see. And when, precisely, did you decide that my priorities had changed from defending our marriage to escaping it?"
"When I realised that asking you to sacrifice your happiness for the sake of a union you never wanted was both selfish and cruel."
"A union I never wanted," she repeated slowly, as though testing the words for some hidden meaning he had failed to convey. "How interesting. I was not aware that you possessed such intimate knowledge of my desires and preferences."
"One need not possess intimate knowledge to recognise duty when it masquerades as affection."
The accusation hung between them like a drawn sword, cutting through whatever pretense of mutual regard had sustained their interactions since Edmund's legal assault began. Her face went pale at his words, though whether from hurt or anger remained unclear.
"I see," she said with dignity that would have been impressive under any other circumstances. "Well then, it appears that your cousin's accusations may possess more merit than I initially believed. A truly competent man would hardly mistake loyalty for duty, or affection for mere obligation."
With that devastating observation, she swept from the library with the sort of regal composure that reminded himforcibly of why he had come to fall in love with her. Yet now her dignity only emphasized how completely he had destroyed whatever chance they might have had for genuine happiness together.
The silence that followed her departure felt like death itself, hollow and final in its implications. He had achieved his objective of driving her away, creating the emotional distance that would make their legal separation easier for her to bear. Yet the victory felt more like defeat than any military reverse he had ever experienced.
Perhaps, he reflected with bitter irony, this was what competency truly meant—the ability to recognize when one's presence in another person's life brought only suffering, and the courage to remove that presence regardless of the personal cost. If so, then Edmund's accusations were indeed without merit, for it required considerable mental acuity to sacrifice one's own happiness for the welfare of someone who deserved so much better than what damaged goods could offer.
The future stretched before him, empty of everything that had made life worth living, yet perhaps that emptiness was preferable to the alternative of condemning Evangeline to a lifetime of polite endurance. She would be free to find the sort of love she deserved, while he would face whatever consequences Edmund's legal victory might bring with the knowledge that he had finally done something genuinely noble in an existence marked primarily by failure and disappointment.
It was, he supposed, the best ending he could hope for—though it felt remarkably like the worst possible outcome for every dream he had dared to cherish since she had entered his life like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Chapter Seventeen
The Marquess of Pemberton's annual ball had long been esteemed as the most distinguished entertainment of the London Season, its glittering assembly representing the zenith of fashionable society. Beneath glittering chandeliers that cast a dazzling glow, ladies adorned in resplendent silks and gentlemen dressed with utmost elegance gathered in refinement and gaiety. Yet tonight, the usual atmosphere of sophisticated refinement carried an undercurrent of tension that seemed to charge the very air with anticipation, as though the assembled guests sensed that they were about to witness something far more dramatic than the typical social maneuvering that marked such gatherings.
Evangeline stood beside the refreshment tables in conversation with Lady Melbourne, though her attention remained divided between polite social discourse and careful observation of her husband's movements across the crowded ballroom. The distance between them this evening was not merely physical—the careful space they maintained at such gatherings had become emblematic of the emotional gulf that had opened since their devastating confrontation in the library several days prior.
Lucian commanded his usual position near the card room, surrounded by gentlemen who sought his opinions on political matters despite the recent questions regarding his competence. Yet even as he engaged in apparently normal conversation, Evangeline could detect the rigid control he maintained over his posture and expression, the way he positioned himself to minimize others' view of his scarred profile, the subtle tension that marked every gesture as calculated rather than natural.
They had attended tonight's entertainment as dutydemanded, presenting the facade of marital unity that their circumstances required while carefully avoiding any interaction more intimate than the formal courtesies their public roles necessitated. The charade was exhausting for both of them, yet neither seemed capable of bridging the chasm that Lucian's deliberate cruelty had carved between them.
"Your Grace appears somewhat distant this evening," Lady Melbourne observed with the sort of diplomatic delicacy that marked her most perceptive social observations. "I trust there are no renewed difficulties with certain malicious parties?"
"Nothing that need concern our friends," Evangeline replied with careful neutrality, maintaining the smile that social obligation demanded while her heart ached with the memory of Lucian's cold dismissal of their marriage. "My husband and I are managing our circumstances as circumstances require."
The diplomatic phrasing revealed nothing while suggesting everything, a skill she had developed during these terrible days of navigating London society while her private world crumbled around her. How could she explain that the man she had come to love was systematically destroying their relationship from some misguided notion of noble sacrifice?
It was at that moment that a commotion near the ballroom's center drew their attention to a scene that would prove to alter the course of the evening in ways none of them could have anticipated. Viscount Pembroke, his face flushed with wine and his manner suggesting he had already consumed considerably more than wisdom would recommend, had apparently taken exception to some comment made by Lord Worthington regarding the recent competency proceedings.
"Worthington speaks as though the matter were settled," Pembroke declared with the sort of loud indignation that caused conversations to falter throughout the immediate vicinity. "Yet I maintain that a man who allows himself to be deceived by ascheming fortune-hunter can hardly be considered competent to manage his own affairs, let alone those of one of England's premier duchies."
Evangeline felt the blood drain from her face as Pembroke's words carried clearly across the ballroom, striking her like physical blows despite her growing familiarity with such accusations. Yet what horrified her more than the attack upon her character was the sight of Lucian's reaction—or rather, his apparent lack of reaction to hearing his wife so publicly maligned.
He stood motionless among his companions, his scarred features betraying nothing of his thoughts as Pembroke's voice rose with increasing volume and venom. For a terrible moment, she wondered if he would simply allow the insults to pass unchallenged, confirming his apparent belief that she was indeed unworthy of his protection.
"The woman married him for his title and fortune, nothing more," Pembroke continued with malicious satisfaction at having captured the attention of the entire assembly. "Any fool can see that she plays the devoted wife while counting the days until she can claim her widow's portion from a man too damaged by war to recognise feminine duplicity when it shares his bed."
The gasps that greeted this assault upon Evangeline's virtue and Lucian's judgment created a sound like wind through autumn leaves, while the assembled guests stood frozen in shock at witnessing such a spectacular violation of every code that governed civilized discourse. Never had anyone heard a lady's reputation attacked so directly at a public gathering, nor a peer's mental capacity questioned with such brutal explicitness.
The silence that followed stretched just long enough for every person in the ballroom to absorb the full magnitude of what had been said, while Evangeline found herself trapped in a nightmare where her husband's continued stillness seemed toconfirm every cruel accusation his cousin had made about their marriage.
Then suddenly Lucian moved.
The transformation was so sudden and complete that several guests actually stepped backward as he crossed the ballroom with the sort of predatory grace that belonged on battlefields rather than in drawing rooms. Whatever emotional distance had marked his recent behavior vanished entirely, replaced by something so dangerous that even hardened veterans recognized the signs of a man prepared for violence.
