Page 76 of To Steal a Duchess

“It is locked,” she said aloud, “because you miss John. Where is he⁠—”

“He is gone, Eloise.” His words were final, but not harsh. “I do miss him, but he died. My… my father found out about my solace with him, and he was jealous, or just angry, or thought it improper. I do not know, but he followed me to the lighthouse one night when I was ten and three, and he…”

Dorian took a ragged breath.

“Dorian, you do not owe me your past.”

“Yes, but—” Another ragged breath. “I am tired of keeping you guessing why I close up. I want to speak of it, no matter how it hurts.”

Eloise lifted her hand to his jaw. “Then I will listen.”

Her husband took another few moments to settle himself.

“I was ten and three. My father beat me almost to unconsciousness, and I just about staggered to the lighthouse, to John. I fell into his arms. He had been a greater father to me than my own had ever been.”

Eloise’s chest tightened at hearing him go through so much at such a young age. “My father followed me. He was jealous of John. Jealous of the ease and comfort I had with him, and my father tried to attack him, too. John protected me, but—” Dorian tilted his head back against the pillows. “But he lost his footing, having been pushed back to the lighthouse’s railing on that upper floor. He fell from that height, and I tried to catch him.

“By the time I came to, my father had fled in fear, back to the mansion, and I made sure the lighthouse was locked. John’s body was sent to the sea, where it belonged, for he had been a retired sea merchant.”

“Is that why you like those stories that you told?”

A small, mournful smile graced Dorian’s mouth. “I think so, though I have not realized it until you just asked.”

Eloise nodded.

“I carry a lot, Eloise. And when… when I lose control, I do not know what to do, so I seclude myself to avoid any invulnerability.”

“I know.” Her fingers scratched through his beard. “But, Dorian, perhaps your heart might not be so dark after all, not in the way you worry. Wanting control is not a bad thing. If anything, it is rather honorable.”

“Honorable,” he laughed darkly. “What sort of honor does a man have by pushing his wife away?”

“One he needs to learn how to open up to, and I am glad, even if it has taken so long, that you can now.”

“Do not hope for everything from me,” he warned, “for this darkness of mine, no matter how much you think I have, will consume your light, and Heavens, Eloise, you radiate brightness. You are light.”

Eloise could only shake her head, her stomach sinking. “I do not need you to warn me, nor tell me what to worry about. I am tired, and I wish to sleep, but I am happy you trusted me enough to say all of this.”

“I am only sorry it took me so long, but it is a lot to speak of.”

“That is all right,” she whispered, turning in his arms. As darkness crowded them in her bed, she whispered, “I just hope you do not blame yourself for John Reed’s death, Dorian. You deserve peace; you do not need forgiveness for you did nothing wrong.”

When only silence met her, but a tight jaw was at the nape of her neck, she knew he was holding back an answer, so Eloise let her eyes close.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dorian had attended the opera throughout his life, but not recently. It had been many years.

It had been a handful of days since he had touched his wife in the way he wanted to, and since he had begun to unbury his past, no matter what it cost him. He was starting to think he’d give anything to get to touch her like that again.

“This is,” Dorian said, “a performance of a beautiful woman singing about her lost love.”

“Her lost love?” Eloise asked, wondering what he was speaking about.

He nodded. “Many a man has lost their love to the sea.”

“She has?”

“Imagine yourself.” Dorian moved closer, his hands wrapping around her. “Out on the open seas. And you are singing to your lover.”