Page 40 of Mad Duke March

“No.” He swiveled back, shaking off her hand. “Just for one.”

“I know that you’re angry with me for leaving. I know you think that I abandoned you—”

“You did.”

“I had to!” she cried, then looked around and swiped a lock of hair away from her face, her breathing labored. “You can’t understand how difficult it is to be dependent upon a powerful man. A duke!”

“Can’t I?” he barked. “I lived with him for two decades. I think I understand perfectly.”

“It’s different!” she insisted, her eyes filling with tears. “You were his son, his heir. And I was nothing.”

“You were a duchess,” he growled.

She let out a bitter chuckle. “And what is a duchess if not an accessory to a duke? I had no power, no leverage over him. I came to him with nothing. He could have starved me if he chose, and he did. He could have humiliated me in front of everyone, and he did. I had no recourse. He cut off my allowance and I had to beg him for scraps just so I wouldn’t go barefoot.”

Tyrone’s gaze snapped to her face, his chest giving a sharp pang.

“Nothing in that house was mine,” she continued, but he was barely listening. “The duchess’s diamonds? They were only for show. They are entailed. I could not sell them. I could not pawn them. I had nothing. Not even you. Because you might have been my son, but you were his heir first and foremost. And he would never let you go.”

A chill spread throughout Tyrone’s limbs. But not because he felt sorry for his mother; he didn’t. For the first time in a long time, he saw his own reflection and his father stared back at him.

I came to him with nothing. Just like his wife had.

He cut off my allowance… Just like Tyrone had.

He cleared his throat and nodded absently. “Thank you,” he said and beheld his mother’s surprised expression. “I thought that talking with you would be a waste of time. But while I was drinking my sorrows away, I forgot one thing I swore to never do.”

“What’s that?” she asked softly, reaching for him, hoping he’d take her hand.

“I promised to never turn into either of my parents.” He turned away from her, banishing her from his mind.

He opened the curtain to the box, hoping to leave that conversation and his entire past behind.

Conversation buzzed around the box as the performance commenced.

It wasn’t just their box. Hardly anyone was watching the show, making it difficult for Emily to concentrate. Not only that, but the duke seemed to be very tense as he sat beside her. He kept tapping his foot and nervously looking around. Sometimes he’d freeze as if he was figuring out a puzzle in his mind.

A few times he’d been addressed by one of the box occupants just to shrug the question away. Emily tried to pretend that she didn’t care. Whatever he was going through, it was his problem and his problem alone. As to the identity of the woman they’d met before the show, Emily didn’t need to know.

She was gorgeous, that woman. More gorgeous than Emily could aspire to be. And she’d commanded an air of elegance. Sure, she looked a bit older than Tyrone, but Emily could see her having young, rich, and powerful lovers. Like Tyrone.

She swallowed.

Her stomach churned, her heartbeat banging loudly in her ears.

Emily turned toward him and studied his frowning features. He bit his lip in concentration or consternation, as his knee jerked with every tap of his foot.

She gently placed her palm on his knee to stop his frantic movements. He turned toward her with such speed that she yanked her hand away.

He blinked at her as if woken from a dream, or rather a nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean… You just looked troubled.”

He shook his head, not in denial, but as if he was still not quite awake. Then he took a breath and looked around the box. The conversation was still flowing around them. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to them.

He turned to her and cracked a reassuring smile. “I was just lost in thought.”

“About what?”