The Duke with the Dragon Tattoo (Victorian Rebels, #6)(70)

“Fifteen years.” He stalked to the foot of her bed, a tower of shadow and wrath and revelation. “When my crew and I were able to free ourselves, we were little better than animals. But at least we’d learned to be predators. We hunted down these men. Slavers, mostly, from every country you could fathom. I’ve done atrocious things, Lorelai, I’ve torn whole crews apart with my bare hands. These hands.” He showed her his open palms, as though to demonstrate the stains of blood. “It was them or me … and it’s always them. It will always be them.”

A darker emotion underscored the pain and pity she felt.

Pride.

These slavers should have suffered. Deserved it. She hoped they died screaming. She’d never felt wrath like this before. “And so, you only took from these men? You kept plunder from their fleets?”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he challenged. “I’ve had so much taken from me. My freedom. My dignity. My humanity. My name. My memory. Myself. But your brother took from me the one thing I couldn’t get back. The only thing I truly wanted. Time.”

Lorelai deflated a little, berating herself for expecting him to say something else. “I—I wish I could take it all back.” She sniffed. “I wish I could have spared you pain.”

“I’m not after your pity.” He sneered. “I’m trying to make you understand. This body, this shell some-fucking-how survived everything. The beatings, the torture, the labor, the other … molestations … but Ash didn’t. Something, someone dark and terrible took his place. And that is the man who came for you.”

Lorelai tried to respond, but the agony was too heavy in her throat, the storm of her tears was beginning to gather the strength of the one raging outside.

He walked around the bed frame toward her, but reached out and grasped at the post, as though desperate to hold the rest of him back. “I tried to get to you sooner. And in doing so, I lost what was left of me. I told you, I’ve been watching you for a long time … Initially, the plan was to rescue you, to protect you from Mortimer. But once I did find you, I realized it was more imperative I protect you from myself. From the things I want to—” His lips slammed shut and he looked away.

Her head snapped up. “That makes no sense. You said you don’t want to hurt me.” She hated how plaintive her voice became when laced with tears.

His eyes became two tortured orbs of onyx. “I—I can’t promise I won’t. As evidenced by what’s been done already. And the chances are great that you’ll be harmed because of me. I’ve more enemies than the queen. Enemies who would revel in tearing you apart to get to me. I’ve only been fearless because I’d nothing to lose. If I have you … they have a way to hurt me. It is the reason I stayed away from you as long as I did. Ash’s promise put you in danger.”

“Then why come for me at all?” she snapped tartly.

His grip tightened on the post, producing a loud, splintering sound. “To go through what I went through, to survive, a man needs a purpose. Something to live for. You were that for me. And for a while, knowing that you were just as I left you, romping about the estuaries with your animals, was enough. You were a memory I could visit. Something pure I hadn’t tainted. And for the past several years, Mortimer was always away in London. He’d largely left you alone since he’d taken a wife.”

It was true. Mortimer had all but ignored her since he married Veronica. He’d taken what her father had left for her dowry and bought a place in town. Southbourne Grove was a sanctuary in his absence. She’d loved the sprawling manor. It was her home.

“I knew if I killed Mortimer before he produced an heir, you’d lose your precious Southbourne Grove to some distant male relative. So, I installed Barnaby and went on a quest of my own. To find…” He trailed off, distracted by an extra close flash of lightning out the casement window.

“The Claudius Cache?” she finished for him.

“That, too,” he said cryptically. “But when Barnaby told me your brother had betrothed you to a cruel bastard like Sylvester Gooch. That did something to me that all the slavers in all the world could not.” Finally, he approached her. Looming over her bedside, he reached down and wiped a tear from her cheek, his touch agonizingly tender. “I’ve known pain. I’ve known pain you’ve never…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but grappled with a few harsh breaths. “But agony. True agony. Was knowing you were so far away for so long. That I might not again feel your touch. Hear your voice. Bask in your smile. There is pain and sometimes it’s excruciating. But then there is suffering…”

She caught his hand in hers, turned it palm up, and buried her cheek against it.

He remained absolutely still, staring at the seam of their flesh. “Nothing mattered but getting to you before your betrothed touched you. My instinct overcame my reason, I can see that now. And that day, I saw Mortimer at the church and I … I snapped. I regret that you witnessed what I am capable of. That you watched your brother die in such a brutal manner.”

“I’m not,” she sobbed, making a pool of grief and rage in his palm. “I’m not anymore. You’re right. He deserved it. They all did!”

His other hand stroked her hair, infinitely gentle, like the caress of silk against velvet. “Don’t cry,” he admonished her. “Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? I am not worth all of this. I am not worth your tears.”