She was still pondering his unusual invitation as she stepped out of class and she was so deep in her thoughts that she completely missed seeing the huge crowd that had gathered around outside the room, instead looking for Teddy, who had a curious smirk on his face.
"What are you smirking at?" she asked when she reached his side.
Teddy was astonished to see her. "Where did you come from?"
"Class, of course. Didn't you hear the bell ring?"
No, he hadn't, Teddy realized guiltily, mainly because the shrieks from the girls had been too loud. Apparently, a bunch of sorority girls had recognized Rathe's face and before the duke had realized what was happening, he was surrounded by hundreds of sorority chicks, all competing for his attention.
She followed his gaze, her eyes widening at the crowd of girls that had formed outside Professor Byron's lecture room. It was like a battle scene, with women clawing at each other in their haste to get to the front because …
She looked at Teddy. "Don't tell me it's---"
He nodded. "But don't worry. I can get him out of there and meet you---" He stopped when she shook her head.
"No, it's all right. I'll just go home on my own."
Teddy said unhappily, "He came here to meet you."
"Yes, but he can't when there are so many people around." She said tonelessly, "I'm not his girlfriend, Teddy. You know that. I'm his mistress. It's not my place to stand next to him."
****
It had been a fucking nightmare to get away from the crowd of girls that had gathered around him. They wouldn't even have known he was someone famous from England if not for the damn photo Saffi posted before that had him, Constantijin, and Staffan together.
Rathe called Teddy the moment he realized that the lecture room was already occupied by another class. "Where the hell are you?"
"Driving Mary home, boss."
Bloody hell. She had come out and he hadn't known?
"Did she see---"
"Yeah, boss." Teddy sounded glum.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. It was as if everything was conspiring against him, urging him to do the right thing and just leave her alone. He could afford to give away a house, could afford to buy her a fucking kingdom if it came down to that. But he knew it wouldn't because what he could give she didn't need and what she needed he could never give.
And yet –
He would never be able to stay away from her.
It was too late.
She was his eternal obsession.
He called her. When she answered, all the words he wanted to say became stuck in his throat. All he could say was, "Let's have that talk now."
"Fine." She ended the call just like that.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. To think everyone back in England said he was such an eloquent speaker, someone who could probably rule the House of Lords if he had a mind to. He had wanted to woo her, and yet he ended up acting like an arsehole once more.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.
Maybe he should stick to writing notes instead.
Chapter Eleven
The house was quiet but brightly lit when Arthur drove the Rolls Royce up the driveway. "Come back in the morning," he said when he stepped out.
"You're sure, Your Grace?"
The old man shouldn't bother calling him His Grace if he was going to be this impertinent. He knew that Arthur believed he would be overstaying his welcome and that Mary wouldn't forgive him so easily.
The housekeeper he hired opened the door, her face unsmiling as she greeted him. She probably didn't give a fuck about him either, never mind that she was on his fucking payroll. At least she was loyal to Mary, he thought.
"Where is she?"
"In the bedroom. Your Grace," she added reluctantly when he raised one arrogant brow at her. "I'll call her---"
"No, don't bother. I know the way."
She gasped.
"It is my home, too, Mrs. Wiltshire."
As he ascended the stairs, he heard her muttering under her breath, "It's your house, but it's not your home."
Ignoring the cryptic words, Rathe proceeded to the bedroom he had never shared with Mary. After knocking on her door, he waited and only entered when she called for him to come in.
****
Mary had done what she could to prepare herself coming face to face with Rathe again. But the moment he entered her bedroom, everything came back to her.
Of Rathe undressing her …
Of Mary touching him …
Of Rathe leaving him …
She choked out, "I can't."
He stopped midstride, the agony in her voice something he could not ignore. He knew, by the look of her face alone, why she looked like she was about to snap.
"I'm sorry," Rathe gritted out.
She nodded, as if his actions that night had eradicated her voice's ability to work.
"It wasn't a bloody cliché when I told you … it was the bloody truth and that's what's so bloody funny about my life."
Her head jerked up at his words, her eyes on him.
"My father was 41 when he married my mother. She was 19." He laughed humorlessly at the shock she was unable to hide from him. "Funny, isn't he?" he said savagely. "It's like history repeating itself. You're eighteen and I'm 34 – it's not a 22-year-age gap, but it's cutting it bloody close."
She wanted to speak then, because now she understood so much, but he beat her to it.
"Old enough to be your father, don't you think?"
And there it was.
The root of all his heartbreakingly cruel actions.
"Yes," she whispered.
He flinched.
"You're old enough to be my father," she continued tremulously.
He clenched his fists, breathing hard now, telling himself that when she was done he was going to leave her. He was going to bloody leave her life and never come back because she had finally realized the truth he was desperate to hide from her.
They were not to be.
They were never to be.
They were---
"But Rathe … "
He forced himself to look at her.
"You're not my father."
He couldn't understand – didn't dare understand what she was saying.
She started to cry. "You're not my father so if that's your only reason for hurting me, it's a s-shitty kind of reason."
"Don't you understand?" he snarled. "I'm sixteen years older---"
"And I'm sixteen years younger and I'm always going to be sixteen years younger than you!" She breathed hard after her outburst, unable to believe that she had shouted. She never shouted, never even cried out loud when her stepfather had been of a mind to beat her.
Another memory sliced into her mind, this time of her stepfather pushing her shirt up so he could inspect her bruises and sometimes so he could add new ones to his fading handiwork. Oh God, now it was clear why he had always wanted her clothes out of the way. Oh God, now it was clear, why sometimes his fingers would be on parts of her body that he hadn't beaten. Oh God, how long had she been his unthinking puppet---
"Mary!" He caught her before she fell, the blank look on her face telling him that she was no longer firmly rooted in the present.
She shuddered into consciousness at the sound of her name on his voice. Her eyes clung to him desperately. "I've forgotten." Her voice was dead.
"Stop it. Don't think about it---"
She screamed, "I forgot what he did to me." She started to cry as she tore her clothes off, needing to scrub herself clean because she could not bear being in her own body now that she remembered. Oh God, how had she managed to forget all those things he did to her?
"Mary, stop it." He wrapped his arms around her, his heart pounding in fear at the near-crazed look of hysteria in her eyes. He kept her chained in his arms, preventing her from moving, forcing her to come back to the present.
"I remember now," she wept against his chest. "Rathe, I remember now. He didn't use to just touch me. He would keep fondling me, too. And he would make me suck on his … "
He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, wishing there was a way for him to vanquish all her pain. If it meant bleeding for her so her heart would start to heal, then he would cut his own out right now. "It's the past. It doesn't matter."
"It matters! It matters! IT MATTERS!"
She was lost in the past, struggling in his arms, crying and beating his chest.
"Mary---"
"How could I have forgotten?" she sobbed. "And why did I have to remember? Now, I can't ever make you love me like I love you … "
He froze, unable to believe what he had just heard.
"I'm dirty, I'm broken, I'm trash … "
He said unevenly, "You're in love with me?"
She shook her head, struggling harder to escape him.
He pinned her hands behind her back with ease using just one hand. He used his other hand to tip her chin up, making her look at him. "You love me?"
Mary only stared at him with eyes that continued to cry.
"You love me?"
She choked back a sob, doing her best to resist the command in that voice.