Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

T he Brandon manor stood still and dark in the gathering dusk as Elias arrived, the thundering of his horse's hooves echoing off the cobblestone drive. He barely waited for the animal to stop before dismounting, his strides swift and determined as he took the front steps two at a time. All thoughts of proper dignity were forgotten, replaced by a raw, desperate need to reach Lydia.

When he reached the door, he didn't pause to wait for it to open. He pounded on it, each knock resounding through the quiet evening, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and urgency. A footman finally appeared, his eyes widening at the sight of the disheveled duke.

"Your Grace!" The young man's voice wavered, his surprise evident. "We weren't expecting?—"

"Where is she?" Elias demanded, already stepping past him into the foyer. His tone was urgent, edged with a barely restrained fury. "Where is my wife?"

The footman stammered, glancing uncertainly over his shoulder. "Upstairs, Your Grace, but…"

Elias didn't wait for further explanation. He was already moving, his boots echoing against the polished floors as he took the stairs, each step fueled by the single-minded need to see her. He barely registered the whispers in the hall—the hushed tones of Lydia's sisters, who were hovering near the door to the bedroom where she lay. Their voices, low and tense, did nothing to calm the torrent of emotions within him. He could hear a stranger's voice as well—the doctor, he presumed, and the sound only heightened his urgency.

Just as he reached the landing, Viscountess Prudence appeared, her expression pinched and full of concern. "Your Grace," she began, her voice apologetic despite the hint of coldness he could detect in it. "we did not expect you to arrive so soon. I must apologize for Lydia's behavior…"

"Where?" The single word came out as a growl, each syllable sharp with barely restrained fury.

Prudence faltered, casting a hesitant glance over her shoulder. "The blue bedroom, but Your Grace, please… perhaps we should discuss…"

Elias brushed past her without a word, his attention focused entirely on the door down the hall. His heart pounded as he neared it, and when he reached the doorway, he had to grip the frame to steady himself. The door was slightly ajar, and through the narrow opening, he caught his first glimpse of Lydia.

She lay motionless on the bed, her face pale against the pillows. A bandage wrapped around her temple, stark against her skin, and even in the dim lamplight, he could see the dark bruise that marred her cheekbone. She looked so small, so fragile—nothing like the vibrant, resilient woman who had brought light back into his life and his home. The sight of her so still, so vulnerable, stirred something deep and fierce within him, a need to protect her that burned through him like fire.

"Your Grace." The doctor straightened, offering a respectful bow as he acknowledged Elias's presence. "I've just finished examining her, and I…"

"Leave us," Elias interrupted, his voice rough. His gaze remained fixed on Lydia, his hand tightening on the doorframe. "Everyone out. Now."

The doctor hesitated, his eyes darting to the viscount and viscountess, who had followed Elias into the room. "Your Grace, I should explain her condition…"

"Later." Elias's tone left no room for argument, each word cold and unyielding. The doctor, recognizing the finality in his voice, inclined his head and withdrew, gathering his medical bag as he left the room.

Elias barely noticed as the door closed behind them. For a moment, he stood frozen, his gaze fixed on Lydia's still form. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he moved forward, sinking to his knees beside the bed. His hands trembled as he reached out, taking her cold fingers in his own and pressing them to his lips.

"Lydia," he whispered against her skin, his voice raw with guilt and regret. "My love… what have I done?"

The door creaked softly behind him, and he looked up, his eyes narrowing as Viscount Silas and his wife, Prudence, entered the room. They hovered near the doorway, their postures stiff and uncomfortable, though neither seemed inclined to leave without speaking to him.

"What happened?" Elias demanded, his voice deadly quiet, each word edged with a barely restrained fury. He did not look away from Lydia's face as he spoke, his gaze lingering on the bruise that marred her delicate skin. "Tell me everything."

Prudence took a hesitant step forward, her hands wringing as she glanced nervously at her husband. "Your Grace," she began, her tone carefully contrite, "I assure you, we are as mortified as you must be by Lydia's behavior. To strike a gentleman in public, in full view of the entire street. It was most improper."

Elias's head snapped up, his gaze blazing as he fixed her with a look of utter disbelief. "Strike a gentleman?" The words came out in a harsh whisper. "What gentleman?"

"Lord Blackwood," Silas replied, his voice carefully neutral. "There was… an unfortunate incident. Lydia attempted to intervene in a private matter between him and Diana."

"Intervened?" Jane's voice cut in from the hallway, sharp with anger. She stepped into the room, her expression fierce as she glared at her mother. "She stopped him from dragging Diana into an alley. He's been stalking her for weeks, harassing her, making her afraid to leave the house."

"Jane!" Prudence hissed, her face flushing. "That's quite enough! Lord Blackwood is a gentleman of means who has shown a keen interest in Diana. If Lydia hadn't interfered…"

"If Lydia hadn't interfered," Elias's voice was soft but lethal, "your youngest daughter might be dead or worse. And you dare stand there apologizing for my wife's behavior?"

Both Prudence and Silas recoiled slightly, exchanging uncertain glances. Prudence's mouth opened and closed, her expression a mix of shock and indignation.

Elias rose slowly to his feet, his full height and commanding presence forcing both of them to take an involuntary step back. His hands were clenched at his sides, his fury barely contained as he continued, each word precise and cutting. "She has been doing your job," he said, his tone cold, "protecting her sisters when you would sacrifice them to the first ‘gentleman of means' who showed interest, regardless of his character or intentions."

Silas stiffened, his jaw tightening as he drew himself up. "Your Grace, that accusation is entirely uncalled for. You can hardly blame us for…"

"I can and I do," Elias replied, his voice icy. "But not as much as I blame myself. My wife—my brave, loyal, and selfless wife—left the safety of our home because I was too much of a coward to fight for her. And now she lies here, hurt and helpless, because I failed to protect her."

"Your Grace," Prudence began, her voice wavering as she attempted to regain her composure, "surely you can't mean to encourage such unladylike behavior? A proper wife would never?—"

"A proper wife?" Elias let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "My wife is more noble, more worthy of respect, than anyone in this room. She saw someone in danger and acted to protect them, regardless of the cost to herself. That is true nobility, madam, not your shallow concerns about ‘proper behavior.'"

He turned back to Lydia, taking her hand once more, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. He felt a fierce, protective anger rise within him, mingled with the painful guilt he had carried since the day she left. "Now get out," he said quietly, his voice like iron. "All of you. I wish to be alone with my wife."

"But—" Prudence began, her eyes widening in protest.

"Out!" The single word cracked like a whip, and the tone was so commanding, so filled with authority, that even Silas seemed momentarily cowed. Without another word, he took his wife's arm, leading her from the room. Jane hesitated, casting a worried glance back at Lydia before following them, her expression grim.

As the door closed behind them, Elias sank back to his knees beside the bed. He pressed Lydia's hand to his cheek, feeling the faint warmth of life still lingering in her skin. For a long moment, he could only sit there, holding her hand, his chest tight with regret and self-recrimination.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything. For letting you go, for not seeing what was right in front of me, for being such a stubborn fool. Please, Lydia… please wake up."

A faint sound caught his attention, and he looked up to see her eyelids fluttering, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Slowly, her eyes opened, and her gaze met his, confusion clouding the green depths.

"Elias?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse and weak. "What… why are you…?"

"Shh." He reached out, his free hand coming up to gently brush a strand of hair from her forehead. "Don't try to move. You've been hurt."

Her brow furrowed, and a flash of memory crossed her face. "Diana?" The word was urgent despite her weakness. "Is she safe?"

"She's fine," he assured her quickly. "Thanks to you. Though when I think of what could have happened…"

Lydia's gaze focused on him, and he could see a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she took in his disheveled appearance. "You came," she murmured, her voice filled with wonder as her eyes searched his. "I wasn't sure…"

His throat tightened at her words, the simple statement carrying a weight he hadn't anticipated. "Of course I came," he replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

She was silent for a moment, studying his face, as though searching for something in his expression. "After everything… I wasn't sure," she admitted finally, her voice barely audible.

The admission struck him with a force he hadn't expected. That she could doubt him, that she could question his care for her, was unbearable. And yet, hadn't he given her every reason to doubt?

"Lydia," he began, but she cut him off with a slight shake of her head.

"Could you…" She winced at the movement, her face contorting with pain, and he instinctively tightened his grip on her hand. "Could you ask everyone to leave us alone? I need to speak with you."

"They're already gone," he told her, his tone gentle. "I sent them out."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "How very ducal of you," she murmured, her voice carrying a faint trace of her usual humor.

He returned the faint smile, his thumb gently tracing over her knuckles. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them filled with unspoken words, with the weight of all that had been left unsaid. Then, slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his touch lingering.

"I was wrong," he said, his voice low but steady. "I was a fool to let you go, to make you think… to make you believe that you weren't wanted, that you weren't needed. You deserve better, Lydia. You deserve so much more."

She watched him, her expression unreadable, though he could see the faint tremor in her lips, the slight quiver that betrayed the depth of her own emotions.

"You hurt me," she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "You made me feel as though I was… nothing more than a duty to you."

He closed his eyes, her words cutting through him like a blade. "I know," he murmured. "And I am so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, but… I want you to know that I am here. And I am not going anywhere."

Her gaze softened, and she reached out, her fingers grazing his cheek. "You stubborn fool," she whispered, her voice tinged with a fondness he hadn't expected. "You nearly drove me away for good."

He felt his hands tremble slightly as he held hers, his chest tight with the fear that refused to leave. "I cannot lose you, Lydia," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I would do…"

She silenced him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, pulling him down to lie beside her, her arms wrapping around him in a gesture of comfort. "I'm here," she murmured, her lips brushing against his temple. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

And for the first time, Elias allowed himself to believe her.