Secluded with the Rogue

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

T he storm outside had grown more vicious as the hours dragged on, its howling winds and relentless snowfall battering the walls of Carrington Manor. Genevieve stood at the window of the library, staring out at the swirling white chaos, her chest tight with a mix of frustration and dread. She hated feeling trapped—trapped by the storm, by the memories, by the man lurking somewhere within the house who had once shattered her heart.

But more than anything, she hated that her brother, Henry, had made himself scarce. He had always been so carefree, leaving her to deal with things whenever they became too complicated. Now, in the middle of this storm, he had vanished, likely holed up in one of the far wings of the house, blissfully unaware of how unbearable his absence made things. She was left to endure the tension alone.

And, of course, he was here too.

Genevieve clenched her hands at her sides, trying to focus on the blizzard rather than the man seated across the room. Alexander sat in an armchair by the fire, a book in his lap, but he was not reading. His gaze was distant, his expression grim, and even though she tried to ignore him, she could not help but feel the weight of his presence. The library was large, but somehow, it still felt too small with him there.

She hated how the storm had left them isolated, forcing them into the same room. She hated the silence between them, thick with things unsaid, things they had almost done. She hated that despite the hurt and anger, there was still a part of her that wanted to know him again.

The fire crackled, and the tension between them simmered in the quiet.

Genevieve finally turned away from the window, unable to take the silence any longer. “Henry’s gone and disappeared again, has he not?” she muttered, half to herself. “Leaving us to freeze to death in this storm while he hides in some forgotten corner of the house.”

Alexander looked up, his eyes heavy with weariness. “He has always had a knack for avoiding things,” he said quietly. There was no bitterness in his tone, just a simple observation.

Genevieve folded her arms, leaning against the window frame. “And what about you, Alexander? Are you avoiding things too?”

He did not respond immediately, and for a moment, she thought she had pushed too far. But then he sighed, setting the book aside. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time, Genevieve noticed the weight he was carrying. It was not just the tension between them. It was something else, something deeper.

“I am not avoiding anything,” he said softly, staring into the fire. “I am just… lost.”

The vulnerability in his voice startled her. It was not like Alexander to be anything other than composed and in control. The man she had known years ago had always been confident, even arrogant at times. But now, there was something raw about him, something that had not been there before.

She took a hesitant step closer, her anger momentarily forgotten. “Lost?” she echoed, her voice softer now.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the flames. “After my father died, everything changed. I thought I was prepared to take on the title, to do what was expected of me. But now that it has happened… I am not sure I know who I am anymore.”

Genevieve felt a pang of sympathy despite herself. She knew what it was like to lose someone. She had felt that same lost feeling when her mother had passed away. But this was different. This was Alexander, the man who had left her without a word, who had shattered her heart. She should not feel sympathy for him, not after everything. And yet, seeing him like this, so open, so vulnerable, made it impossible to ignore.

She hesitated before speaking again, her voice quiet. “I did not think you would show it.”

Alexander looked up at her, his eyes shadowed with grief. “I try not to. But it is hard, Genevieve. Losing him… It is like I have lost the person who made me, even though I fought against his expectations for so long. And now that he is gone, I do not know if I will ever be able to live up to what he wanted me to be.”

Genevieve’s throat tightened. She had not expected this, had not expected him to open up like this. The anger that had burned so brightly inside her felt duller now, replaced by a strange sense of understanding. She knew what it was like to fight against expectations, to feel the weight of duty pressing down.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “you do not have to live up to what he wanted. Maybe you should be who you want to be.”

A faint, bitter smile tugged at Alexander’s lips. “And who is that, exactly? The duke who walked away from the woman he loved because he was too afraid of what his father would think?”

Genevieve’s breath hitched at the rawness of his words, the unexpected admission. He was not hiding behind his usual guarded demeanor anymore. This was something real.

“I do not know who I am anymore, Genevieve,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “All I know is that I am tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of carrying the weight of my father’s expectations. And tired of feeling like I lost the best thing in my life because I was too much of a coward to fight for it.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her, threatening to crack the walls she had built around herself for so long. For the first time since he had walked back into her life, she saw him—not the duke, not the man who had left her, but the man who had once loved her. The man who was grieving, not just for his father, but for everything he had lost.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly, and the wind howled outside, but inside the library, the tension had shifted. The anger between them had ebbed, replaced by something quieter, something far more intimate.

Genevieve felt her resolve weakening. She had told herself she would not let him in again. She would not let herself be hurt by him once more. But seeing him like this, so open, so vulnerable, made it harder to hold onto that anger.

“Alexander,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Why did not you ever tell me this before?”

He looked up at her, his eyes full of regret. “Because I did not know how to. I did not know how to admit that I was scared, that I was not the man you thought I was. And by the time I realized what I’d lost… it was too late.”

Her chest tightened, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She did not want to forgive him, did not want to let herself believe that things could be different now. But his vulnerability, the raw honesty in his words, made it impossible to ignore the flicker of hope that had ignited in her chest.

Before she could say anything more, a loud gust of wind rattled the windows, pulling them both out of the moment. The storm outside seemed to roar in response, a reminder of the chaos that surrounded them.

Genevieve took a step back, her heart still racing. Something between them was shifting, and for the first time in years, she was not sure if she wanted to fight it.