Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
"I know what you're trying to do," Staffan said quietly. "You think you can do what's right by staying away from her. You think it's what you need to do to keep your promise to your mother and prevent you from following in your father's footsteps—-"
"They have nothing to do with this—-"
"Bullshit. I know, okay? I know how fucked up things were for your parents, but they never gave up on their relationship. So why are you giving up on—-"
"Because it's not fucking normal," Rathe snapped. "I'm sixteen fucking years older than her, Staffan! Sixteen! I'm old enough to be her goddamn father, so no, that's not fucking normal...just like my parents' relationship isn't fucking normal."
"Your parents were in love—-"
"But that didn't stop the world from making all of our lives hell, did it?"
"If you really believe it won't work out between you and Mary...then just let her go completely. Don't keep her by your side if you know you're only going to hurt her more."
A part of Rathe wished it could pretend to forget everything Staffan had said. He was just not ready to cut her out of his life for good, dammit.
But because he also knew that Staffan was right...
Chapter Seven
Mary was surprised to still find herself numb when the housekeeper Rathe had hired informed her that the Duke of Flanders was asking to speak to her.
Her legs shook as she forced herself to move down the stairs, and it was a struggle not to cry when she was able to lay eyes on him again.
He came to his feet as soon as he saw her, and Mary shook her head. "It's f-fine. Please just sit down."
Rathe took one end of the couch, and Mary took the other end. She waited for him to speak, but all the duke did was stare at her...like he still wanted her, when they both knew that was a lie.
"W-Why are you doing this?" she choked out. "W-Why make me f-fall in l-love with you when you obviously d-don't—-"
"It's not that I don't," Rathe said hoarsely. "It's that I can't."
She could only look at him, not understanding what he was saying.
"My mother was just nineteen years old when she married my father...who was forty-one at that time."
Mary stared at him in shock, and a savage smile twisted over the duke's lips.
"Do you get it now? The difference between our ages might not be like theirs...but I'm still old enough to be your father—-"
"Yes."
That she would agree so readily made his lips tighten.
"Y-You're right," she stammered. "You're old enough to be my dad."
Rathe's fists clenched as he told himself that it was a good thing Mary finally understood where she was coming from.
"B-But R-Rathe..."
The duke forced himself to meet her gaze.
"That s-still d-doesn't make you my d-dad...does it? So if t-that w-was the only r-reason you w-were hurting me—-"
"Sixteen fucking years, Mary," Rathe snarled.
"So what?"
Mary could barely believe it was her own voice she was hearing. Her whole childhood, she had learned to never raise her voice because it would only earn her another beating from her stepfather.
And so she had never cried out.
Never.
Or at least not since that night...
Memories that she had done her best to suppress resurfaced in a blink, and another cry escaped Mary when she was suddenly reminded of the despicable feel of her stepfather's body weighing her down.
No, no, no!
More memories came flooding back, a shudder rocked her body.
No, oh God, no!
The duke hauled Mary into his arms the moment he saw her pale. "What's wrong?"
"I f-forgot what he made me do," she cried out.
Rathe's soul went cold at the words.
"He t-touched me. F-fondled me. M-Made me s-suck—-"
His arms tightened around her, and she started to weep.
"It's the past, Mary—-"
"N-No w-wonder you c-can't l-love me back," she sobbed.
The duke's powerful body jerked upon hearing her words.
"You were right to throw me away. I'm too dirty. Too broken. I'm t-trash—-"
He cupped her chin and made her look into his eyes. "You love me?" he asked hoarsely.
Her eyes widened as if she hadn't realized that she had uttered such words, and his chest tightened.
"Why in God's name would you fall in love with someone like me?
"H-How can I not," she choked out, "when everything you do gives me a reason to live?"
Rathe did not want to hope...but the way she was looking at him made it hard not to.
"There are still people who think I'm the son of a pedophile."
"You're not."
"Others think of my mother as a gold-digger and a whore."
"She's not that either."
"If you choose to be with me," he warned stiffly, "some people will tell you that I'm everything they accused my father of being—-"
"I don't care," Mary whispered. "All I want is to be with you." Tears fell faster down her face as she clasped his beautiful face with shaking hands. "So p-please...c-can I b-be your m-mistress again?"