“You clashed, then? A war of wills can work for some marriages. I’ve seen people who can have a row one day and then get on swimmingly the next.”

“No, it wasn’t a war of wills. Rachel did whatever I asked of her.” He reached for the ring on his pinkie finger and spun it madly. “She always did.”

The duchess sat waiting, as if she knew he had much more to say. But he had already said more than he had ever admitted to anyone. What else did she want from him?

Ah, yes. He was the one who had come to visit her. Brandy hadn’t worked. His scandals with women had helped a little. But he still wasn’t sleeping at night, and it was starting to disturb him in ways he would have never guessed. Like feeling strange sensations from only the merest touch of a hand and imagining Diana Barton bending over him in concern. He paused his frantic spinning and held the ring tight between his fingers, the thin band pressing into his fingertips.

“I loved my wife.”

He had never said that out loud. Not even to Rachel. Saying it now broke something inside of him. It made him feel weak, and he hated feeling weak.

The duchess’s eyes scoured his face, then his hand, still holding the ring tightly on his finger. Her head jerked back to his face, and her shoulders slumped forward. “Ah.” She let out a puff of air. All the muscles in her face wilted into a frown. “She didn’t love you back.”

Bryant dropped his hands into his lap as a flood of memories rushed him: Waking up his bride on the morning after their wedding only to have her flinch and force a smile. Months into their marriage, finding her pillow wet with tears. Bringing her plates of food only to have her take them with listless hands. She never locked the door between them, and yet she never opened her heart either.

She had been young, quiet, and completely controlled by her parents, and he didn’t realize she hadn’t wanted their marriage until it was too late.

He had ruined her life and any chance at happiness. And it ate at her until she finally ran away in the dead of winter.

He managed what was surely a gruesome smile. “No, she didn’t love me.”

“I’m so sorry, Lord Bryant. I didn’t know.”

“How could you know? How could anyone have known? It isn’t as though these things are talked about. How well did you know your husband before marrying him?”

“Not well,” Her Grace answered quietly.

“Did you choose him?”

“My parents arranged our marriage, for the most part, but I did have some say. At the very least, I was excited by the prospect of becoming a duchess. I was so young and he was so full of life that the rest fell into place over time.”

So full of life. The duke had been full of life and had made his young wife fall in love with him. Blasted lucky man. “Yes, well, nothing about my marriage ever fell into place.” He didn’t like the hard edge to his voice. His was a common story. His parents and Rachel’s parents had arranged the marriage. If there had been anything in Rachel he thought he couldn’t love, he would have stopped the process before it had started. But there was nothing unacceptable about Rachel. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and shy. He had been certain he would be able to make a marriage with her work. The heady foolishness of youth.