Oh, dear. Now Clio was certainly going to cry.
Ellingworth’s breathing grew rattling, raspy.
“He’s going, isn’t he?” Daphne buried her face in her husband’s lapel. “I can’t look.”
“We’re here, darling.” Clio sniffed back her tears and stroked the dog’s wrinkled head. “We’re all here with you. Be at peace.”
And then the rasping breaths ceased.
All was quiet.
“Here you all are.” Piers joined the group. “Is that Ellingworth under the rosebush?”
No one knew what to say. Clio reached for Rafe’s hand.
“I tried,” Rafe said hoarsely. “I tried my best, but I should have known . . .”
If Piers heard him, he didn’t reply. Instead, he knelt and wedged himself between Rafe and Clio, breaking them apart. He knelt at the dog’s side and lifted the corner of the coat. “Good old Ellingworth. Did you miss me, old fellow?”
“It’s no use,” Rafe said. “He’s gone.”
“No, no. We played this game all the time. He’s only hiding. Aren’t you, pup?”
Beneath Rafe’s coat . . . something moved.
The wheezing canine breaths that had dwindled to nothing . . . resumed again. They began to grow stronger.
The dog’s head lifted. He emerged from under the coat and started to lick Piers’s hand. His stumpy tail wagged to and fro.
“Cor,” Bruiser said. “He’s alive. The dog’s alive.”
Daphne pulled her head from her husband’s lapel. “It’s a miracle.”
And perhaps it was. Ellingworth was like a pup again. Wagging his nonexistent tail, bounding up and sniffing at Piers’s hand.
“That’s a good boy,” Piers chuckled as he scratched the reviving bulldog behind the ears. “It’s fine to see you again. It’s been a few years.”
“He’s glad to see you,” Clio said.
“It would seem he’s happy I’m home.” His eyes caught hers. “Are you happy I’m home?”
“I . . .”
Oh, goodness. Piers had always been handsome, worldly, authoritative . . . but whatever he’d been doing in the past eight years, it had taken those qualities and honed them to weapons. The absence of any vulnerabilities in his demeanor was what convinced Clio those weaknesses must be there somewhere beneath the suave control. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt it. He wasn’t an arrogant young diplomat anymore—but a man who’d come through trials and confronted his mortality. A man who just might be ready to share those vulnerable parts of himself with another, trusted soul.
“Yes,” she said. “I am so glad to see you, Piers. You returned at the perfect moment.”
She was glad Piers had come home. She was glad he seemed to want her. She was glad he’d kissed her—just this once, and after all this time. Because now she knew, without any question, that the choices in her heart were hers.
“I have papers you need to see,” Rafe said. Wearing a grim expression, he rose to his feet. “I’ll dash up to get them, and then we’ll talk.”
“Rafe, wait.”
Rafe shook out his arms as he walked back to the castle.
This was so like Piers. It wasn’t enough that he’d been their father’s favorite son. It wasn’t enough that he’d returned from some sort of mysterious, dashing work in the service of the Crown and would probably be decorated with knighthoods and laurels. It wasn’t enough that he had the most beautiful bride in all England ready to walk down the aisle with him this very day.
All that would have been impressive, to most men.
No, Piers had to take it one step further.
He brought dogs back from the dead.
It was too bloody much. So predictable.
Rafe entered the castle through a back entrance and began the spiraling journey upstairs.
But someone had followed him.
“Where are you going?” Clio’s voice echoed up to him from the bottom of the stairwell.
“To get the dissolution papers. I’ll speak with Piers. We’ll have this settled today.”
“Surely that isn’t—”
He cut her off. “It’s too late. Don’t try to argue. We both know you could be carrying my babe even now. You said it last night. There’s no going back.”
“You . . .” She caught up to him in a patter of steps. “You think I’ve changed my mind?”
“I don’t fault you.” He resumed climbing. “Believe me, it’s nothing new. Who wouldn’t prefer him to me? My father certainly did. All our tutors and nursemaids adored him. Even the damned dog likes him better.”
He heard her give a little laugh. “I thought I wasn’t the dog!”
He reached the top of the stairs and turned into the corridor. “I tried to warn you. I told you you’d regret chasing after me. I told you Piers cared for you—even if he didn’t show it.”
“It doesn’t matter. None of it changes anything.”
He flung open the door of her bedchamber. “Where are your things? Your maid already put them away.” He strode toward her writing desk. “I imagine she’d put the papers in here.”
“Good Lord, Rafe. It’s like you’re not even hearing me.”
She dashed ahead of him, plunking herself on the top of the desk before he could search the drawers.