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In that moment, he could have been standing in court, or in the middle of a stampede, and he wouldn't have cared. The only thing that mattered was what this woman wanted and for the rest of his life, he swore to give her whatever she desired.

He covered her mouth with his, ignoring Lady Hartfield's drawn out scandalized gasp.

If only the Duke could have lived in that moment with Lavinia forever, unfortunately he knew that there was something else he needed to do. Someone he needed to fix things with. Two people if he were being literal.

He left the Hartfield house with a smile on his face that faded away slowly as his carriage made its way down to Patrick's town house.

"Lord Dillon is not at home," the butler told him when he opened the door, "You may find him at his club."

Damn it, Victor should have thought as much. He knew that his friend stayed far away from his house to escape his aunt and her persistent nagging for him to get leg shackled.

Jumping back into the carriage, he ordered the driver to take him to Whites, a club that the both men were members of.

Inside, he found his friend seated at a table tucked into a dark corner. There was a full, untouched bottle of whiskey on the table before him and his hair and clothes were disheveled.

"You," Patrick drawled, "if you have come to call me out for laying my filthy hands on your sister, I will have to warn you that I am an excellent shot and I will not deflect."

Victor dragged a chair forward and dropped into it. "If you kill me, you will not be able to marry Georgie. It will be in my favor regardless."

The man's jaw clenched visibly, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. If the Duke didn't know him so well, he would have been terrified.

"What do you want?"

"To make amends," Victor poured himself a drink and leaned back into his chair.

The other man snorted, "if you think that I am just going to take the olive branch and forget all about Georgie, then you do not really know me. I will also advise you not to waste your time. I am not going to let her go, Victor. Or should I say, Your Grace?"

"You would only be proving me right if you let her go now," the Duke admitted.

Lord Dillon slanted him a sharp look, "what are you implying?"

Damn it, he did not want to have to spell it out for him too, "you say you love my sister?"

"More than life itself," he said resolutely. "And she is going to become my wife. With or without your blessings. I know she would prefer your blessings though, and that is the only reason I have not carried her off to Gretna Green and shackled her to me for life."

One of his eyebrows went up in surprise, "what is the hurry?"

Patrick shook his head, "I am afraid it is not something I can explain for someone who has not experienced it. You would not understand."

The Duke laughed, "that statement is very far from the truth, my friend. I have recently found myself in the same situation."

"Recently?" Patrick laughed too, "you lost your senses the moment you met Miss Proctor, and I do not think you have recovered them."

It was such a ridiculously apt statement and it sobered Victor. He imagined being in his friend's shoes, being told by Lord Hartfield perhaps that he could not let him love his daughter. He did not think he would have been quite as calm as the viscount.

"You have my blessing to marry Georgie."

Surprise lit up the other man's eyes, "what made you change your mind."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he gritted his teeth, "it matters."

He thought about that awful feeling in his chest when he had read Lavinia's letter, that awful feeling when he had thought he had lost her. He could never put anybody through that.

Patrick already looked like a wreck, and it was all his fault. And God, he had made his sister cry. The same sister he had sworn to take care of and protect.

"I love Georgie," he finally said, "I want her to be happy and her happiness trumps my fears. Love should always win over fear."