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“What do you mean it’s—” Derek started before he looked up into his study. He had been running on fumes and whisky these past few days, and he hadn’t realized what an absolute disaster his study had become.

Leftover dinner plates were piled on his desk. Loose papers littered every exposed surface of tables, furniture, and even the floor. No wonder, he couldn’t find the Rothrock report.

“I’ve been, uh, very busy these past few days.”

William turned to his friend with a skeptical look. “I see bathing hasn’t been a priority of yours.”

Derek looked down at his untucked crumpled shirt with a stain on the front. Not only was he embarrassed he had a stain, but he couldn’t remember the last time he changed his shirt or even slept in his own bed for that matter. He had holed himself up in his study to lower the chances of running into Eleanor.

He couldn’t stop thinking of their night together and the look on her face the morning after hurt more than he cared to admit. How fast she moved to leave the breakfast room afterward didn’t do much for his confidence either.

Derek knew Eleanor was right, that their dalliance would be just that, a dalliance, but he was certain she would have been affected as much as he was. Alas, after her departure that morning, he tried to come to terms with her reaction. By the state of his study, trying was more like failing.

“So, am I to assume it is the state of the Rothrock report that caused this disaster, or is something else troubling you?” William asked while gesturing to the room around him.

Normally he wouldn’t share his true feelings with anyone, but he was so tired of this whole Eleanor mess, he might as well confess to someone. Maybe it would even help ease his mind.

“I’ve messed up.”

William looked around the room. “I see that.”

Derek huffed. “Not that. Well, not only that. I messed up with… Eleanor.”

William took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief before placing them back on his face. “Nope. Still you.”

Derek gave his friend a questioning look. “What?”

William moved a pile of papers from a chair and sat down. “Oh, I was making sure I was talking to you and not someone else. You know when my eyes get tired or my spectacles get dirty, I mistake people for others. But, sure enough, it is the intimidating and renowned businessman Derek Fletcher, the Duke of Graynor, that just said he messed up with a woman.”

Derek clenched his jaw. “Well now that we’ve tested your eyesight, do I look like someone who is the mood for your sarcasm?”

William laughed. “My, aren’t we testy today.”

Derek stalked over to his bar cart. “Whisky?”

“Depends if the conversation calls for it.”

Derek brought out two tumblers and poured.

“Oh. This ought to be good,” William jested.

Derek threw his back before handing William one.

“What did you do?” William inquired before taking a sip of his whisky.

Derek rolled his lips. “I think you may have been right,” he grumbled as he sat at his desk.

William sat up. “Well, now I have to check my ears.”

“Don’t start,” Derek said while rubbing his temples.

“I’ve been known to be right about a lot of things, Your Grace. Care to narrow it down for me?”

Derek held up one finger. “One, I hate that you’re enjoying this. And two,” he held up another finger, “I think I care more for Eleanor than I originally admitted.”

When William didn’t say anything, Derek looked up from the desk. “Aren’t you going to gloat or boast? Say ‘I told you so’?”

“It’s no fun when you seem miserable about it. I don’t take pleasure when you’re in a foul mood. You get no work done when you’re in this state. So, while I enjoy you admitting I was right, I take no pride in your downfall for it.”