Page 23 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

G erard was in agony. He could not believe that spinster, Dorothy, as he had resolved to call her, had offered to relieve his agony .

What a prim, proper way to refer to a man’s aching loins.

By God, he had been tempted to let her! It would have been but a small matter to release his cock.

A single thrust of his hips would have been sufficient to penetrate her, and Dorothy had already been wet and ready.

He had refrained.

Pontoun collapsed into a chair beside him, looking miserable. “I do not want to hear a single word about love,” Gerard warned. “Just so you are aware.”

“You are so unkind,” Pontoun said.

Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not unkind. It is simply that I have little patience for men who wish to complain about their problems but will not heed good advice for how to resolve them.”

“Your good advice is to abandon my quest entirely,” Pontoun said. “That is not helping me resolve the problem.”

Gerard waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway.”

Pontoun sullenly took a swallow of brandy. “Fine. What other matters do you wish to discuss? Are you enjoying the Season?”

“Immensely.”

Pontoun paused and considered him for a moment. “You have seemed more sociable than usual.”

“Have I?”

“Yes,” Pontoun said. “Usually, you have found a lover and retreated from the Season’s events by now. Why have you delayed?”

Gerard offered a one-shouldered shrug. “No lady has yet garnered any interest from me.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“I suppose I am unimpressed with what the ladies have to offer,” Gerard said smoothly. “Perhaps, I have already entertained myself with all the interesting ones.”

Pontoun said nothing, but he did not need to.

Gerard could clearly discern the suspicion glinting in his friend’s eyes.

While Gerard had chuckled and dismissed Dorothy’s concerns about discretion, he was forced to concede that she had been right to mention it.

Pontoun had suspicions, but not for the reasons Gerard would have guessed.

“I see,” Pontoun said at last. “I suppose it is a difficult Season for both of us.”

“Indeed.”

But what was Gerard to do? If Pontoun was suspicious about Gerard’s lack of lovers, there were only two solutions to that plight.

The first would be to admit that his newest lover was Dorothy.

That would be the easiest solution, and he had revealed his lovers’ identities to Pontoun before.

There was no reason for him to treat Dorothy any differently from the others, but the thought of revealing her sent a twinge of guilt through his chest.

The other solution would be to flirt with other ladies, but he strongly suspected that Dorothy would be upset if he did that. Any lady would be.

“That is the reason I have been attending so many events,” Gerard added abruptly. “I am hoping that some lady will capture my attention.”

Pontoun smiled wryly. “I suppose we have that in common.”

“Yes.” Concerned that Pontoun might seize the opportunity to complain about his own romantic prospects, Gerard decided to move the conversation to safer waters. “I am thinking of devoting some time to a social cause.”

“And what has brought this on?”

“A flight of fancy,” Gerard said loftily. “Since I have no lady with whom I may occupy my time, it seems as though I ought to find some pursuit.”

“And what cause are you hoping to champion?”

Gerard frowned. His thoughts went to Dorothy, although she certainly did not need his help.

“Perhaps, young ladies,” he said carefully. “I believe the Duke of Reeds has mentioned funding a seminary for ladies. Perhaps, I shall see if he would like another lord to aid him in that endeavor.”

“And you have no other reasons for wishing to help him?” Pontoun asked.

None. In truth, it was simply the first cause that came to mind.

“You know that I am fond of the fairer sex,” Gerard said. “It occurs to me that I might do something for them, especially the disadvantaged women in London.”

“That is surprisingly chivalric of you.”

Gerard shook his head. “It is something to do. Perhaps, it is the melancholy of the Season, but I am beginning to feel as though I ought to be doing more with my position.”

He was not entirely lying. Sitting there, it had occurred to Gerard that he was not doing enough. He spent his days drinking in White’s, as he presently was, and bedding an endless litany of ladies. Of late, a strange discontent had begun to creep over him like the first frost of autumn.

Gerard could not identify the source of his discontent, for nothing in his life had changed. Except for Dorothy, he supposed.

“If you require my assistance, do not hesitate to ask,” Pontoun said. “I have seldom been involved in social causes, but I am passionate about education. Maybe I could help you with the seminary as a means of…indulging in my affection for learning.”

Gerard softened a little. He looked sideways at his friend, observing the calm set of his friend’s face and his thoughtful eyes. “How are you managing? It cannot always be easy for you.”

Pontoun sighed deeply. “It is not.”

Gerard said nothing. He had never been especially adept at providing comfort to another person.

“Sometimes, it feels like I am drowning beneath all the expectations, but I imagine that I could be doing worse. Right?”

Gerard thought of his own father. That was not entirely fair, for his father had been a fair duke, as far as he knew. It seemed as though being an adequate duke did not mean that one would inherently be a good father. Like father, like son, Gerard thought wryly.

At least, Gerard would have the decency not to have children of his own, if it could be helped at all. His cousin could have the title. Gerard barely knew the man, but he was decent, if a little boring.

“Do you enjoy being the Duke of Greenway?” Pontoun asked suddenly.

Gerard blinked, a little taken aback. “Have I given you the impression that I do not?”

“No, but it occurs to me that I have never asked. You have spent your whole life knowing that you would be the Duke of Greenway. I doubt it ever occurred to you to do anything else with your life. Do you ever wish you had the choice?”

Gerard frowned. “I do not know who I would be if I were not the Duke of Greenway. I think it would be better to have no choice than to have my choice taken from me, though.”

Pontoun sighed. “I suppose you are right. But for argument’s sake, if you could be something else, what would you be? Think about it.”

“An adventurer,” he said flippantly, unthinkingly. “I would spend my days touring the continent, and once I tired of that, I would sail to America. Maybe I would reinvent myself—use a different name, lie about where I come from. It sounds like a merry jest.”

“I suppose it does,” Pontoun said. “But I fear that I no longer have the stamina that I once did. I would soon become tired of the travel.”

“Nonsense,” Gerard said. “You would enjoy seeing everything so much that you would never become tired. Can you imagine it? Just traveling for your entire life without a care in the world? Without any responsibilities to worry about?”

Pontoun sighed. “I do like the thought of not having responsibilities, but if I could choose, I would still become a professor. Somewhere nice. Perhaps Edinburgh.”

“Scotland would suit you.”

Pontoun nodded. “I think so.”

They drank brandy in silence for several minutes. Gerard thought of Dorothy and how she had held the glass in her delicate hand, swirling it absentmindedly as she spoke to him. There had been something delicate and feminine in the gesture, which he found more endearing than he should.

There was much about her that was more endearing than it should be.

Maybe he had developed a particular interest in older women.

That would explain why he thought of this lover more than he often did.

A small part of him even dared to imagine that she might be delighted by his joining Leedway in his efforts to build the seminary.

“You are well-suited to your position,” Pontoun said. “In case you had any doubts.”

“I did not.”

His friend smiled, amused. “There is little that I would not give to have such confidence!”

Gerard chuckled. “Do not sell yourself short, my friend. You will be an excellent Duke of St. Claire.”

“I will be better once I have found my duchess.”

Gerard inwardly winced. “You will,” he said, fighting to sound sincere. “You are a good man, and I have a hard time believing that you do not have some perfect match somewhere in the world.”

Pontoun heaved a great sigh and raised his glass of brandy in a mock toast. “To finding our perfect matches.”

Gerard tactfully did not insist that he had no perfect match and never would have. Instead, he raised his glass and let it clink against Pontoun’s own. He took a hearty swallow and thought of Dorothy again.

She was lovely, beautiful, and kind in equal measure, and his chest ached just thinking of her. What was she doing at that moment? Was she looking after Lady Bridget and directing her toward only the best suitors?

“It must be difficult for women,” Gerard said after a moment. “Having to ward off the advances of all the men who are unsuitable.”

“I had never given it much thought,” Pontoun said, casting him a curious look. “Why have you noticed it?”

“I have been watching Lady Bridget. She is forever surrounded by suitors, and her elder sister is quite passionate about ensuring that only the best men court her, or so I have heard.”

“I wonder if Lady Bridget appreciates her sister’s managing things,” Pontoun mused.

“Why would she not?”

His friend shrugged. “I would not have wanted a sibling to meddle in my affairs.”

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. “Lady Dorothy is doing something for the benefit of her sister. How could anyone be vexed by that?”

“You would understand if you had siblings,” Pontoun said dryly. “They are not always helpful.”

“I should welcome any interference from a sibling, for that would prove how much I was loved.”

Gerard deliberately did not look at his friend, who he sensed was suddenly watching him very closely. Pontoun must have heard some thread of melancholy in Gerard’s voice.

“There is considerable temptation to take one’s family for granted,” Pontoun said delicately. “Especially if you are very close. I have heard it said that we are the harshest to those we love, and I suppose that was true of my brother and me.”

“We should discuss something else,” Gerard said.

“Of course.”

Gerard hated how Pontoun’s voice softened, how he seemed to understand that Gerard’s thoughts were perilously close to his own miserable and empty youth.

Maybe there was something in what Pontoun was saying, about becoming vexed with those you loved the most. Gerard sipped his brandy thoughtfully and thought about Dorothy gently tucking a wayward curl behind her sister’s ear.