Page 29 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

G erard lay beside Dorothy, who turned to face him. She was beautiful, lit only by the flickering candlelight in the room. His eyes swept over her soft curves, damp with sweat from the night’s activities. Pink still spread across her cheeks, as delicate and lovely as a rose.

His own body was cool and relaxed. He had done it, and the encounter had been everything that he had wanted. “Gerard,” she murmured.

He smiled at the wonder in her voice. Dorothy slowly raised a hand and stroked his cheek. Her touch was gentle and light, barely there. He was reminded at once of all the tenderness she had shown throughout the Season, of all the care she gave to her family. Gerard jolted back.

“Gerard, I?—”

“That was lovely,” he said, a note of finality in his voice.

There was something in her face that he did not understand. It was a softness that was unlike anything he had seen from a lover before. Or maybe he was only seeing what he wished to see.

Ice crept into his veins. He abruptly kissed Dorothy, and she made a surprised sound. Then, Gerard turned to get up. His pulse jumped, and his thoughts ran away from him.

“We should part ways,” he said abruptly.

“What?” she whispered.

Gerard straightened his spine. It should not matter. That was the test. If Dorothy were only a lover, he would not care if they parted ways. He could always find another woman.

So why did the thought of leaving her cause a jolt of anxiety to course through him? He clenched his jaw and forced himself to remain silent for fear that he might take the words back. This was bad.

No, more than bad. This was dreadful . For the first time in his entire string of lovers, he found himself wanting more. He could not have more, and she?—

She deserved far more than he could offer.

“For the night?” Dorothy asked, her voice soft.

“No. We need to part ways for good,” Gerard said. “We do not need to let this arrangement go any further.”

He still did not face her, but he heard her hurt inhale of breath.

“Why would you say that?”

He paused, steeling himself against her anger or perhaps, his own hurt. “Because it is for the best. Lord and Lady Holloway noticed that we have been speaking with one another, and I have no doubt that they suspect we have been engaged in other behaviors also.”

“Because we have been! And I do not—let them talk!” Dorothy protested.

He climbed to his feet and looked over his shoulder at her. Dorothy had sat upright and gazed imploringly at him. His chest tightened, and his breath came unevenly. “No,” he said. “No, I cannot simply let them talk .”

“Cannot or will not? And why should it matter to you?” Dorothy asked. “Have you not taken countless women to your bed without sparing a thought for how they might feel afterwards? I do not understand why I should be denied your continued affections when they were not!”

He stared at her, his mind awhirl with the conflicting desire to hold her close while also pushing her away. “I care about your reputation,” he said. “I have never shown such consideration for another woman before you. I imagined that you would be pleased.”

“ Pleased ?” she snapped. “You—you know that I am not!”

“Unfortunate,” he said tightly.

She shifted from the bed and scowled at him. The roses on her cheeks were no longer those of pleasure but instead the fire of a woman who was furious and scorned. Dorothy nearly took his breath away, standing there like that. Her expression was fierce, but her body was so soft and vulnerable.

A better man might relent and take her into his arms, stroke her hair and tell her how beautiful she was, but he was not—and could never be—that manner of man.

“You just wanted to coax me into bed with you!” Dorothy cried.

That was not it. Even from the start, he had noticed that there was something more to her than a body that he might wish to penetrate. He had found her fiery and bold, caring and clever. A spark of hurt smoldered in his chest.

No, he had done everything wrong. He had gotten too close to her, and he had only realized it when she lay beside him and gazed at him like she bore him real affection, feelings that were more than he might feasibly expect from a lover.

“Well,” he said, realizing that she wanted a response. “It is not as though I ever hid my intentions from you.”

It would be for the best if she left, too. Even if Dorothy had no intention of marrying, she would suffer if her name was tied to his. Her family would suffer. No, it would be better for all involved if she left.

His chest ached.

“You are a heinous man!” Dorothy shouted.

“Surprise,” he said dryly. “I have gotten you into bed, and you have been satisfied. We have both had our needs met, so it is best for us to move on.”

She took a bold step toward him, and he saw that her eyes were suspiciously bright. Gerard inhaled sharply. Was she going to cry? He inwardly floundered, for he had never been adept at handling crying women. Knowing that he would be the cause of her tears was even worse.

“Well, then,” she said.

Without another word, she stormed away from him.

Dorothy retrieved her discarded garments as she went.

Gerard stood still, as if his feet had frozen to the floor.

He imagined how she must look, wandering the corridors of his townhouse, entirely nude and grasping her clothes from the floor.

Slowly, Gerard sank onto the bed and stared at the wall.

He had done it. He had sent her away and put an end to things.

Usually, there was a vague sense of regret when he ended these affairs.

The one exception had been Lady Everleigh; they had both felt the mutual loss of attraction and decided to pursue other lovers.

Their parting had been amicable, friendly even.

But he had never experienced anything like this parting with Dorothy, with its cold, creeping wretchedness.

He stared at the wall for a long time. At last, he stood and dressed. A newfound numbness had overcome him. Had Dorothy felt some kind of numbness after she left? Had she dressed just as he had, with her thoughts miles away? Or had she cried?

A knot twisted in his chest at the thought of her sobbing, tears staining her chemise and gown. Gerard clenched his jaw. He was a monstrous man. He could have continued it. He could have found a gentler way of expressing that they ought to part.

He left his bedchamber and walked to his study, where he always went when he desired solitude.

The room was not empty, though. Halls stood by the desk.

Seeing Gerard, he raised his head. “I knew you would come here, Your Grace. I thought you would want to know that I saw the lady safely into a carriage.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Halls bowed deeply. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Gerard bit the inside of his cheek. Halls had seen countless ladies home after their dalliances. Dorothy would be just another lovely face that he helped on her way. Somehow, Dorothy’s leaving filled Gerard with a shame he had never felt before.

“Did she seem…well?” Gerard asked awkwardly.

Halls raised an eyebrow. “Truthfully, she seemed a little distraught, as though she was trying to maintain her dignity. But I believe that she was fine, overall. Certainly, she looked resolute.”

Gerard sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel dreadful.”

“Shall I pour you a brandy, Your Grace?”

Gerard looked morosely at Halls. For once, Gerard wished that he had someone on his staff with whom he shared a friendly relationship.

“What do you truly think about my behavior?” Gerard asked.

“It is not my place to think anything about your behavior, Your Grace.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Halls said nothing. Instead, he merely turned to the cabinet where Gerard kept his brandy and poured him a glass.

“Pour yourself one, too,” Gerard said through clenched teeth.

Gerard sank into the chair behind his desk.

Just a little while ago, Dorothy had stood across from him.

He winced. If he had known that forcing her away would hurt so badly, would he have still approached her?

Would he have encouraged her advances or been so delighted when she came to his estate without warning?

Halls placed a glass of brandy before Gerard, who took a large swallow of the drink. The warmth of the brandy loosened the knot in his chest, but it was not sufficient to vanquish Dorothy’s image from his mind. “Give me the decanter,” Gerard said roughly.

Halls placed it before him. Gerard finished his glass and pulled another, conscious of Halls standing nearby, his own glass held loosely in his hand. “You have never cared what I have thought about your behavior before,” Halls said. “What makes this time different, Your Grace?”

Gerard grimaced. “I do not know if I wish to answer that.”

“I see.”

Gerard sighed and gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit. I need to talk to someone, and I am not going to bother Pontoun at such a late hour.”

Halls hummed, his bones creaking as he dropped into the chair.

Despite his insistence that he wished to talk, Gerard said nothing for several moments.

Instead, he drank his brandy and tried not to think about how Dorothy had once downed an entire glass of brandy in front of him.

His throat was tight. “I liked her,” Gerard said.

Halls furrowed his brow, clearly confused.

“More than I have ever liked a lover,” Gerard clarified. “I wanted her to stay. I wanted there to be something more between us, and I just realized it tonight when she looked at me. But I imagine it has been there for some time, threatening to bloom inside me.”

“Oh.”

“It is best that she not be involved with me,” Gerard said. “Right?”

“That is true.”

Gerard nodded and looked away, his eyes drifting to the window. He had driven her away in the dead of night. Maybe if he drank enough brandy, he could convince himself that she had only left at the end of the night, as most lovers did.

“But,” Halls said delicately. “Sometimes, the heart does not always follow the most rational course of action.”

“Agreed. How frustrating,” Gerard said.

Halls sipped his brandy. “I have no advice to offer, Your Grace, if that is what you desire.”

Gerard sighed. “I know. I do not want advice.”

He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted this to be an amicable break, like he had experienced with Lady Everleigh. But that had not happened.

Damn it! He had done the honorable thing—well, as close to honorable as a man like him could be—and he felt wretched.