Page 31 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

G erard stared morosely at his glass of brandy. He could not recall if it was his third or fourth glass, and he could not decide if he ought to be bothered by the revelation. The fact that having lost count still concerned him was proof enough that he cared too much.

It didn’t help that the brandy’s golden-brown color reminded him of Dorothy’s hair, and the bite of the drink conjured forth memories of her biting tongue and sharp wit.

“You do not usually drink so much,” Pontoun noted.

Gerard shrugged. “It is excellent brandy.”

“It is the usual brandy,” Pontoun said.

They were at their favorite club. Despite the genteel setting, however, Pontoun remained frustratingly sober, and Gerard’s tolerance seemed unusually strong on that particular evening.

He had not spent the entire week since his last encounter with Dorothy in his cups; that was the one respectable thing that he would say about himself. Gerard had mostly refrained from drinking himself sick, but cold sobriety did not seem to be of much use either, for Dorothy’s face haunted him.

Worse, her distressed expression haunted him. He had not even been able to force himself to attend any of the Season’s recent events for concerns that he might encounter her and be forced to confront the source of his agony.

“What are you trying to hide from?” Pontoun asked softly. “Is there some new scandal involving you? Or did a sensible young miss finally reject you?”

Gerard could not even muster a smile for the remark, although he had once boasted that no woman had ever rejected him, unlike his poor friend, for whom rejection seemed to follow like a plague.

“I do not feel inclined to jest this evening,” Gerard said.

“Nor any evening this week,” Pontoun said, his voice losing its usual levity. “If I were to guess, I would say that you have taken to some melancholic mood, although I cannot imagine what might be the source. Tell me. Perhaps, there is some guidance I can offer.”

Gerard forced a smile. Pontoun would offer guidance on matters of the heart?

The man who was unable to find a suitable wife of his own, despite ample efforts?

If Dorothy had not been such a persistent presence in Gerard’s thoughts, he might have found the situation almost humorous; their roles had changed so quickly!

Now, Gerard was the lovesick man, languishing for want of Dorothy, and Pontoun was unruffled and unaffected.

“I do not believe that there is anything that can be done,” Gerard said.

“Why not?”

Gerard sighed and shook his head. “I do not truly wish to discuss the matter.”

Pontoun nodded slowly. He poured a glass of brandy from the decanter, as though he was steeling himself for the conversation, and took a small sip from it.

“If that is true, you likely need to discuss the matter,” Pontoun said.

“Brooding over your brandy will not change anything for the better. Tell me what it is that ails you, my friend.”

Gerard clenched his jaw and finished his glass.

He eyed the amber liquid in the crystal decanter and considered pouring himself another.

Truly, he ought to stop, for he had already consumed more of the spirit than he usually did.

Even that internal note was framed with the weary revelation that he did not truly care, though.

Consequences seemed to matter little when he had lost Dorothy, a woman whom he strongly suspected that he might have loved.

Certainly, she had affected him more than any woman ever had.

He had desired her more than any other woman, had delighted in her company more than any other, and her absence had left a profound emptiness within him.

“It is about a woman,” Gerard said at last.

“As expected,” Pontoun said. “It always is when it comes to you. But I have never seen you appear this morose because of one. Has she been unkind to you?”

Far from it! Gerard laughed at the absurdity of the query, which Pontoun had delivered with such a degree of seriousness that it was difficult to take in good faith. Sometimes, Pontoun was a little too kind, and it awakened a tangle of emotions in Gerard that were best left dormant.

“Is she blackmailing you?” Pontoun asked suddenly. “Is she trying to entrap you?”

Gerard sighed and shook his head. “No. I wish it were something as simple as that.”

Pontoun’s eyes widened. “I can think of many men who would disagree with that,” he said. “I should think that being blackmailed or entrapped would be quite a terrible fate.”

“I am certain that it would be, but at least, I could…” Gerard trailed off. “At least, I would have reason to hate the lady if she had wronged me in some dreadful way.”

A new understanding crossed Pontoun’s face. “Does the wrong lie with you, then?” he asked gently. “Please, tell me what has upset you! I have never seen you behave so morosely over a woman.”

Gerard sighed and poured the remaining brandy into his glass. “I know.”

“Did the most recent affair end?” Pontoun asked. “And poorly?”

Gerard slumped in his chair. “Yes,” he conceded. “And it was entirely by my own design.”

“This woman was unlike the others, though. You have ended affairs many times, and you have never once expressed a scrap of guilt for having done so.”

Gerard took a large swallow of brandy. He was beginning to feel a little bit hazy, which was an excellent sign. Given how much alcohol it had taken for him to feel any effects from it, however, Gerard doubted he could tolerate drinking enough to cease thinking entirely of Dorothy.

“She has made me feel like no other woman has,” Gerard said, letting out a low, bitter laugh. “She made me feel open and tender and kind ! I have never felt such closeness with a woman, and God help me! I never wanted to stop seeing her!”

A beat of silence followed the words, and in the aftermath of them, Gerard’s heart beat very quickly. He…

He could not put into words how much he longed to leave the club and race to her side. He wanted to apologize for leaving her, for denying her for even an instant. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, to do anything which might prove how much he wanted her still.

“Is it really so?” Pontoun asked after a moment. “You truly cared for her that much?”

Gerard nodded. “I—I did, and for a moment, I believed that I might be something more to her. That we might be something more.”

Gerard searched Pontoun’s face, as if by putting all his attentions on his friend, he might find some magical means by which Gerard might remain Dorothy’s lover forever.

“She was charming,” Gerard said. “Witty, adventurous—a challenge like I have never had before—and so very nurturing. Until I met her, I did not understand how I could desire any woman, but I adored her.”

“What happened?” Pontoun’s voice was very soft. “Did she choose to end things? Is there a chance that she might yet relent?”

Gerard shook his head. “Unlikely, given everything that I said.”

“Everything that you said?” Pontoun asked. “If you have offended the lady’s honor, you must make amends at once! If you love her as greatly as you say, I am certain that she will forgive you!”

“You would be wrong,” Gerard said. “And even if she would forgive me, this is for the best.”

His stomach lurched, and a pulsing pressure built in his head, near his temple. Still, Gerard remained too aware of his situation and the futility of it.

“How can this possibly be for the best?” Pontoun asked, equally disbelieving and outraged. “You are distressed and seemingly becoming a sot before my very eyes! You have just revealed that you love this woman!”

“So I have! And I foolishly thought that I could have more from her, that I could have something of this young woman and keep it forever. Then, I ruined everything. I know I made the right choice in ending our affair, but still, I wish that I had not.”

“So tell her !” Pontoun exclaimed.

“I cannot.”

“ Will not,” Pontoun corrected impatiently. “And why not? There are so few opportunities to find true love in this world, and if you have found it, you would be a foolish man, indeed, if you do not fight for it!”

Gerard took another swallow of brandy and glared at his friend. “I am beginning to wish that I had not told you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you to comfort me and tell me that I made the correct decision, not—not this .”

“Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not believe you have made the correct decision. Does she not return your affections?”

Gerard bit the inside of his cheek, and the silence stretched between them.

“Oh no.” Pontoun sighed. “She did care for you—perhaps, still cares for you. Which is it?”

“Both,” Gerard said, “but I was not good for her. She deserves better.”

She did deserve better, but a small, traitorous part of Gerard’s mind recalled that Dorothy had resolved to be a spinster. Unlike many young misses, she did not have a veritable regiment of suitors vying for her hand. He was her best choice for a marriage because he was the only choice.

“If she cares so deeply for you, she deserves you,” Pontoun argued. “For as long as I have known you, you have been an incurable rake. Why have you suddenly decided that you are insufficient?”

He was not insufficient, not in the manner that Pontoun meant.

But if he loved Dorothy—truly let himself love her—Gerard would be gambling.

He might lose her someday, and he could not endure any more loss.

Nor could he endure the transformation which might occur if Dorothy ever left him.

Gerard had seen his own father grow quite cold, and Gerard knew that his own nature was not warm or gentle or kind.

Who knew what manner of monster he might become?

“If you knew the lady, you would agree with me,” Gerard said. “She deserves better than me. She deserves someone who can love her like she deserves to be loved, wholeheartedly and without reservation!”

“But that can be you!” Pontoun cried, his voice full of disbelief. “You speak as though you are this wretched man, but you are not. If she loves you, that is proof that your affection is enough for her!”

Gerard shook his head. “It is not as simple as you say.”

“It is, indeed!”

Gerard set his empty glass onto the nearby table with far more force than was necessary. “No,” he said.

Pontoun sighed, looking suddenly weary. “Layton, you are going to be the death of me.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” Pontoun replied. “I have spent the entire Season trying to fall in love, and you have been fortunate enough to stumble into it. But you want to deny it?”

“If you were in my position, you would do the same.”

Gerard’s thoughts had just ventured into a pleasant place, where his awareness of feeling was fleeting and inconstant. His fingertips tingled, and he flexed his fingers. A wave of exhaustion swept over him, so sudden and fierce that he had the urge to sleep in that chair.

“I would not,” Pontoun murmured.

Gerard shook his head, which felt as though it was not quite connected to his neck any longer. “It does not matter,” Gerard said. “I am upset now.”

Upset was not the right word at all. Gerard felt as though his heart had been crushed inside his chest, and it seemed inconceivable that he continued to live despite the injury.

“I will recover, though,” Gerard continued. “If I only give myself time, I will forget my affections for her, and having to reject her will hurt no longer.”

But it occurred to him that he had already made a fatal error. Had he not already fallen in love with Dorothy, and was rejecting her not paramount to losing her forever?

Perhaps, he could ensure that he did not love her any longer. He could, at least, control the damage a little. Gerard could make certain that he did not love her any more than he already did, and that might suffice.