Page 19 of A Duchess to Reclaim (The Devil’s Masquerade #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“B loody hell, get out my way,” Dominic slurred, shoving the object that had stoved his foot. His hands connected with solid wood and he blinked his blurry eyes; the shape of a bureau coming into view.

It hadn’t been a person that had hurt him. It was a damned piece of furniture. Sighing wearily, Dominic leaned against the chest of drawers. The world spun as he looked over Amelia’s abandoned bedroom; misery beating down on him.

She was gone. He’d hoped as the days of her absence grew into weeks that the hurt in his chest would go away- but instead it had only worsened. He missed her. Terribly.

And every time he got drunk- which was now quite often, he ended up here. In her rooms. He hadn’t slept in his own bed in days. Instead opting to fall drunk and unconscious into Amelia’s old sheets, which he refused to allow the maids to strip away.

Amelia had given him everything he wanted by accepting who he was. He should be happy, grateful. But instead he felt nothing but contempt for the woman that had made him feel.

Dominic righted himself, then stumbled toward the front of the bureau. She’d taken most of her things, leaving the top of the bureau empty. Even though he suspected the drawers to be the same, he opened them anyway; hoping for something he could not quite identify.

When he found the drawers empty Dominic felt another surge of anger, and he slammed his hands down onto the bureau, cursing. As he did so, the top right drawer let loose a pop , and the bottom sprung open. Dominic swayed on his feet as he ripped the false bottom out of the drawer, and there, hidden away, was a stack of letters.

Gathering them up, he stumbled toward the bed, and fell awkwardly into the twisted sheets.

“What is this?” He grumbled, fumbling with the first letter atop the stack.

Through his drunken haze he mangled the envelope until he finally got the letter loose, then his heart stopped as his eyes alighted on the daintily scribbled words.

Dear Dominic,

I know these words will never reach you, as I will never send them. Even if I would, I doubt you would read them. But I need an outlet, so this is for me, not you.

Through his drunken sadness Dominic smiled, picturing the no-doubt haughty look his wife probably had on her face as she wrote such taunting words.

I do not know if I will ever see you again. From what I hear, it is doubtful. I have been told that you have a certain way you do things, and that you do not deviate from them for anyone. So I do not expect you to deviate for me, even if we are now married.

Since I did not get the opportunity to do this in person I will take it here now: Thank you. Thank you for saving me from the auction. From my father. I am angry with you for leaving so quickly after our wedding, but that does not mean I not grateful for the new path you have placed me on. Ellsworth manor is beautiful, and as peaceful as you promised.

Even with your absence and obvious lack of affection for me, I believe I will find happiness here. Speaking of your absence, since you are not here to negate me I have decided to do a little redecorating…

Dominic felt his sobriety slowly return as he read through the later. At the bottom it was signed, Your Wife, Amelia.

He tore open another, hungry for her words. The second one had more vitriol than the first as she felt more comfortable revealing her angry feelings toward him. Still, after she’d written her curses out, she’d described her days. What she’d done to the manor thus far, what she’d discovered. Signed again with Your Wife, Amelia.

He read through them all, finally getting a true glimpse into the world he’d abandoned Amelia in. Her hostility toward him was clear, yes- but so was her intense gratitude. Even when she wrote vile curses directed at him, they all ended in thanks.

When he finished the last letter Dominic’s stomach was in painful knots, and it had nothing to do with the vast amounts of whiskey he drank. He’d done this. Left her. Again. Only this time he hadn’t just hurt his wife. He’d hurt himself. Filled with savage regret and self-pity, Dominic lowered his head to Amelia’s pillow and wallowed in her lingering scent. It was fading by the day. Soon it wouldn’t be there at all, and he would be left with nothing but the letters filled with curses and thanks.

“Dominic? Dominic! Where the bloody hell are you, man?!”

Dominic’s head shot up too quickly, making the whole world spin. He scrambled off the bed just in time to spare the sheets from his onslaught, and wretched onto the floor. He let out an agonizing groan as two sets of footsteps came hurriedly into the room.

“Jesus,” Everett’s voice seemed to boom from above.

Dominic winced at the loudness, his head starting to split in two.

“Not so loud,” he groaned, shaking his head.

Everett sighed as he and Tristan came to Dominic’s sides, and they both pulled him to his feet.

“I’m not being loud, old boy, you’re simply far too drunk for your own good,” Everett replied, shaking his head. “I thought I was the drunken fool in our group? Why are you trying to steal my title?”

Dominic let out a bitter laugh as he let his friends help him out of Amelia’s room.

“Yes, well, you weren’t living up to your title as of late,” Dominic slurred, “So I thought I’d sweep in and take your crown.”

Everett let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head.

“First I was drinking too much. Now not enough. You’ve got to make up your mind, old boy. I’m too simple to be pulled into so many directions.”

Dominic chuckled again, but Tristan didn’t seem to find it so funny.

“Jesus, he smells,” he muttered from Dominic’s other side.

“Yes, well, when you have nothing but whiskey in your veins that will happen,” Everett retorted, “I speak from experience.”

“Do not talk of me as if I am not here,” Dominic said bitterly, throwing a glare toward Tristan.

“Are you here?” Tristan asked, he and Everett slowly taking him down the stairs. “We wouldn’t know that to be true as of late. You’re never in meetings anymore. We don’t see you at White’s- though it is obvious you’re getting your whiskey somewhere- and you haven’t set foot in a boxing ring ever since Everett planted you that blow.”

Through his drunken sorrow Dominic felt a different sort of guilt. One for worrying his friends.

“Leave me alone,” he said bitterly. “I am coping with sorrows.”

“Sorrows?” Everett laughed. “As in feelings? Do you hear that Tristan? Sounds as if our Cold King has finally found some emotion.”

Dominic bristled at the moniker, and shoved away from his hands grips.

“Do not call me that,” he yelled, stumbling down the last two steps. “ She called me that.” He lowered his head and muttered, “It was a term of endearment.”

Tristan and Everett put their hands on their hips and shook their heads.

“I was trying to handle this with my usual witty banter but this is just too sad,” Everett said.

“Dominic,” Tristan said, his tone loud and firm, “Enough of this. Go back to Ellsworth. Go back to your wife. You’re miserable!”

“I’m fine!” Dominic shouted, then immediately groaned and held his aching head.

Tristan snorted as he and Everett grabbed his arms again, hauling him toward the back of the house.

“If you are fine than I am a lady,” Tristan retorted. “Seeing as how I have a prick between my legs, I highly doubt that you are fine.”

“We don’t know that,” Dominic retorted, “We’ve never seen it.”

He chortled at his own joke and then frowned.

“That was poor form. Apologies,” he slurred. “Where are you two taking me?”

“Outside,” Everett said, pushing open the rear doors that led to the terrace. “You reek of spirits and you need some fresh air. Some food too.”

“I told you I’m fine-”

“For heaven’s sake, you are not fine!” Tristan boomed, roughly pushing Dominic into one of the chairs beneath the moonlight.

“I have lost my father, I am losing my mother, my sister is coming undone by the stress, and curse it I cannot have you coming undone too!”

A stunning sense of sobriety overtook Dominic as he finally took in his friend’s face. He looked ravaged with sleep deprivation and stress, and though he couldn’t dare to look in the mirror, Dominic imagined he didn’t look as bad as Tristan did. Because unlike him, Tristan was facing his problems sober and outright. Like a man was supposed to do.

“Tristan, forgive me,” Dominic replied. “I never meant to become another one of your problems.”

“You know what, I’m going inside to fetch some food,” Everett said, “Give you two time to talk.”

Tristan sighed wearily as he and Dominic were left alone. Dominic rubbed his temples, wishing for the first time in weeks that he was actually sober.

“This isn’t you , Dominic,” Tristan said, his voice more restrained, “You and I. We face our lives head on. We don’t hide between whiskey like Everett or use our secrets as shields like Hugo. We, we face life! We wrangle and force it to bend to our will.”

“If I were drunk I would take offense to that,” Everett piped up, coming back out with a tray of food and a pitcher of water, “But now that I am sober most of the time I can see how you would arrive to that conclusion.”

He sat down the tray, poured Dominic a glass of water, and sat a hunk of bread before him.

“The young Earl is right, you know,” he added, nodding toward Tristan.

“You let Amelia go because you were afraid she was going to try to change you. But you already changed yourself. Personally I’d rather have you lovestruck and changed than-”

He paused, waving a hand at Dominic, “-whatever this version of you is.”

Dominic narrowed his red-rimmed eyes toward Everett.

“Since when did you become so wise?” He asked.

Everett flashed a charming smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“ Someone told me that there was more to life than whiskey and morally questionable women,” he replied. “Turns out they were right.”

Dominic huffed out a laugh, feeling clearer than he had in weeks.

“I have been foolish,” he stated.

“Perhaps,” Tristan said with a smirk. “But do not dwell on the past. It is time to prepare for the future. Something you are very good at.”

He sat down next to Dominic and pushed the hunk of bread toward him a little closer.

“So get something in your stomach to sop up all that whiskey, get some fresh air, and then for the sake of us all, wash the stink off of you. I adore you, old boy, but you smell worse than the fish market.”

Dominic lowered his nose to his armpit and nearly made himself retch.

“Jesus,” he muttered, jerking his head away. “I had no idea.”

Everett and Tristan laughed at Dominic’s expression as Tristan slapped him on the back. They were right, he realized. About everything. He needed to get himself together, get to Ellsworth, and beg for forgiveness. And though she had no reason to, he prayed to God that Amelia would let him come back.

As he worked at eating the bread and drinking the water, which was a task all its own since he had nothing in his system but whiskey for the last several days, he sat in the moonlight as Everett and Tristan filled him in on all the business he’d missed.

He was astounded by the amount of covering his friends had done for him, the deals they’d been able to save as he wallowed in misery and self-pity. They had truly been there for him when he’d fallen, and though he’d always cherished his friends, he had never expected they would go so far to protect him when his luck would turn.

After an hour of conversing, breathing in the cool, refreshing night air, and eating nearly two loaves of bread, Dominic’s head had stopped throbbing, he’d stopped shaking, and his vision was much clearer. He was just about to get up to go get a much-needed bath when the butler stepped through the terrace doors. Dominic rose to his feet as he saw the man’s anxious expression and felt another pit form in his stomach.

“What is it?” He asked, Tristan and Everett rising at his sides.

“There is a man from Ellsworth here to see you, Your Grace,” Alex replied. “He says he is the captain of the guard there, and has some urgent news.”

Dominic felt the world spin again- this time for a very different reason.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“He is waiting for you in the foyer, Your Grace,” Alex replied, bowing toward Dominic.

Not waiting to hear anything else, Dominic hurried past the butler, Everett and Tristan right behind him, and made his way to the entrance hall.

“Jonathan,” he said, greeting the head guard with a nod. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be watching my wife.”

Though the head guard was an entire head and a half taller than Dominic and far more broad, the man paled at Dominic’s gruff tone, and bowed.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I did not know what to do about Her Grace and Miss Briarwood,” he replied.

“About what?”

“Theo?!”

Dominic and Tristan spoke at the same time.

“Where is my wife?” Dominic demanded.

“She is here, Your Grace,” Jonathan answered quickly, “In London.”

For all he had missed her Dominic wanted to feel relieved at the news that she was so close…but something wasn't right. If she were here with good reason, Jonathan would not look so worried.

“I ask again,” he said slowly, his voice dipping several tones as he clenched his fists. “Where. Is. My. Wife?”

“She left Ellsworth earlier today and demanded I stay to watch over the children,” Jonathan answered. “I know I was wrong to disobey her orders, Your Grace, but something was not right. I followed her, and when she got out of her carriage to meet Miss Briarwood she looked…different. And she was wearing a mask.”

Anger, hot and white shot through Dominic’s so fiercely that for a moment he struggled to breathe. She wouldn’t- not after everything they’d been through, everything they’d said to one another- would she?

A sense of betrayal hit him square in the chest shortly after, and he shut his eyes to the pain. Too late. He was too late to make things right. She’d gone back to the one thing that had given her power: the Devil’s Masquerade. Would she find a paramour this time?

“Your Grace,” Jonathan said, his tone full of worry.

“Dominic, you open your damn eyes right now and look at me,” Tristan demanded, his tone seething with anger.

Dominic’s eyes flew open and he glared at his friend.

“Something tells me my sister is responsible for this,” Tristan huffed, working his jaw back and forth with obvious frustration. “But we can figure out whether that is true or not after we go in and get them out.”

Through his pain Dominic felt the truth of Tristan’s words, and nodded.

“Where are you going?” Tristan called as Dominic walked toward the stairs.

“To wash up,” Dominic called back, taking determined steps, “If I’m going to go get my wife, I have to look much better than this.”

In the bath he washed himself, rubbing his skin almost raw with soap and cloth, then pulled on his favorite black on black suit. From his closet he then retrieved a box he hadn’t opened in ages, and took out the black horned mask.

If his wife wanted to meet a devil, he would give her one.