Page 16 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)

CHAPTER TEN

" I doubt there's anything that can save her reputation now."

Solomon swirled his brandy, watching the liquid catch the dim gaslight. It was a deliberate distraction from the conversation circling the tables behind him at the gentlemen's club. The men's voices blurred together, punctuated by the occasional clink of glass and the tapping of cigars into trays.

He hadn't wanted to come tonight, but Andrew's invitation had been the third this month alone, and Solomon had refused the previous two with vague excuses about estate business.

So when Andrew had asked him to come out again, he figured it was only polite to do so.

So here he sat, nursing his drink in the corner of a room that smelled of leather and lies.

Andrew dropped into the chair beside him with a sigh.

"I'm telling you, Solomon, doing business in London is like herding cats in a thunderstorm.

Chaotic, pointless, and someone always ends up bleeding.

" He snatched Solomon's untouched brandy and downed it.

"Which is why you can't keep glowering in corners like this.

The sooner you learn how these men act, the easier it would be to stir this. .. chaos in our favor."

"Andrew, we are doing just fine," Solomon said. "I managed to talk you into becoming my business partner, did I not?"

Andrew scoffed. "Let's be honest, you did not do a lot of talking.

But moving on, my point is, we have plans.

Big plans. We want to do some good. Some of the men in this room control the docks, the warehouses.

..forming connections with them will come in handy.

If we want to expand our ventures, you'll need to at least pretend to tolerate them. "

"We can use your connections," Solomon said and sighed. "I'm pretty sure everyone here knows who you are."

Andrew opened his mouth to speak but stopped when a man Solomon recognized to be a viscount named Bailey walked up to them, holding two glasses of port. "Your Grace, we've missed you at the card tables." He set one glass pointedly in front of Solomon. "Join us?"

Andrew glanced at the glass. "I'm afraid I've already promised His Grace a nice afternoon, Lord Bailey. I would have to decline, but perhaps next time."

Lord Bailey turned to Solomon with a tight smile and gave him a polite nod before turning back to Andrew. "You'll want to hear this then. Lord Marwood's daughter has been compromised. Spotted riding alone with Rothbury three times this week."

"Lord Marwood?" Andrew asked.

"Yes," he answered and leaned in."She was seen at the Linfield masquerade. Slipped into the gardens alone with him for nearly twenty minutes. Old Marwood's furious. Demanding a duel or a betrothal."

"Good heavens," Andrew mumbled.

"She's been seen alone with him too many times to count," he added while walking away. "Scandalous. And now because of her, the poor viscount is in a tight spot."

The moment he was out of earshot, Solomon turned to Andrew, first scanning the area if anyone was listening before leaning in.

"Explain something to me," he started by saying. "Why does it matter if a woman's seen with a man a few times?"

Andrew nearly spit out his drink. "Why?"

Solomon slowly tilted his head to the side. "Yes, why? There can be several reasons why a lady is seen alone with a man. Why is it so... scandalous?"

Andrew leaned in, lowering his voice. "It's simple. An unmarried lady's reputation is fragile as spun sugar. One unchaperoned carriage ride, one stroll in the gardens without a maid, and the ton assumes she's compromised."

Solomon's brow furrowed. "Compromised how? They were just talking. What if they were just talking?"

"No one assumes they were just... talking. Society operates on the principle that any private interaction between a man and woman must involve... physical indiscretions. Whether it happened or not is irrelevant. The appearance alone ruins her."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Solomon said and sat back.

"Undoubtedly," Andrew said, raising his glass. "But those are the rules. A gentleman's reputation tends to survive such encounters. A lady's does not. Hence..." He gestured toward where Lord Bailey was still gossiping about with some other gentlemen. "... the theatrics."

Solomon stared out the small window as a frown perched on his forehead. Had he been too careless with Emma? He wondered if their afternoon in his drawing room, or their walk through the park fit into the same situation that had put this... viscount's daughter in jeopardy.

Where he grew up, a man and woman could ride out alone without the world collapsing. But here... everything was so bizarrely different.

"Tell me," Solomon continued. "When you say ‘ruined', what do you mean exactly? What's the worst that could possibly happen?"

Andrew paused to think. "For Miss Marwood?

No marriage prospects would be the worst that could happen.

No invitations. Her sisters' reputations tainted by association.

The family might ship her off to some remote estate to live as a spinster aunt, or force her into marriage with some sixty-year-old widower desperate enough to take her. "

Solomon raised his eyebrows. "And that's all because she was seen alone... with a person?"

"A man," Andrew corrected him. "I have seen it happen many times to know that it can be brutal."

The injustice of it settled like a stone in Solomon's gut.

The idea that Emma might suffer because of him unsettled him.

There were no right words to define their relationship, but it was for that reason, he feared society would define it for them.

He thought about her family...and what a scandal like this would do to them.

For the first time, he wondered if keeping her as his tutor was selfish. Every lesson put her at risk. If anyone suggested there was anything improper between them, she would bear the consequences. Not him.

Solomon stood abruptly. "We're leaving."

Andrew stared at him in disbelief. "Leaving? Solomon, we've been here for barely an hour."

"It feels like an eternity," he complained, dropping a few coins on the table to cover the drinks. "Can we go boxing? I feel quite frustrated and I need the distraction."

Andrew rapped his fingers on the table and then shook his head. "Fine, but only because it's boxing. I prefer it to this."

They left the club without another word on their different horses. The short ride to Andrew's private boxing arena passed in silence and soon, they were in the room, preparing to enter the ring.

Solomon went straight to the equipment chest, stripping off his coat and cravat with quick, angry motions. He wasn't exactly sure why he was so annoyed, but he was. He had been in such a situation before, one where there was a chance that he might... ruin someone.

His waistcoat followed, leaving him in shirtsleeves that strained across his shoulders as he wrapped his hands. The linen strips pulled tight around his knuckles... too tight, but he didn't adjust them.

Andrew watched him, taking his time. He watched his friend's jerky movements for a moment before speaking. "Are you all right, Your Grace?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, Your Grace," he answered and walked into the boxing ring.

They faced each other on the mat, gloves raised. Solomon barely waited for Andrew to settle into stance before striking. A sharp left jab that whistled past Andrew's ear but he dodged swiftly and a smile crossed his lips.

"You're slow tonight," Andrew taunted, dancing back. "Do you want to keep lying that there is nothing wrong, or do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing wrong, Andrew. "I'm just..." he paused for a moment before raising his hands again. "Things are so different here it's frustrating."

"Different how? For the look of it, you're handling the change just fine," he said. "At least to some extent."

Solomon sighed and lowered his guard. That was the problem.

Hewashandling London well because of Emma's lessons. Because she had drilled proper addresses into his brain, because she had cautioned him about how to properly engage in meaningless conversations and seem interested. The lessons were helping.

And now he had to give that up? Because if word got out, she would be ruined?

"What is it?" Andrew asked, sounding frustrated.

"Nothing." Solomon lifted both hands again. "Andrew, you haven't thrown a single punch."

Andrew obliged. He came at Solomon hard, gloves up, stance tight, the way they'd sparred a hundred times before.

It started to work, Solomon was so engrossed in avoiding Andrew's jabs that he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

Solomon pressed forward, driving Andrew toward the ropes, his mind blissfully empty for the first time since leaving the club.

But then, like an itch, the thoughts stared creeping back in.

Solomon thought back to the moment they shared at the last ball.

How she had fixed his cravat. He wondered if anyone saw that.

.. if anyone read meaning to it. Knowing how temporarily flustered he had been by her action, he couldn't imagine–

The next moment, all Solomon could hear was ringing.

Andrew's fist connected with his jaw and it had destabilized him.

The punch snapped Solomon's head back, his teeth clacking together hard enough to send a bolt of white-hot pain through his skull.

His vision swam for a moment as he stumbled back a step before swiftly regaining his composure.

"Christ, Solomon– " Andrew muttered. "Where did your defense go?"

Solomon leaned against the ropes, the rough fibers digging into his back through his sweat-damp shirt. The coppery taste of blood still coated his tongue. "My apologies, I'm a little distracted."