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Chapter Thirty-Five

B eing in the gentlemen’s club was supposed to make Dominic feel better. After all, it was the whole atmosphere that had called to him before. Not the people. Except for Simon.

“Well, we meet again,” he told his brandy as he swirled his glass.

He let his eyes be distracted by the scent of aged leather and the best cigars. The place also typically smelled of brandy, like the one he was sniffing heartily. However, he knew that the comfort he found here was temporary.

At the moment, he sat alone, resting his back on a high-back leather armchair. He chose the one close to the fireplace not because he was feeling cold, but because his mind needed something to distract it from memories of his argument with Marianne.

He took a long sip of brandy, hoping the warmth of the amber liquid would help the fireplace dull some of the ache in his chest. He was not supposed to feel anything.

It was his fault, wasn’t it? He attended that stag hunt to solidify business deals, which he might have sealed with sheer skill, anyway. He suspected—no, knew—that Lord Grisham wanted him to marry one of his daughters. Then, he chose her .

There was nothing wrong with Marianne. None at all. The problem was that she was perfect for him, and it gave Linpool ammunition. He was telling the truth when he said that she was his weakness.

No, she was not weak. She made him weak.

But words? He didn’t say them well. Therefore, he needed a place where he could just sit and ponder.

But some things just were not meant to be.

“Dominic!” someone shouted, roughly interrupting his reverie.

He groaned when he looked up to see Lord Pembroke approaching. The man, about his age, seemed younger with his ruddy face and broad grin. However, he was also known for being loud. He also loved hunting tales—something he thought he and Dominic had in common.

“I have not seen you here for a while,” Pembroke remarked.

“I’ve been here. Sometimes. You weren’t here,” Dominic mumbled vaguely, gesturing with his snifter.

“Ah. Never mind, then. We can make up for lost time. What say you join us this weekend? We have planned a hunt. The hounds have been prepared and are plenty eager. We also heard that there would be plenty of game.”

“Not this time,” Dominic replied with a tight smile.

Pembroke huffed and raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with a sarcastic smile. Dominic did not like how the man looked him up and down.

“What’s this? The mighty Duke of Oakmere is declining a hunt? Has the missus made the decision for you?”

Chuckles from nearby gentlemen ensued. It was only then that Dominic realized there were other people in the room. The laughter grated on his nerves, but he clamped his mouth shut and tried not to say anything.

Linpool was the goal, not this poor example of a man.

“Have you gone soft, then? Did the Duchess tell you to stay out of the hunt? Stay out of trouble?” Pembroke prattled on. “Or have you now shunned meat like she had?”

“No,” Dominic replied simply.

His jaw was clenched so tight that he thought his teeth would crack.

Pembroke, seemingly, didn’t understand the word. He thought it was a form of engagement. A response. He leaned in, his breath reeking of whiskey and gin.

It was not an excuse for being a bastard, Dominic thought.

“Come now, don’t tell me your wife does not have you under her thumb yet. It seems that marriage has tamed many wild stallions.”

Again, there was more laughter. Dominic could hear it echoing off the walls. The pain in his chest grew and grew, and he found himself standing abruptly. His chair scraped painfully across the floor. He saw some of Pembroke’s companions wincing.

He still did not answer, but Pembroke had made the mistake of triggering him. The bastard was smirking and acting as if he was much better than him.

“So, you’re not answering? I suppose your wife has a strong influence on you. I am not surprised. The woman is absolutely stunning.”

Without warning, Dominic’s fist connected with the jabbering man’s jaw. Pembroke might be larger, but it was all fat and zero muscle.

The man was sent sprawling to the floor. There were no more chuckles then, just gasps of surprise and horror. His body collided with the legs of the table, sending some glasses to the floor.

“Bloody hell!” someone bellowed.

There was pure shock there. They hadn’t expected Dominic to do that.

On the floor, Pembroke groaned. He wasn’t quite unconscious, but he was struggling to get up.

After a few seconds, he finally scrambled to his feet.

Everyone could see the blood trickling from his lip.

His teeth must have cut his lower lip when Dominic’s fist connected with his jaw.

Meanwhile, his jaw was already turning purple.

He cradled his jaw with one hand while blood continued trickling from his split lip. “You’ve gone mad!” he managed to mumble.

Pembroke was angry enough to think it was a good idea to swing his fist at Dominic. He did so, but it was wild. Using his bulkier body, the man pitched toward Dominic and they collided, knocking over a side table. This time, decanters crashed to the floor.

It was official. Nobody should be walking barefoot anywhere. Other gentlemen rushed to intervene, but chaos somehow already reigned in the club. People went there for serenity, but that evening, they were caught on a battlefield.

“Stop this now!” the steward shouted, rushing to restore order.

It took several minutes for the brawl to end, even though some who were involved didn’t know much about the cause of it.

Dominic was right in the middle of the wreckage, with bruised and bloodied knuckles. At that moment, though, he felt numb. There was no pain, but he knew that it would come.

Pembroke lay back on the floor, clutching his ribs. Dominic hoped that the bastard would finally realize it was a mistake to test him.

The steward, pale-faced and trying not to tremble, approached him. Dominic could see through the apologetic look on his face.

“Your Grace, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. This behavior is unacceptable.

“Of course,” Dominic mumbled, his chest heaving.

He understood. He might not have started the brawl, but he certainly ended it with a bang. Hestrode to his seat and retrieved his coat and hat. With a final glance at the carnage, he stepped out into the cool air.

He realized one new thing that night—he would not allow anyone to say anything terrible about his wife, no matter what, even when she did not want to speak with him.