Page 14 of Beguiling the Duke
He strode away without looking back. Lizzie watched until he disappeared down the stairs, then closed the door. She pressed her forehead to the cool wood, tears slipping free as the echo of his parting words lodged deep in her heart.
She knew, even as she bid him leave, that she’d made a grave mistake. But the thought of losing Matthew as she had lost Alfred was too much to bear.
Better a life alone than risking such heartbreak again.
For now, she had packing to attend to. Her visit was over, and it was time she returned home.
Home, where memories of Alfred awaited her—and a cold, lonely bed.
She shook off the thought and summoned her maid. “Let’s finish packing. We leave at first light.”
It was for the best, she told herself.
She’d made her choice. Now, she must live with it.
That night, Lizzie lay awake for hours, her mind churning with thoughts of Matthew. His smile, his laughter, the warmth of his embrace—all lingered despite her efforts to banish them.
She missed him already. Missed the way he made her feel, as if she were the center of his world. As if together, they could face any challenge and overcome any obstacle.
As the clock continued its steady march toward dawn, she finally surrendered to tears. Silent sobs wracked her body as she wept for what might have been, the possibility of a love she would now never know.
The sun peeked over the horizon, its golden light filtering through her bedchamber windows. But for Lizzie, the day seemed bleak and colorless. She knew this sorrow would fade in time, but at present, it felt as if the sun might never shine again.
With a heavy sigh, she rose and began preparing for her journey home. There, surrounded by familiar comforts and friends who loved her, perhaps she could finally make peace with the choice she’d made.
A choice that was necessary, yet brought her no joy. But then, the best choices often didn’t. She could only hope that one day, she’d look back on this and know she’d done the right thing.
For now, she would endure the heartbreak, and trust that it would heal. Even if a part of her would always remain with the man she left behind.
CHAPTER 8
Lizzie spent her first day home unpacking, reading her mail, and trying to settle back into her routine, which meant her first evening would be spent at Sutcliffe’s. Her heart wasn’t into the idea, if she were completely honest with herself, but she needed routine so she could forget about the emotions she’d felt when she was with Matthew.
Tonight’s outing wouldn’t include a liaison with a gentleman of her choosing. It wouldn’t include any gentleman—well, any liaison. No man could live up to the version of the man in her memories, probably not even that man himself. She wouldn’t set up anyone for failure in that way. Until the vivid memory of Matthew faded, she would not sleep with anyone.
That evening, when she arrived at Sutcliffe’s, she felt out of place, as if it were her first night there. It wasn’t a newness that struck her, but a feeling she was out of place. She was certain she could find friends in attendance if she looked. Verity wouldn’t be there, since she planned to remain at their country house for a few more weeks. But Lizzie didn’t need friends nearby to gamble. When she was lucky enough to be on a winning streak, it was often better to be betting against strangers.
As she wandered through the main card room looking for a table to join, she took a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing footman. Downing it much too quickly, she traded the empty glass for a fresh one when another footman passed. That glass was also quickly emptied, about the time she saw the Duke of Dainsfield sitting alone at a vingt et un table. There was a man whose company she knew she’d enjoy. And if not enjoy, at least she wouldn’t be worried about what he was thinking about her. She waved down another footman to freshen her drink as she sat down.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you, Dainsfield.”
His answering look resembled a scowl more than a smile. “Your money pays the bills as well as anyone else’s.”
Lizzie giggled into her champagne flute, the bubbles tickling her nose. “You’re assuming I will lose.” Her record of wins at vingt et un were no better than anyone else’s, so odds were he was correct.
“I do believe you’ve had one too many, my lady.” His eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Nonsense.” Lizzie waved a dismissive hand, nearly upending her glass. “I’m perfectly composed.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Then perhaps you’d care to explain why the footman is lingering nearby with the tray of champagne?”
Lizzie gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in mock affront. “Your Grace, I have no control over what your employees do. Perhaps you should shoo him off.”
Dainsfield arched a brow. “I will not ‘shoo off’ one of my men.”
Their dealer dealt them each two cards, one face-down and one face-up.
“Far be it from me to tell you how to manage your staff.” Lizzie sniffed, then laughed lightly. “I will nurse this glass. I have no intention of becoming bosky. I just needed to relax a bit when I arrived.”