Page 23 of Enchanting the Duke

Nomansland turned, setting the glass down with deliberate care.He didn’t sit.

“It was not a joke,” he said.“And it was not a game.”

Abingdon scoffed, but the sound was hollow.“So what, then?You fancied her and thought you’d take your chance before someone better came along?”

This time Nomansland’s voice carried steel.“No.I decided a week ago I was going to marry her.The rest—” He shrugged, wincing as the movement tugged at the bruised muscles of his neck.“The rest was clumsy.I’ll grant you that.”

Abingdon’s eyes narrowed, searching Nomansland’s face for any sign of mockery or evasion.Finding none, he barked a bitter laugh.“You’ve ruined her,” he said, as if announcing a verdict.

“Gossip will pass.I’ve said I will marry her.”

Abingdon’s hands balled into fists, but this time he kept them at his sides.“You’re a reckless bastard.You always have been.”

“Agreed.”

“And yet—” Abingdon looked away, wrestling with something unseen.“She seems to think you’re worth the risk.God knows why.”

Nomansland let the words hang, heavy as lead.

They stood in silence, the space between them charged with the unspoken knowledge of what men like them could and could not say aloud.

At last, Abingdon spoke again, softer now.“If you ever hurt her—if you ever make her regret this for even a day—I will see you in the ground.There won’t be enough left of you to bury.”

Nomansland accepted this with a nod.“I understand.”

He expected Abingdon to storm out, or perhaps throw another punch for good measure, but the other man just stared at him, the fight draining out of him by degrees.

“What will you tell her?”Abingdon asked, voice small.

“The truth,” Nomansland said.“That I want her.That I intend to make her happy, if it kills me.”

Abingdon grunted, a sound halfway between approval and defeat.“See that you do.”He turned toward the door, but paused.“Do you love her?”

Nomansland considered the question, tasted the word on his tongue.It was not one he had ever spoken in earnest.“Yes.”He was surprised to find it didn’t hurt at all.

Abingdon nodded, almost imperceptibly, and let himself out, closing the door with a softness that belied every threat he had made that night.

Nomansland remained by the window, watching the streetlamps flicker in the pre-dawn gloom.

He knew what was expected of him now.

And for the first time, he found he didn’t dread it.

CHAPTER NINE

The bruising had settled into an impressive half-moon beneath Nomansland’s eye—a trophy, in its way, of the previous night’s negotiations with Abingdon.He inspected it in the murky reflection of the carriage window as he rattled through the morning streets, contemplating whether the purple would clash with the lapis of his best coat.He’d chosen the coat on purpose, the fabric was imported, the cut was severe, and the lapels, though a little foppish, announced to the world that he was a man who intended to be seen.

If ever there was a day for being seen, it was today.

He arrived at the Westfall address at a quarter past eight—indecent, but he figured that indecency was already his trademark.The house sat silent, and he feared he should have waited a few more hours.Although he hadn’t slept, there was a chance Chrissy had and was still in bed.

He rapped twice.The door was answered by a housekeeper, a fortress of pale linen with a glare that dared even the Duke of Nomansland to argue.

She took in his person—coat, cravat, the shiner—then pursed her lips.“His Grace,” she said, without the faintest upward inflection.

“Good morning.I’m here for Mrs.Westfall.Is she awake?”

The housekeeper tilted her head, evaluating.“She is at her charities, as always.Do you wish to leave a message?”