Page 33 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

In the time it would take the carriage to traverse Mayfair and jostle through traffic to the Martins’ working-class neighborhood of stores, Oliver could have buried himself in her willing heat and found pleasure three times over.

After all, the first time would be fast. There was no avoiding that. Hell, he’d probably lose control the first time she touched his cock, and not make it inside her until he recovered.

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think of literally anything else.

Silence filled the room. When he glanced up, Dorian watched him with a shocked expression.

“Oliver, this wasn’t your first amorous encounter…”

Rather than answer, he angled his body away from the duke and felt the faint crinkle of paper against his side.

The ace, of course. For some reason he’d started carrying it in his pocket, like a talisman, reminding him to stay the course.

Or perhaps, reminding him that the only thing keeping him on this course was his determination to act with duty and honor.

Dorian sank into the other chair flanking the fireplace. “Are you a virgin?”

“I’ve always known who I’ll marry. Even if I didn’t love Dorcas, or Althea for that matter, I wasn’t going to betray that agreement. Besides, you know about my father. I couldn’t risk turning into him, Dorian. My conscience is all I have as protection against that fate, so I listen to it.”

Dorian stared, apparently fascinated to meet a Masculum virginalis in the wild. “How did I not know this about you?”

“You were happily married, then overseas for years. Even after Juliet died, you weren’t the kind to go carousing.

” Instead, they’d attended the theater, visited their estates, and spent long hours reading or talking about nothing.

When Dorian spoke of women and needed Oliver to chime in, he’d simply omitted a few bits of information.

“I always assumed you enjoyed discreet liaisons and spared me the details.”

Oliver shrugged. “No details to spare, my friend.”

“Was that—Oliver, was that your first kiss?” A deep V dug a groove between Dorian’s eyebrows, and Oliver had to wonder at the marked concern.

“Third, actually. I kissed a barmaid in the village. She was open to more. The earl was in the room, and made it clear he’d not only had her already but highly recommended the experience.

Everyone was watching and laughing, so I ran.

That prompted my conscious decision to abstain.

How could I return to that pub with Dorcas after paying their barmaid to relieve me of my virginity?

I decided, if my fiancée had to wait, there was no reason I shouldn’t as well. ”

“Jesus, Oliver.”

“The second kiss was Dorcas. An experiment of sorts, although I didn’t realize it at the time. Roughly a month before she eloped, she kissed me. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find. That, or the experience confirmed I couldn’t measure up to the man she wanted.”

Dorian shook his head. “Then this incident with Connie was entirely unprecedented. No wonder it’s weighing so heavily. May I ask, which part is most worrisome? That you kissed a woman who is not your fiancée? That she’s Althea’s friend?”

When Oliver winced, Dorian studied him closer. “Or is what’s really bothering you that you want to do it again?”

Heat suffused his body and he ran a finger under his collar, feeling a new sympathy for insects under a magnifying glass.

He couldn’t push aside the truth when stated so directly.

“Althea and I are not a love match, so there’s not as much guilt in that regard.

Especially after Constance explained that she was delivering a message to that man from Althea. ”

“Interesting. What was the message?”

“She wouldn’t say. Having seen the way that Wellsley chap watches her, I can hazard a few guesses.”

“I see. Is it their friendship, then?”

“No. Although that makes me a bastard for saying so.”

“Then you’re kicking yourself for wanting more.” A smile teased Dorian’s mouth, and Oliver didn’t have the energy to call out his friend on such blatant enjoyment of the situation.

“I lost control. Completely lost control. There was no logic or reasoning, or explainable escalation of events. It was just… boom. Like a lit fuse tossed into a barrel of gunpowder. Only far messier.”

“Those are called emotions.” Dorian was fully smiling now, and Oliver searched halfheartedly for something to throw at his head. “They can be bloody inconvenient and often terrifying, but they’re quite literally what makes life worth living.”

Rather than argue, Oliver waved away Dorian’s sarcasm like a pesky bug.

“There’s no reasonable explanation for my reaction—and with Constance Martin, of all people.

I have to believe it was a one-time occurrence.

The… powder keg nature of one encounter isn’t reason enough to change my entire future. ”

“Horseshit. One person can change everything, and you know it. You watched it happen to me—and laughed a few times, if I remember correctly. The issue is, you’ve never cared before.

Didn’t you sit in this very chair and tell me about the appalling situation Sir William created and expects you to rescue him from?

Even though your future and the financial stability of multiple estates are at risk, your analytical brain remained in charge.

Very little emotion. The fact that Connie inspires any reaction at all warrants an examination of your plans. ”

Speaking of analytical brains, Oliver needed his more than ever. “Help me find a way out of this. That’s what I need right now.”

“All right. Let’s play out each scenario.” They’d done this often over the course of their long friendship when one of them faced a difficult decision. “What happens if you cry off from the engagement?”

“Sir William throws a tantrum—which Constance says is already happening. Althea’s knee injury keeping her from dancing?

Fabricated. Her parents are only allowing her out of their sight if she’s with me.

The girl’s practically living in her bedchamber.

If I don’t get her out of there, they’ll take away her dowry—if we can call it such a thing—and she’s stuck under the thumb of a bully for the rest of her life.

” After years with the late earl, Oliver couldn’t stomach the thought of subjecting her to such an existence.

“Oh, and there’s a distinct possibility that he’ll go to debtor’s prison, leaving Althea destitute. ”

“But you get the girl.” Dorian’s tone suggested he already knew Oliver wouldn’t capitulate so easily.

“If I ruin her dear friend’s future, Constance won’t want me, and for good reason. Next.”

“Sir William won’t accept a loan or sell the river instead of marrying off his spawn? You could build your canals and wiggle out of this.”

“I’ve offered. Repeatedly. Besides, if the weather doesn’t change and allow us to grow something, I might not have ready cash to make good on an offer should he change his mind.”

“You could dower her yourself, although I suppose you run into the same financial issue.”

Oliver nodded. “It might take every penny I have to keep my staff and tenants alive if this disastrous growing season continues beyond the year. Have you examined the grocer’s bills lately? Prices are already high because of tariffs, and rising because of anticipated shortages.”

“Damned, bloody Corn Laws,” the duke muttered.

“It’s going to be awful, Dorian. No one knows how long this will last, or how widespread shortages will be.”

Crops were looking dire as nature proved to be a fickle bitch this year.

“Even if the sun came out tomorrow and we miraculously salvaged our growing season, there’s another problem with throwing money at the situation.

Imagine Althea’s chances at a decent match after the scandal of a broken engagement, Sir William’s histrionics and possible stint in prison, then me offering to pay literally anyone else to marry her. ”

“What’s the worst that can happen if you gave in and got Connie out of your system? Assuming, of course, everyone was honest about intentions, et cetera. Hypothetically, of course.”

Memories of the heat from her core rubbing against his cock, and that nipple he’d never fully glimpsed, flashed through his mind.

Oliver shifted in the chair in a futile effort to relieve the building pressure in his breeches.

“In that hypothetical scenario—if I could live with myself and marry Althea after being intimate with Constance—I’d spend the rest of my life desperately wanting to fuck my wife’s dearest friend. ”

Dorian winced. “No matter what, you’re spending the rest of your life in that scenario.”

Oliver shot him a withering look. “Yes. My choices are either marrying Althea and knowing I’ve shagged her friend, or marrying Althea and knowing I want to shag her friend. Only one of those scenarios leaves me with any honor.”

“At some point, emotion has to pair with judgment, as does allowing people to make their own decisions and suffer the consequences. You know what I think? I think you’ve been able to keep your breeches buttoned all this time because you’ve never wanted anyone the way you want Connie.

That’s not living by logic. That’s emotional constipation. ”

Oliver gaped. “Emotional constipation.”

Dorian nodded. “Nathaniel didn’t have a dirty nappy yesterday. When things finally worked their way loose, it was quite the mess. Obviously, it took Connie to work your emotions loose.”

Oliver barked a laugh. “You’re comparing my impulse to kiss a woman to a shitty nappy.”

“Right, I am. Apologies. Perhaps Caro and I need to leave the house and let the nurse take care of Nathaniel for more than a couple hours at a time.”

“I think that would be wise.”

“Consider what I said, though. Ponder the spirit of the metaphor, rather than the excrement of it. You’re finally feeling something for someone, and that is a good sign.

” At Oliver’s doubtful noise, Dorian sighed.

“Would it have been better to have this flood of emotions for Althea? If she returned your affections, then yes. You’ve had years to develop feelings for her, and she’s never affected you like this, so the point is moot.

The situation stinks.” A devilish glint to his smile assured Oliver that the pun was deliberate.

“Could you please stop?”

“I don’t think I can. The puns are rushing out of me. And it’s rather satisfying, to tell the truth. Rather like Nathaniel’s little grunts when he finally—”

“Caro!” Oliver bellowed toward the door. “Retrieve your husband before I throw him out the nearest window!”

“Thrown out of my own home?” Dorian asked through his laughter.

“We’re English. We come from a long history of walking in and taking over, regardless of rightful ownership. Don’t tempt me, friend.”