Page 28 of The Duke’s Return (Dukes of the Compass Rose #2)

I t was a carefully measured amount of brandy that Julian put into one glass and then the next. He did everything carefully at the moment. If he made one wrong step, something told him he’d be paying for it.

Especially with Tristan watching his back.

Isn’t a good thing to see my old friend?

Normally, it was a delight. Tristan was one of his oldest friends since university.

They’d befriended two other young lads as well.

Once, he had called the four of them the Compass Rose since their related duchies were tied to different areas of England.

It was even in their names. The Duke of Southwick had one of the southern -most seats in the nation. Or at least the most elegant.

It was Julian who was the jester of the lot. The top dandy and doodle. The smiling one, the rake, the darling of the ton. A role he had fallen into easily once he was finally free of the weight of his family.

But lately it was different. He was different. Wondering who he was now, he forced himself to turn around face his old friend with a familiar smile.

“Here I thought you enjoyed a morning drink,” Tristan said in a mild tone as he accepted the glass.

The man didn’t drink. A duke since before he was an adult, Tristan was the most formal and reserved of their friends. Even Sebastian, hardened by his youth on the streets of London, had more charm than him. Rather, he preferred to frown and glare and judge everything in silence.

How he ever married is a wonder. Although I suppose the marriage wasn’t exactly to their liking at first. Still, Lady Verity is an absolute darling.

A saint, too, to put up with this man. And what that makes Genevieve to deal with me…

Well, I’m surely a sight for sore eyes; she’s free of me most of the time so she can’t think too ill of me. Can she?

But then he replayed the last couple of dances in his mind.

Wincing, Julian slouched back down into his chair in the study.

It was a worn leather seat that hadn’t been upholstered since the day he accepted the dukedom.

The papers had been signed while he was standing; unwilling to use his father’s chair, Julian had found this one in the attic and brought it down.

The chair had served him well. Comfortable and familiar with him.

Just like the partially-empty decanter on his desk.

“Ah.” Tristan finally gave it attention like he had just noticed it, though Julian found that highly unlikely. His friend lifted his glass before taking a small sip. “Very well. A morning drink it is.”

“You can’t judge me if you join me,” Julian countered in the mildest tone he could manage.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. It wasn’t judgement. It was something else. Almost like amusement? That couldn’t be right. Julian took a drink to distract himself. There wasn’t a chance in the world that Tristan could be humored because the man didn’t have a sense of humor.

As he thought this through, he drained the rest of his brandy.

Before him, Tristan huffed and took the decanter out of reach. Not to drink, only to hold it back. “Perhaps we’ll save the rest for later?” He inquired with a certain level of thoughtfulness.

“You mean for afternoon tea?” Julian glanced down at his pocketwatch. “There’s no need to put it away since we always have that early.”

His friend’s lips quirked up. “Liar.”

“This cannot be why you came all this way.” Setting down his glass, he fixed his collar to ensure it sat flat. “What is it? Is Verity well?”

As he had expected, Tristan gave an honest smile. If Julian thought it actually possible, he would say his friend’s eyes shone. “She is very well, thank you. And you? How is your marriage?”

I walked right into that one.

Perhaps Julian should have known. Had he not done this to Tristan when the man was getting married? Caught up in the middle of family business, he had still gone out of his way to attend the wedding, question the bride, and ensure all was well.

While Tristan had needed a few nudges along the way, it had all worked out for them. However, this was different.

Not all of them ever expected to marry. Lords were expected to carry on the line, of course.

But Julian had plenty of family. There was no one for Tristan.

Hardly anyone of their other friends as well, so there was that responsibility.

Sebastian didn’t plan to marry since he didn’t want to continue the line, however.

As for Julian… he had no need. He had plenty of family.

Still, he offered a dry smile and told Tristan, “Everything is as expected. A convenient arrangement.”

“Oh?”

“A polite farce for everyone but us,” Julian added. “Nothing more. I’ll be out of the way soon enough.”

Tristan lifted his chin. “Are you in the way now?”

“How could I not be?” Julian countered, though there wasn’t a chance that Tristan could know.

He wasn’t certain that his wife and friend had ever spoken before beyond their conversation in the hall.

Why the two of them had carried on, however, he didn’t know.

Didn’t understand. Didn’t want to care. “My entire life I am in the way of another. My parents, my family, everyone.”

“Not your friends.”

With a short laugh, he waved off the matter.

“Only because I tricked you lot into befriending me and now I won’t let you all alone.

No, truly, Tristan,” Julian went on when the man looked ready to protest. He smiled all the while as he said, “I am here for a reason. You must know this: to save the family name. To save the title. Our friends know it, I know it, and she knows it. This is all she wants from me.”

Tristan frowned. “Did you ask her that?”

“I don’t have to. She’s clear enough to understand. We’ll salvage the family name, restore my reputation, and then I shall vanish all over again. The two of us are naught but strangers.”

Slowly nodding but with a disbelieving expression, his friend considered his words. Fingers thrummed heavily on the arms of the chair. Then Tristan asked him, “What if she understands you as well as you understand her?”

“What?”

“You said she’s transparent, in her own way,” Tristan pointed out.

Julian frowned. He glanced at his empty glass. And then he considered that yes, Genevieve was rather easy to understand after he gave it some time. She was still mysterious in some ways that left him curious and wondering, to be sure, but he had seen her strength as well as her vulnerability.

How can I live in the same house as she and not know her? I would have to forget her midnight runs to the kitchen, how she likes her feet bare when she’s on her own, and the rare treat of her laughter. I would have to forget how she wears dark blue like a second skin, a color created just for her.

But he didn’t say any of that.

“We are neighbors in this house,” he responded at last. “Therefore, we cannot help but be familiar with one another.”

It was a surprise when Tristan straightened up to say, “That’s balderdash, Julian. I think you’re lying to yourself.”

“Me? Lying to myself? I lie to everyone, Tristan, but not my friends and certainly not to myself. It’s not half as amusing or useful,” he added with a slight grin. He tried not to think about why it felt hard to keep up.

“I met her,” his friend pointed out. “The woman is a firework no matter how you or anyone wishes to ignore her. Besides, I saw for myself how you look at her.”

Brushing him off, he wondered when Tristan would let the matter off. “Tristan, of course I look at her. She’s my wife. If we’re in the same room, it would be blatantly rude not to look at her.”

He forced himself to stay seated even as the thumping of his heart threatened to choke him. The room was much too warm. He fanned himself, trying to stay focused on denying whatever nonsense his friend said.

“But you like her.” Scooting to the end of his seat, Tristan brightened with a sharp curve of the lips.

“You want her, don’t you? But you’re keeping her at a distaste, God knows why.

As you said, she is your wife. She isn’t like the others, is she?

Your duchess isn’t just any other woman.

You like her, you feel something, and it scares you witless. ”

Julian’s mouth opened in bewilderment, wondering how life had come to this point. Hadn’t he had this same conversation with Tristan over his wife? He ransacked his mind for the memory even while trying to deny it, to be certain this was different.

It is. It has to be.

He scrambled for an excuse. For an explanation. For any words that would confirm that he was right, and Tristan was wrong.

But then there was a quiet knock at the door before it opened, silencing him immediately.

His gaze sharpened as Genevieve stepped into the room. Tall and radiant, she gracefully balanced a tea tray in her hands. There was another servant behind her with another tray, it appeared, and they both looked at him.

“I apologize for the interruption, my lords,” she said still poised and collected. “I trust you don’t mind a quick interruption with your drinks and food?”

Tristan rose to welcome her into the room, gesturing for her to come in as though it were his place. Though Julian shot him a look of betrayal, his friend didn’t glance his way once.

“Thank you, Duchess, for the personal delivery,” he said before shooting Julian a pointed look.

He felt his blood rushing to his skull when she smiled at Tristan like they were friends. Like Julian didn’t matter. He rose to his feet abruptly, but didn’t feel the relief he sought when Genevieve faced him. Possibly because her smile was fading.

Bringing the tea tray over to the nearby chaise and table, she set it down. “Shall I prepare your cups?”

Tristan had to manage the conversation as Julian struggled to sort out his heartbeat. Why had his friend said that about him and his wife a moment ago? It put him all out of sorts now.

“Thank you, but no. We can do that ourselves,” Tristan reassured her.

“Very well. Leslie, you can set the tray down here and return to the kitchen,” Genevieve reassured the maid.

She pulled paper from her pockets, turning to Julian.

“I believe Lady Penbury promised an invitation to the charity soiree at her ball and it has just now been delivered for this evening. Might I have a word with you about this? I think it would be a perfect opportunity to––”

His gaze shifted from Tristan’s meaningful look to Genevieve’s collected and polite manners. It was too much for Julian. His spine stiffened and he stepped back, nearly tumbling into his chair.

Shaking his head, Julian said sharply, “Not now. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of an important conversation?”

The circle of Genevieve’s opened lips collapsed as she pressed them tightly together.

She blinked, staring at him. It felt as though he had lit a fire as light shined through her narrowed eyes.

The emotion welling up inside her was too much.

A short glance was all he could endure before looking away.

“I beg your pardon,” she said in tightly formed words. “I did not realize.”

Nodding, he coughed lightly. Then he avoided her gaze as he said, “We can discuss it another time, but not now. Not in here. I’d like to have some privacy with the duke here.”

He saw enough that her cheeks flooded with pink. With a deep nod for Tristan, Genevieve murmured quietly, “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace, for the mistake.”

With a short nod from Tristan, Genevieve departed the room at once. The door clicked neatly shut behind her.

The silence threatened to swallow Julian well. He nearly choked on his next breath. Even though she had taken her leave, the tension radiated through the room with such heat. He wouldn’t forget that flush on her. So sweet. So cruel. Why he had acted so short with her, Julian couldn’t be certain.

Feeling Tristan’s gaze on him, he tentatively grasped his glass again which sat on his desk. He thought of an excuse to fill the silence but then his friend beat him to it.

“You’re a bloody fool,” Tristan said after that long, painful pause.

“What happened to your wits, old man? She’s not only beautiful, your duchess, but she’s obviously clever and kind, even brave to put up with the likes of you on any day.

Better than any of us deserve. You run now, Julian, and you will lose her for good. ”

Julian stewed for a minute. “I’m not running. I have a duty to the crown.”

“What about the duty to your wife? You made promises to God, Julian. And you cannot possibly claim you’re not running away when you’re clearly halfway out the door already. What are you doing?”

It was then Julian realized he didn’t have an answer to that very simple question. He couldn’t have one. It wouldn’t make sense, and it was too dangerous. Dealing with the truth didn’t sit well with his loose tongue.

Besides, the truth is terrifying, and I don’t want to think about it.