Page 25 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)
CHAPTER 25
N either lady came down to dinner that evening. Not that Gabriel had expected anything different, but a small part of him hoped they would have joined him, Thalia especially. He and Charlotte had had plenty of fights before—it was the nature of being siblings, after all—but Thalia… it was the first time he genuinely wanted a lady he was “courting” to come back to him. To let him speak, to properly explain himself. The fact that she was upset with him in any way was infuriating.
He sighed heavily, pushing cutlets of pork around his plate before eventually giving up completely, rising from his chair and gesturing towards the servants. “Clear this,” he instructed. “But make sure two plates are made up for Tha—Miss Sutton and Charlotte.”
His servant nodded, curtly clearing the dishes and slipping back to the kitchen. Gabriel stared at the table for a long, absent moment, then pulled his pocket watch free from his vest pocket. The subtle tick of mechanism once held great comfort to him; now, it cracked against his skull, punctuating every word spoken by Thalia not hours ago.
What sick pleasure do you derive from playing these games, Gabriel Harding?
Another sigh, and Gabriel clicked the watch’s lid shut. “Summon a carriage for me,” he ordered. “I’ll be going to the club for a few hours.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” the servant bowed. “Would you like us to place the gowns in a spare room for now?”
Gabriel nodded curtly, wanting them out of his entryway and out of sight as quickly as possible. God, but he needed a strong drink right now.
* * *
The club’s manor was packed to the brim with members, loitering about the entryway while chatting amongst their peers. Many greeted Gabriel’s entrance with a polite nod or a firm handshake, and he settled into his usual visage among his fellow Orions. His brow remained somewhat furrowed, mouth dipped into a perpetual scowl, and he ensured his tone remained neutral and uninterested.
He strolled through the walkway and straight through the dining room, where a number of men smoked and drank together with loud conversation. A few had card decks sprawled out on the main table, no doubt practicing for the upcoming tournament.
Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing how little he’d done to prepare for the event. The last few days had felt like a whirlwind of activity; hopefully Christian hadn’t slacked off on his duties.
“Gabriel?” Speak of the devil; the perfectly-preened man appeared from the kitchen doors, quickly moving to greet his friend. He hardly waited for a reply before grasping Gabriel’s hand and shaking it vigorously, a wide—if not somewhat fatigued—smile painted on his face. “What on earth are you doing here so late? Not that I’m disappointed, mind you, I’m just a bit surprised.”
Gabriel’s expression darkened slightly.
“Oh, no need for that face,” Christian joked. “I simply meant that your current company at home was far more interesting.” He paused, smile loosening as his gaze narrowed slightly. “Unless… you’re here because of said company?”
The drone of chatter amidst the dining room softened, and Gabriel became acutely aware of a few dozen eyes turning their direction.
“No, wait,” Christian said with a slight smirk. “You probably want to see what progress has been made on the cards tournament, and your being here has nothing to do with Miss Sutton! Not to worry, Gabriel. I promised I would handle it this year, and I am not one to break my word so easily. Come; I’ll show you what I’ve put together so far.”
Without another word between them, Gabriel trailed behind his excitable friend, watching as he took the time to greet and hold polite conversation with passing members.
They wound through the hall and up the staircase, having finally been cleared of its blockade from Orion’s Hunt. As they made their way up the stairs and further into the manor, Christian occasionally offered a glance behind his shoulder, clearly concerned, but unwilling to voice it just yet.
Finally, they reached the end of the hall, a large plaque carved with, “Christian Wright, His Grace the Duke of Egerton” in bold lettering. He twisted the knob and pushed it open, allowing Gabriel to pass through first before following after, pulling the door shut behind him.
Christian’s office was as neat and organized as his appearance, with few to no personal touches or decorations to distract him from club work. At least, there hadn’t been previously; Gabriel took note of a dried bundle of wildflowers in a hand-painted vase, a knitted scarf hanging on the back of his work chair. He passed by his friend’s writing desk, catching a glimpse inside a partially-opened drawer with a black, oblong box tucked away inside.
“Louise was hinting about getting a one-of-a-kind writing quill,” Christian beamed. “Don’t tell her you saw anything, though.” He crossed towards a small reading corner as Gabriel dropped into an armchair, glancing through the shelves before pushing a few books aside and producing a beautifully-aged bottle of scotch.
“We’re obviously going to need this,” he mumbled, grabbing a pair of glasses before joining Gabriel in an armchair set across from him. He quickly poured and served his friend a glass, then worked on his own before settling into his chair.
In the blink of an eye, Gabriel polished his glass off and set it loudly against the glass table.
“You really are in a sorry state, aren’t you?” Christian mused, having just barely put his lips to his own drink.
Gabriel shot daggers in reply, reaching across their table to take the entire bottle’s worth for himself.
“You know that bottle costs more than your entire--”
“Not now, Christian.” Gabriel took a long, hard swig, allowing himself to experience the deep burn at the back of his throat. He set the bottle against the table, eyeing his friend with a challenging look in his eye.
Christian rose a brow, offering his full attention instead as he gave his own glass a slight swirl. “Are you in need of an ear, or are you in need of advice?”
Gabriel’s fingers drumming impatiently against the arm of his chair; he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.
Christian took a sip from his glass, setting it on the table before leaning forward in his seat. “If you simply need somewhere to stew, I’m happy to leave you be.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth, acutely aware how deafeningly quiet it was in Christian’s office. Once more, he pulled out his pocket watch, opening the lid as he focused on the ticking mechanism once more. One, two, three, four… He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath, and did his best to quell his mind.
“How… did you know Louise was someone you wished to spend your life with?” He lifted his gaze, nearly launching out of his chair at Christian’s ear-to-ear smirk.
“I’m sorry! I’ll remain cordial,” Christian begged. “I just—give me a moment. That wasn’t—I don’t think I was quite ready for that.”
Somehow, that felt far worse than if he’d simply laughed at Gabriel. He watched impatiently as his friend gathered his own thoughts, grabbing his cup and taking a long, pondering sip. This had been a terrible idea; he should have just gone to the warehouse, thrown a few punches and lost himself in the rush of violence.
Hell, he’d rather be back in his room as a boy, watching as his father completely broke down in front of him. A cold shudder ran up his spine, and Gabriel took another swig directly from the bottle.
“I think…” Christian began, a note of hesitancy in his voice. “Honestly, I wasn’t so certain until what felt like the very last minute. I’d only known Louise for a few days—and you know very well it was nothing like a love match at first. A mere marriage of convenience… It seemed ridiculous, thinking I could grow to adore someone in such a short time.” He stared wistfully at his scotch glass, giving the contents another swirl before taking a short sip. “When I watched her father strike at her… I don’t know.”
“Something snapped,” Gabriel said.
Christian shook his head. “That’s not entirely right. I’ve been angry before—I’ve beaten men for less of a reason—but seeing Louise so willingly throw herself into danger…” He sighed, finishing his own glass before setting it against the arm of his chair. “It felt…primal. An uncontrollable urge to ensure nothing and no one would hurt her again. Not as long as I was alive, at least.”
Gabriel nodded, feeling as if the veil over his mind had somewhat lifted. “I’m certain you’ve heard of yesterday’s incident in town?”
“With the little marquess?” Christian chuckled darkly, hand squeezing tightly around his glass. “I’m amazed you didn’t kill him, honestly.”
“You can thank Charlotte for my lack of action,” Gabriel said.
“She really is growing into a terrifying beast of her own,” Christian laughed.
She was, indeed.
“But, back to the subject at hand…” Christian leaned across the table, glass tilted towards Gabriel. He relented, pouring his friend another before taking a shot himself.
Christian made a slight face, but chose to continue on with his sentence instead of chastising the man. “I think I fully realized it at that moment. When the thought of any harm coming to Louise was worse than anything I could imagine. And you know me,” he offered with a wink. “I can be quite inventive when it comes to torture.”
Gabriel let out a frustrated hiss, setting the bottle back onto the table before leaning back into his own chair. “This isn’t as helpful as you think it is.”
“You’re the one who posed the question,” Christian pointed out. “And, I think it’s unhelpful because you already knew the answer, Gabriel.” He frowned, shifting in his seat before knocking back his entire cup. “What exactly happened between you and Miss Sutton?”
An irritable growl escaped Gabriel’s throat. “She finds me as repugnant as her cousin. A deviant only looking out for his best interests.”
“Were those her exact words?” Christian asked.
“What do the particulars of the incident matter?” Gabriel snapped.
Christian sighed, setting his cup against the table once more. “I know I sound pedantic, Gabriel, but these sorts of matters need careful consideration. I nearly made the same mistake, internalizing and demonizing the words spoken by Louise.”
“Nothing’s been internalized,” Gabriel argued. “To do so would mean I have some emotional regard for Thalia.”
Christian's brow furrowed.
“And I do not.”
Christian’s brow furrowed further.
“And your persistence in this matter will send you home in a matchbox, you obnoxious snoop.”
Christian sighed louder than before, leaning back in his chair before kicking his feet up onto the glass tabletop. “See, that’s your problem, Gabriel. You want it both ways; to come off as cold and uncaring, yet showcase a level of intimacy that will invite women to stay by your side.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly interested in keeping any woman by my side.”
“You’re right,” Christian agreed, a somber note edging into his tone. “You’re interested in one particular woman.”
The scotch now burned terribly in his stomach; Gabriel wished now more than ever he’d gone to the warehouse instead. Knocking his friend’s teeth out would possibly have to do.
“You know, you came to me in search of solace,” Christian began, clearly offended. “And all I’ve gotten from you is overt threats of violence and an embarrassing display of self-pity on your part.”
“Christian, I swear–”
“This isn’t hard, Gabriel. All you have to do is answer one, simple question.” Christian’s tone was sharp, no longer tinged with empathy or his usual fair nature. “What is Thalia Sutton to you? Is she just another fun hunt? Is she a means to the end of an obnoxious little marquess?”
“That’s the problem!” Gabriel snarled, nearly knocking his chair over as he shot to his feet. “I don’t know what she is to me, anymore. I have no clear definition, because circumstances have changed outside of my control and there’s absolutely nothing I can do or say otherwise!”
Christian’s eyes widened slightly, and Gabriel could feel shame twist his already-sickening stomach. He bit the inside of his cheek, furious at himself for such an emotional outburst. At Giles Tilbury, for causing this entire mess to begin with. At Thalia Sutton, for making him feel so… so…
“Vulnerable,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. He shifted in his chair, feeling a warm jolt from the scotch working its way through his system. But, that was only an excuse, he realized; something to hide behind to avoid confrontation altogether.
He stood abruptly, reaching for his night coat slung over the back of his chair. “I’m headed back to Stonewell. You’ll keep things here in order, I presume?”
“I always do,” Christian assured, rising to bid his friend a good night. He gave Gabriel a firm grasp on his shoulder, sincerity still present in his once-more playful tone. “Get it done, Gabriel. Don’t let yourself—or Miss Sutton—go to bed upset.”