“Thank goodness,” Bridget replied. “I must get back to the shop today, Ellie. Would your driver be so kind as to take me home?”
“Of course,” her friend nodded. “He is at your disposal whenever you need.”
“Thank you,” she replied, smiling. “So, what do you plan for the rest of the day?”
His side was hurting like the Devil had rammed his blistering fork into it and twisted, but William could only grin and bear it. He sipped his drink, the one for a week, as Tollerman counted the pound notes.
“One thousand and seventy pounds to the letter,” the viscount dropped the last note. “Your debt is cleared, Your Grace.”
“Thank god for that,” he mumbled into the whiskey. “Now, I have four more to go.”
Shifting the money to the side, Tollerman reached for his glass as well. “Should I ask where you came into such a windfall in such a short time or is it better for my sanity not to know?”
“The latter,” William replied while forcing his face to stay stoic as his bruised rib smarted.
Brows lowering, the older man asked, “Arlington, I am worried. Are you doing well?”
“What do you define asdoing well?” William drawled dryly.
“Are you resting, eating well, or are you slaving over ledgers at night, robbing Peter to pay Paul?” Tollerman asked. “When you pay off your debts, are you going to start over again?”
“If you mean recklessly gambling and drinking myself into a wheelbarrow, no,” William replied. “Those days are behind me, but I sense you are begging to know if I will choose a lady, pay the pied piper, and get leg-shackled like every other lord in London.”
"I am.”
A flash of wide blue eyes, an innocent face, plush lips, and a soft kiss ran through his mind. Bridget Wycliff was the lady he now knew was the one he had kissed that night in the alley and the angel at the masquerade.
I want her again.
“The answer to that is no. I am an unrepentant bachelor, and I will stay that way.”
“What of the dukedom?”
“What of it?” William shrugged. “It will survive, or it won’t.”
Sighing, the viscount sagged into his seat, his fingers fiddling with a corner of a ledger. “That is the most pitiful thing I have ever heard. Do you not believe in love, or companionship? That you, of all people, can have the best of the best?”
Companionship in bed, yes.
Looking into the glass, William wished the amber liquid would turn into an oracle and tell him what he needed to say. He didn’t think the other man would understand—or accept—when William told him, he was not too keen on thebeing a Dukepart.
Everyone, ladies most prominently, saw the ducal title as prestige, but he felt it was purgatory. He had been born into the life, but it was not one he genuinely wanted.
He got to his feet and sat the cup down, “You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you. Take care of yourself, Tollerman. I have another engagement I need to address.”
“Have I complimented you on your dress, my lady?” Lord Hansen said as they avoided another couple on the path.
Hyde Park at a fashionable hour felt like a circus instead of a promenade—all vied to see and be seen. They were strolling along Rotten Row, the most fashionable stretch of Hyde Park, and at this time of the afternoon, all the way to seven, members of the ton crammed the tree-lined path.
“One time or three,” Bridget smiled up at him from under her ribboned leghorn hat. “But I will pretend that I have heard it for the first time. Thank you, my lord.”
Lords descended from a cluster of gleaming carriages, helping glamourous ladies out to walk on foot whilst other bachelors paraded on horseback.
Under the mild sunlight, Hansen cut a dashing figure in his dark cut-away coat, crisp silver-gray waistcoat hugging his trim torso, his dark buff breeches perfectly fitted to his sinewy legs. A gem winked in pristine maize-silk cravat. The sun glinted off the rich auburn hair curling over his ears whilst his boots reflected a mirror’s shine.
Knowing she had won his attention and hopefully affection, she ought to have been prancing with joy to be at his side. Instead, that troubling dream kept interrupting what ought to havebeen a prime opportunity to advance her acquaintance with the viscount.
She should not give a fiddle about Brookhaven, or Arlington, or whatever he went by; all she knew was that it was best to avoid him.
