“I know. Damnit. I know.” He’d been so fucking patient! Did she not realize what she was doing to him? How long would she make him pay for his mistake? Another week? Until the end of summer?
A lifetime?
He turned away from her. “If I don’t hear from you in three days’ time, I’ll leave forSecourswithout you.” He couldn’t do it any longer. He couldn’t look at her. When her hand dropped onto his arm, he flinched.
“I’m sorry, Chance. I’m so sorry.” She sounded as tormented as he felt. So why then?
He didn’t move until he’d heard her footsteps disappear. When he finally deigned to turn around, he paused and then, in a one violent motion, kicked the table over.
Three days.
A small bark sounded from the doorway. Lancelot did not appreciate such commotion. The dog waddled into the room directly to the turned over table. There, he lifted one leg and relieved himself on Chance’s workmanship.
Well, if that wasn’t indicative of this entire situation, Chance sure as hell didn’t know what was.
“I’ll see you later, old man,” Chance bent down and rubbed the dog’s head.
Lancelot barked.
“Me too.” Chance shook his head mournfully. “Me too.”
Chapter 23
Chance
After wallowing in his townhouse for two days, Chance couldn’t stand himself a second longer. The Hothouse needed a few finishing touches—that and he needed to repair the table he’d sent toppling.
He’d given it his all. If she chose to commit herself to a milk toast man, then that was her choice. He couldn’t force her to do what she didn’t want to. He couldn’t force her to trust him.
How did a person move beyond the catastrophic mistakes he’d made with hisPrincesse? If he’d told her who he was from the beginning, would all of this have ended differently? If he’d explained to her about Adelaide…
But that had not been possible. It had been Adelaide’s secret to tell.
But he’d given Aubrey good reason to distrust him. Hell, he’d lied to her, if only by omission, from the moment they’d met.
But everything else had been real. He’d been more himself than he’d ever been with any woman. He had been real.
They had been real.
Chance closed the iron gate behind him and sauntered to the back of the house. Already, it seemed empty, quiet.
He repaired the table in no time and then turned his attention to organizing the tools and cleaning up some of his unused materials. As he contemplated where to store the leftover wood, barking sounded form within the house, and then louder, along with the opening and closing of a door. “Blasted mongrel!”
Mr. Richard Cline was carrying Lancelot, holding him away from his body, the poor dog’s front and hind legs dangling precariously.
“Cline!” What the hell was Dandy Dick doing to that poor animal?
The other man halted guiltily and glanced up when he realized he was not alone.
Chance had removed his shirt over an hour ago, his hair was likely standing on end and he had mud on the knees of his breeches. Likely his appearance did not reconcile logically with the duke that Mr. Cline had met before.
“Your Grace?”
Chance strode forward and without asking permission relinquished the damned poet of Aubrey’s beloved pet. “Is this prick giving you trouble?”
“Er, no. He made something of a mess inside though and needs to be punished. He’s a bit spoiled but that’s about to end.”
Chance grimaced. He’d not been asking Dandy Dick, he’d been asking Lancelot. The dog rested his head on Chance’s chest.
