WELL MEANT ADVICE
The door to Beckman House closed behind him with a dull, final thud, the sound echoing through the quiet hall.
Like a coffin lid sealing shut.
He shrugged free of his jacket and passed it to his waiting butler, releasing a weary breath—only to stiffen at the words: “Lord Hawkins and Lady Beatrice are waiting in the drawing room, Your Grace.”
“For me?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Merde…”
His shirt hung loose from where her hands had tugged it free, his cravat twisted, his hair standing on end from her fingers. But it wasn’t the disarray that stopped him cold. It was his own eyes staring back. Hollow. Defeated.
He pushed into the drawing room and, for the barest instant, hesitated. His sister and his closest friend leapt apart on the settee, guilt flashing across their faces.
But no. Their expressions were not scandalous. They were troubled. Guarded.
Of course. They had been speaking of him. What else could they possibly have in common?
Hawk recovered first, his eyes hardening into resolve. “You need to stop.”
Dash didn’t need to ask what he meant.
Beatrice, pale but steady, gestured toward a chair. “Dash… please, sit down.” Her brow furrowed as her gaze raked over him.
Dash did not sit.
Beatrice pursed her lips. “You’ve lost weight. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. I hear you pacing the corridors half the night. This… it has gone too far.”
Hawk leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his usually careless expression grave. “She’s right, my friend. You’ve driven yourself to the edge over this. And for what?”
“Don’t you think that, perhaps, it’s time to just… let her go?” Beatrice added.
Par Dieu!
The only two people he truly trusted had been lying in wait to ambush him.
Dash barked a laugh, short and sharp. “Let her go? You speak as though it were so simple.”
Beatrice’s eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin, that typical stubbornness of hers rearing its head. “I know it isn’t simple. And I know you. But what more can you do? You’re destroying yourself. And still, she hasn’t chosen you.”
He bristled.
“You don’t know,” he growled. “You’ve no idea what passes between us.”
“Do you?” Beatrice asked.
“I can’t expect… Two years. I was gone for two years… Of course it will take time to repair things after—” He broke off, teeth grinding.
Hawk rose then, putting a hand on his shoulder. “If she hasn’t forgiven you by now, she never will.”
But Dash had heard enough. He sliced his hand through the air.
“I’ve come this far,” he bit out. “She will decide in three days. I will give her that.” The look Beatrice sent him was thick with pity. The look Hawk sent was… resigned. “Until then, both of you. Keep to your own business.”
Neither of them agreed, nor disagreed.
