Last night… a blonde and a brunette…
“We’ll take good care of you, Your Grace.”
“Merde, quel idiot,” he growled. “What did I do?”
“Nothing, aside from lowering the dignity of the peerage by drooling into the upholstery. Bravo.”
Dash blinked, bleary eyed, not sure he understood. He could have sworn…
“You’ll have to thank Longstaffe,” Hawk said, laughing as he gave his head a rueful shake. “The man could haul a bluestone out of Wales to Stonehenge, no doubt—because dragging you out, stuffing you into the carriage, was no small feat. Otherwise, you’d have woken at the Domus alone. Or perhaps not alone…” He clicked his tongue, tut-tutting before his grin broke through. “And for his trouble? You kept lamenting that it was only justice—that you were finally paying for Harrowgate… and then cast your accounts all over the poor man’s Hessians.”
That was… far too many words in a row.
Cradling his head in his hands, Dash struggled to parse out the most important pieces of that rant. He had passed out after he’d… poured out his heart? To Hawk?
“What exactly did I say?” Dash asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Ah, yes…” Hawk’s eyes darkened. Dash felt his spine stiffen. Dieu, was it that bad?
“You mentioned Sebastian—and something Grimm said to you yesterday. And I…” Hawk hesitated, then pressed, “Tell me you don’t still blame yourself for his death.”
Not this. Not now. Dash pressed the heels of his hands onto his eyes.
Hawk should already know the answer to that.
“Seb and I were sparring, as I’m sure you recall,” he reminded Hawk. “Up on the cliffs. Then he was gone.” It was as simple as that.
“So you assumed, what, that you shoved him off in a fit of drunken rage?”
Dash frowned, the line of his brow deepening. He did not appreciate his friend’s nonchalance. “Maybe not precisely like that, but… The cliff was right there. It is the only thing that makes sense.”
“No. It’s not.” Hawk’s tone was dry as old sherry. “God above, you’re a clever man, Dasborough, but sometimes you can be the greatest fool. After your little duel, Sebastian went walking with Bash and Longstaffe. Hell, you were dead to the world, foxed senseless… You never pushed him, accidentally or otherwise.”
Dash’s head throbbed. No, but… that could not be right. “But Grimm?—”
“Grimstead?” Hawk gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “That fool was as deep in his cups as you. I’d be astonished if the blighter remembers his own name from that night.” He rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed, long-suffering. “Merciful Lord, what sin did I commit to be shackled with such idiotic friends?”
In that moment, Dash was too stunned to take offense.
Was it possible that he had not killed Sebastian? Mon Dieu. The very ground had shifted beneath him. Impossible. “I—You cannot know this for certain. You were drinking as well. Your memory—mon ami, it may be no clearer than mine.”
Hawk’s brow shot upward, but for once the irony didn’t follow. His voice was low, sober. “None of us knows precisely what befell Sebastian that night. What I do know is that we embarked on a veritable pageant of poor decisions, and he was the one who paid the price.” The sadness in his eyes lingered, just for a heartbeat, before he shook his head and forced a humorless laugh. “Your sword may have nicked his cheek, true—but I was the genius who nicked the gin. So yes, blame yourself if you like. But blame me too. Blame all of us. We earned it together.”
His smile faded, leaving his voice quieter, more certain. “But Sebastian’s death? It’s not yours to carry alone. Know that.”
Dash’s pulse thudded in his temples. He could not imagine his life without the weight of guilt; he did not know how to breathe without it.
At length, Hawk leaned back and studied him with that sardonic twist of mouth.
“I suppose it explains a great deal. Why you were so quick to agree to marrying the Beresford chit. If you’d thought you had any real choice in the matter, you’d at least have hesitated.”
Dash nodded.
Slowly.
In truth, he wasn’t sure what he would have done if things had been different. It didn’t change the fact that he’d been Lady Hannah’s only real option or that she’d been his sister’s friend. He would have felt some responsibility towards her, but would he ultimately have abandoned Ambrosia?
“Speaking of,” Hawk went on, one brow cocked, “you rambled about your beloved widow as well. Your princesse, was it? Declared you had to go to her—right before you toppled over like a felled oak. Tell me, did the two of you actually exchange wedding rings? What in God’s name were you thinking?”
