What happened must have been a reaction to how much the woman frustrated him. That’s all it could be. Yesterday, she had spoken down to him. Today, she had disobeyed a direct order. She was cantankerous. She was argumentative. And not being used to such things was likely why she elicited these feelings in Alistair.
Not the best explanation I have ever come up with, but it will have to do.
He forced the woman from his mind, convincing himself that she was not important. And then, he walked into his office, figuring a few hours of work was the best way to regain focus and forget about the troublesome governess.
“It’s about time.” Theodore Merrick, the Duke of Carrowell, sat behind Alistair’s desk. He had his feet up, his arms behind his back, and he wore an amused smirk that smacked of mockery. “I was just about to start trashing the place, to alleviate my boredom. It is lucky you came when you did.”
“Carrowell!” Alistair started at the sight of his best friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Do I need an excuse?”
“Better question…” Alistair narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing in my seat?”
Carrowell threw back his head and laughed. “Trying to upset you, of course. And from the look on your face, it is a job well done.”
“Out.” Alistair strode across the room and indicated for Carrowell to remove himself. “Now.”
Carrowell sighed deeply and dropped his legs, then he rose from behind the seat and sulked around the desk. “Yes, yes, no need to bite my head off.”
“I was thinking more that I would take you by the scruff of the neck and toss you onto the street.”
“All right, someone is in a mood.” Carrowell fell onto the seat across from Alistair. “More than usual, anyhow. I don’t know why I bother.”
Carrowell was one of two men in the world who could talk to Alistair the way that he was. Like Alistair, he was a duke, which gave him the confidence to do so. Unlike Alistair, he was possessed of infinite charm and humor, a complete contrast to Alistair’s more moody and serious presence.
It is a wonder we get along at all. Although ‘getting along’ is a stretch most of the time. Really, we tolerate one another.
The reason that they were such good friends was on account of the third member of their party, Christopher Kingswell, the Duke of Thornwall. He acted as a medium between the extreme personalities of the two men, and rarely did they spend time together unless all three were present.
Frustratingly, Thornwall had found his attention occupied recently by his new bride, a marriage that was contentious, unexpected, and ripe with drama. Perfect proof, as Alistair saw it, against marriage and all things related to love and romance.
Not that he needed the proof…
“I wasn’t planning on visiting you, if that makes you feel better,” Carrowell sighed as he got comfortable. “But I was in the area and thought I would pop in and see how things are going.”
“In the area?”
“Visiting Thornwall and his new bride…” Carrowell shook his head with amusement. “Which itself was an exercise in self-pity. Remind me never to wed. And if I ever look as if I might, you have permission to take me outside and shoot me.”
“Why wait?”
Carrowell blew through his lips. “Feel free to give me permission to do the same to you.” He flashed his eyes with humor. “From what I have heard, I might not have to wait nearly so long.”
Alistair’s face dropped. And then his stomach followed.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ah, so it’s true then.” Carrowell sat up and leaned forward. “I had heard that you were…” He pressed his lips together to keep his smile at bay. “… courting Lady Emily Pierce. But I refused to believe it. Not Alistair Locke, I said! Not my dear friend, a man who I know would rather have his toenails ripped out than –”
“I told you that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Perhaps we should,” Carrowell said. “If what I have heard is true, you are not so much courting her as you are wasting her time and your own. You do know that in order to court a woman, you are expected to spend time with her? To get to know one another. The entire concept of courtship is based on finding someone whom you can stomach for longer than one evening, so that when marriage is proposed –”
“And what do you know about such things?” Alistair snapped, his anger rising.
Carrowell flashed his eyes. “Marriage? About as much as you, I dare say. But women…” He winked and shrugged before falling back in his chair. “Enough to fill a library. Perhaps two, depending on the size.”
If Alistair had known that Carrowell was waiting to see him in his office, he might have walked outside, jumped on his horse, kicked it into action, and never looked back. Such was how he loathed this conversation and what it implied.
