“Miss Arabella is basically my fiancée. Was, at least.”
He saw the moment his friend realized that something awful had happened in that carriage.
“Did you… offend the lady?” Morgan accused carefully.
Gerald looked up with a heated look. He was many things, but not a defiler.
“I thought so,” Morgan said, relaxing his shoulders. “I know you, Gerald, and despite what people think, you are not that deeply evil.”
“We did kiss, though.”
Morgan dropped his glass. Luckily, it hit the thick carpet, so it was not broken, but still, a few people turned to see what was going on.
“Can you please control yourself?”
“I would ask the same question, but the answer would be that you can‘t when you are alone with Miss Arabella.”
Gerald looked at his friend menacingly and with an open warning. Such comments were not appreciated.
“I do understand,” Morgan said with glee, “that it is a rare occasion for you to have pleasurable human interaction, but I would like to remind you that what you‘ve just experienced falls into the good category. That means that you don‘t have to resort to alcohol. Yes, it was quite improper what you did, but I am guessing that with Miss Arabella, she was an eager participant. After all, you said it yourself. She‘s basically your fiancée. So no harm done.”
Gerald scoffed at that comment. Harm was indeed done, and tonight all the whiskey in the world could not take that pain away.
“Would you care to pacify my raging thoughts,” Morgan said seriously, “and reassure me that harm was not done?”
“She‘s repulsed by me,” Gerald said. “She called me a monster and very clearly stated that she doesn‘t want to marry me.”
Morgan‘s face dropped. Then he got up, went to the bar, asked for two glasses of whiskey, thought again, and took the whole bottle with him before returning to their table.
“I see,” he said while pouring both of them a new drink. “Well, I can‘t say that I‘m surprised. Your fame precedes you, and on good days, you do absolutely nothing to hinder this reputation. I can only imagine what you do on your bad days.”
Gerald sipped on his drink, his mind replaying the look that Arabella had given him.
“So what are you going to do now?” Morgan asked. “Will you cancel the wedding?”
Gerald frowned the way one does when he‘s about to get stung; he expects it. He knew what he had promised Arabella. But it pained him to admit that this is what he had to do now.
“I‘m still thinking about it,” is all he said.
* * *
It was an hour later that night when Gerald returned to his home, not feeling the least bit better. Still restless, he went to his study instead of his bedroom. He couldn‘t face the prospect of a sleepless night, tossing and turning. It would be better to pretend that he was working.
His mind went back to Morgan‘s question. What was he to do now? He had already applied for a marriage license, and if he were to be true to his word, he would have to cancel that. Admit defeat, let the ton perhaps know that he had failed to secure a bride.
“Darn it!” he cursed.
His door was knocked on as the butler appeared at the door.
“Your Grace,” the butler said. “There is a lady requesting an audience.”
Gerald‘s face darkened. No lady ever requested an audience with him, and surely not one in the dead of the night.
“And who is that lady?” he demanded.
“She refused to reveal her identity and insisted on talking with you.”
Immediately, suspicion got hold of his soul. In the middle of the night was no good sign. This could very well be a scheme from his family to trap him. Still, he was curious to see what ploy they were going to use.
