Page 51 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

Nothing was going right tonight. He had thought that immersing himself in painting after the party would help to calm the tempest within him. Instead, it only served to amplify his agitation.

Glancing at the ornate clock on the mantel in the library, he noted that it was well past midnight. Perhaps he ought to concede defeat and retire for the night, as the rest of the household had undoubtedly done. Yet he knew such an attempt would be futile. Sleep would not come easily, not with his mind in such disarray and his heart in turmoil.

His gaze drifted back to the painting. It was a disaster, mirroring the chaos of his thoughts.

Emma had burrowed deep into his consciousness, her image haunting him relentlessly. At this moment, he could not untangle his feelings—was it anger he felt toward her, or was it a desperate longing that he couldn’t quite comprehend?

He replayed their kiss on the terrace in his mind, a moment of unexpected intimacy that had shattered his defenses. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to relive that moment, to stretch it out indefinitely. The memory of her lips against his was now a sweet torture, a reminder of what could have been and yet might never be.

“You look like you need a bit of warmth right now,” a voice said, as a hand bearing a steaming teacup suddenly appeared before him. George looked up to see Alexander’s concerned face as he offered the cup.

“It’s summer. I’m not cold,” George grumbled dismissively, his mood hardly improved by the offer. “What I need is some liquor,” he added, his voice carrying a tinge of bitterness.

“It’s Vervain. And exactly what you need,” Alexander insisted, pushing the cup closer to him with a firm nod.

Reluctantly, George accepted the cup and took a tentative sip, mainly to humor his friend. To his surprise, he found the herbal tea soothing, its warmth unexpectedly comforting against the chill of his internal turmoil.

“Better?” Alex pulled a chair up next to George’s easel and sat down, watching him with an attentive gaze.

“Not bad,” George shrugged, maintaining his gruff facade. But at Alex’s raised, dissatisfied brow, he conceded, “Fine. It’s good,” he admitted, allowing a rare, small concession.

Alex gave a light chuckle at George’s reluctant admission, but his expression quickly grew somber once again. He leaned forward slightly, his concern palpable. “What is the matter, George?” he asked gently.

“What could possibly be wrong?” George retorted, his tone laced with sarcasm as he took another sip of the tea, avoiding his friend’s probing eyes.

Alex studied him for a long moment, his gaze penetrating. “Is it Emma?” he finally ventured, hitting the mark with unsettling accuracy.

At the mention of her name, George sputtered and choked on his tea, caught off guard.

“Careful there. I didn’t bring you tea to have you choke on it,” Alex said with a slight smirk, handing him a napkin.

“Your nosiness tonight is certainly trying to choke me,” George grumbled, his frustration evident as he set the tea cup down a bit more forcefully than intended.

“My nosiness is the only way to get you sharing what the matter is,” Alex countered, his tone gentle yet firm, indicative of his concern and determination to unearth the truth.

“So, what happened between you two?” he pressed on, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked on George’s evasive gaze.

George sighed, having forgotten—or perhaps conveniently ignored—how tenaciously Alex could pursue the truth when he sensed something amiss. “It isn’t Emma. What makes you possibly think that it’s her?” he replied too quickly, his voice carrying a nervous edge that he immediately regretted.

Alex’s response was a measured silence, his gaze unwavering as he studied George, looking for clues in his demeanor. After amoment, he finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “She wasn’t herself the entire evening either.”

George’s mind churned at Alex’s observation.She ought to feel some shame and guilt for her actions if she possessed some decency within her, he thought bitterly.The image of Emma trying to navigate the evening, her usual vivacity dimmed, gnawed at him. The recollection of what he believed she had tried to do in the maze twisted at him once again, fueling a mix of anger and an inexplicable ache.

He still couldn’t fathom why the thought pained him so. And he wondered, perhaps hopelessly, if she felt any pain at all. He supposed not. Why would she? In his eyes, all she wanted was to secure a wealthy match and elevate her position in society, regardless of whom she might hurt in the process.

“You need to slow your steps for a bit, George,” Alex’s concerned voice filtered into his thoughts, breaking through his ruminations. “You’re running to look after everyone around you, and more often than not, you forget to stop and take a look in the mirror. You need just as much attention,” his friend added earnestly.

“Goodness, Alexander. One would think I completely neglect myself,” George snorted, though a part of him acknowledged the truth in Alex’s observation.

“Do you not?” Alex quirked a brow, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth, signaling he knew he had made a point.

“You always follow this,” his friend said, touching a finger to his own head. “And often neglect this,” he moved his hand to his chest now. “You need to listen to both, George. They are just as important as all the people you look after,” he finished, his tone serious, imploring George to take his words to heart.

George grew pensive at his friend’s advice. Was he really missing something somewhere? He wondered. Or maybe you’re just refusing to acknowledge it, a voice in his head pointed out, suggesting that his emotional turmoil might be clouding his judgment.

“Think I can get any more of that tea?” George asked abruptly, finding the conversation about his emotional neglect too close to home. The tea was indeed good, and he did need it. But right now, more than anything, he needed to change the subject of conversation. The implications of Alexander’s advice and the introspection it demanded were making him quite uncomfortable.

“I thought you said the tea was merely passable?” Alex challenged impishly.

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