Page 73 of Duke of Pride

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The familiar haze of cigar smoke and the low murmur of aristocratic voices enveloped Stephen as Frederick all but dragged him into White’s.

Frederick shoved him into a secluded booth, away from prying eyes, and signaled for a bottle of whiskey. The moment it arrived, Stephen poured himself a generous measure and downed it in one burning swallow. Frederick watched him with a mix of exasperation and concern.

“You look like you went to hell and then were dragged through a desert by a horse.”

“Sounds pretty accurate.”

Frederick took a sip of his drink and studied him, considering how to approach the feral man sitting across from him. It seemed that head-on collision was the strategy he chose because the next word he said was devastating.

“Victoria.”

The moment he uttered her name, Stephen’s entire body went rigid. His fingers, which had been tracing the rim of his glass, stilled. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look up. His heart stopped and raced at the same time.

Frederick exhaled slowly, leaning forward. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Stephen’s voice was rough.

“Come on.” Frederick swirled his drink, choosing his next words carefully. “For anyone who knows you, it is obvious. The way you watched her when you thought no one was looking. The way she could make you laugh when the rest of us couldn’t.”

More whiskey. Why hadn’t Stephen thought about whiskey before? It seemed so much more efficient.

But Frederick was not done yet.

“And as if all of that wasn’t enough, the way you’ve been drowning yourself in brandy since she left is pretty telling.”

“Frederick,” Stephen warned.

“What did you do?”

Stephen exhaled, the fight draining out of him, his limbs going limp. He stared into his drink as if the answers were at the bottom of the glass. He was terrified of talking about it. It would make it more real. But the pain of bearing it alone was crippling.

“It doesn’t matter what was or wasn’t between us. She’s gone.”

They looked at each other. Frederick would never ask, and Stephen would never tell anything more. The least he could do for Victoria was to keep her dignity intact.

“I am sorry,” Frederick said sincerely.

“Sorry?” Stephen chucked cruelly. “For what?”

“That it hurts,” Frederick sighed. “I know how that feels.”

Stephen nodded. The path to get this stupidly happy with Annabelle wasn’t always paved with roses.

“And I am sorry that I can’t punch whatever idiot made you like this.”

“That idiot is me.”

“Then I’ll punch you. God knows I wanted to all these days that you made my Annabelle miserable.”

Stephen let out a short, tired laugh.

Silence settled between them, the noise of the club fading into the background. He was ready to cry. Talking about it out loud made it lessandso much worse.

CHAPTER20

Bedtime stories

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