Page 80 of Duke of Destruction
David kicked him in the shin, and it was a distinct sign of Percy’s current state that this threatened to knock him out of his chair, no matter that it was a stout wingback that had likely been fixed in its place since Percy’s ancestors were no more than peasants.
Not that this was a great indicator, since that was only two generations ago. But still.
“I will beat you,” David threatened.
“You know,” Percy mused, “I often think about punching you, but I’ve never done it. It would be very rude of you to punch me after my forbearance.”
This last word caused him to trip up a little. More drinking might fix that, too, or at least would silence the part of Percy’s brain that noticed.
“Percy Egelton,” David said, through his teeth, like he was a cross governess. “What the hell is happening with you?”
There wasn’t any real reason that Percy should suddenly give in to this nagging, aside from the fact that refusing to do so started to seem like an awful lot of work.
He let out a long, gusty, and frankly dramatic sigh. Even in his current state, he could see that.
“There's a woman,” he said.
If David’s expression grew any drier, he was going to injure himself.
“You don’t say,” he deadpanned.
Percy made a rude gesture.
“Oh, sod off,” Percy said. “The thing is…she’s not for me.”
David’s brow furrowed, then relaxed.
“Ah,” he said. “Not a servant, I take it—no, you aren’t the type. Then merchant class, perhaps?”
This time, it was Percy’s turn to be briefly puzzled. Then, the meaning penetrated his brandy-soaked brain. David had assumed that the problem was that the woman in question was toolowclass for Percy.
Percy opened his mouth to correct his friend, then stopped. It would protect Catherine’s identity better if he didn’t correct the assumption. So he just let the silence linger, let David believe what he needed to believe.
“Ah.” David steepled his fingers under his chin. “And I take it that making her your mistress isn’t an option?”
“Christ. No.”
“No.” David hummed. “No, you wouldn’t be in such a wretched state if it were. Well, you do realize that you’re a duke, don’t you?”
Why did people keep saying that to him?
He decided to be an arsehole again. A wiser—soberer—man would have seen this as good reason why he shouldn’t drink like this, but wisdom was not presently Percy’s forte.
“No. It escaped my notice.”
David took a very, very slow breath.
“Listen,” he said, and Percy tried not to listen just to be difficult about it. “I know you have… Shite, Percy, I’m trying very hard not to sayan idiotic thing?—”
“And yet you absolutely said it,” Percy observed.
Another slow, slow breath.
“Fine, you utter wretch. You have this stupid, stupid thing where you seem to believe that everyone is thinking about your father’s humble beginnings. Please, for the love of Christ, hear me when I tell you this: nobody cares.”
“People care,” Percy muttered into the new drink that the attendant had helpfully brought him.
David reached forward and snatched it out of his hand. This was rude, but since he didn’t quite register what David was doing until he was blinking at his own empty hand, perhaps not unfair or unwarranted.
