Page 46 of My Best Friend's Earl
Oliver shot him a withering look. “Yes. My choices are either marrying Althea and knowing I’ve shagged her friend, or marrying Althea and knowing Iwantto shag her friend. Only one of those scenarios leaves me with any honor.”
“At some point, emotion has to pair with judgment, as does allowing people to make their own decisions and suffer the consequences. You know what I think? I think you’ve been able to keep your breeches buttoned all this time because you’ve never wanted anyone the way you want Connie. That’s not living by logic. That’s emotional constipation.”
Oliver gaped. “Emotional constipation.”
Dorian nodded. “Nathaniel didn’t have a dirty nappy yesterday. When things finally worked their way loose, it wasquite the mess. Obviously, it took Connie to work your emotions loose.”
Oliver barked a laugh. “You’re comparing my impulse to kiss a woman to a shitty nappy.”
“Right, I am. Apologies. Perhaps Caro and I need to leave the house and let the nurse take care of Nathaniel for more than a couple hours at a time.”
“I think that would be wise.”
“Consider what I said, though. Ponder the spirit of the metaphor, rather than the excrement of it. You’re finally feeling something for someone, and that is a good sign.” At Oliver’s doubtful noise, Dorian sighed. “Would it have been better to have this flood of emotions for Althea? If she returned your affections, then yes. You’ve had years to develop feelings for her, and she’s never affected you like this, so the point is moot. The situation stinks.” A devilish glint to his smile assured Oliver that the pun was deliberate.
“Could you please stop?”
“I don’t think I can. The puns are rushing out of me. And it’s rather satisfying, to tell the truth. Rather like Nathaniel’s little grunts when he finally—”
“Caro!” Oliver bellowed toward the door. “Retrieve your husband before I throw him out the nearest window!”
“Thrown out of my own home?” Dorian asked through his laughter.
“We’re English. We come from a long history of walking in and taking over, regardless of rightful ownership. Don’t tempt me, friend.”
Chapter Seventeen
Admit you’re in trouble
Hattie, I feel as if this entire thing slipped from my control, and I don’t know how to regain it.” Constance’s voice broke the relative silence of their bedroom. The house had long-since grown still, her parents having gone to bed over an hour before.
Gingersnap’s wheezing snores rose from the bed beside her, where he lay curled in an orange fluffy spiral in the crook of her arm.
Outside their window, London bustled with night noises. Carts on cobblestones, footsteps, and horse hooves making their distinctive clack against pavement. Occasionally a voice rang out in exclamation or laughter laced with drink.
But here in the dark, in the bed she shared with her cousin, they’d been quiet since she’d told Hattie about kissing Lord Southwyn.
Finally, Hattie spoke. “Matters of the heart are rarely within our control. I’m curious though. If you could go back and do it over, what would you do differently?”
The question made Constance furrow her brow. “You mean, what I would erase?”
“Yes. Which of your interactions with Southwyn would you choose to forget? All of them? Only a few?”
Flickers of memory played on the ceiling above her in the dark.
The first time she’d met him, back when Caro and Dorian were falling in love and they’d hunted a man who hurt Dorian’s late wife.
How he’d looked standing beside Dorian when Caro walked down the aisle.
Seeing Southwyn in Caro’s drawing room, placidly drinking tea and making polite small talk with Althea, appearing to the world like her perfect match.
Every moment of confused disgruntlement he’d tried to disguise when Constance began turning up wherever he was with Althea.
Then, the well-worn memory of that day in his study, when her heart had leapt into her throat with awareness of him.
At the breakfast table with Prince seated like the family member he’d become.
And finally, in that low-lit room at the ball. The way he’d been ready to go to war with Franklin on her behalf. A man who usually appeared so contained that he often seemed cold, had turned frantic with one kiss. Like a tamed beast reverting to its wild nature with the right provocation.
