Page 43 of A Trap by the Rakish Duke
Thomas, with his easy grin and sharp wit, clapped Lord Compton on the back. “Not bothering His Grace with your nonsense, I hope?”
Lord Compton let out an awkward laugh and his wife’s expression faltered at the sudden interruption. “Oh no, no, we were simply offering our condolences…”
“Quite right, but surely it’s not the right place for it; we’re at a ball, after all,” Kenneth remarked, his voice smooth yet firm. He gave Lady Compton a pointed look. “Why don’t you join the others at the refreshments table? The roast pheasant is said to be excellent.”
With that, the Comptons made a hasty exit, leaving Philip standing with his friends. The tension slowly left his shoulders, though his anger still simmered.
“Those two have an unmatched talent for ruining a perfectly fine evening,” Thomas muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned to Philip, his grin returning. “You are most welcome, by the way.”
Philip exhaled, shaking his head. “Despite all your faults you have excellent timing, Thomas.”
“And you adore me for that, don’t you, old boy?” Thomas quipped.
Kenneth chuckled and nodded toward Philip’s empty glass. “You look like you could use another drink.”
“Desperately,” Philip responded.
The three of them moved toward the refreshments table and Philip quickly refilled his glass while Kenneth and Thomas poured themselves glasses of wine.
As they leaned against the nearby wall, Kenneth glanced over at Aurelia, who was speaking with one of the older matrons, her smile polite and measured.
“You know,” he began. “I have to say, for a man who supposedly married for revenge, you certainly look at your wife in a most…unchaste manner.”
Philip shot him a warning look. “Kenneth…”
“I am merely observing,” Kenneth continued, smirking. “It is difficult to believe that this marriage is purely strategic when you can barely keep your eyes off her.”
Thomas chimed in, his grin widening, “Remember the good old days? The three of us, tearing through London’s finest taverns, charming the ladies, and making fools of ourselves? Hard to imagine now, what with us being domesticated.”
Philip scoffed. “Speak for yourselves. I am hardly domesticated.”
Kenneth arched an eyebrow. “Oh no? Then what was that display on the dance floor earlier?”
Philip’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t respond. He hadn’t forgotten the moment. The way he had pulled Aurelia closer, the way his words had tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. But it had been a mistake.
“You are both insufferable,” he muttered, taking another sip of his drink.
“Come now, Philip,” Thomas said, his voice softening. “You do not have to pretend with us.”
Kenneth nodded in agreement. “We understand your anger, but revenge has a way of…consuming a man. Even Hamlet learned that lesson, though I suppose it was too late for him.”
Thomas groaned, shaking his head. “Pretentious, Kenneth. Quoting Shakespeare at a ball? You will bore the ladies to tears.”
Kenneth rolled his eyes, although his expression remained serious as he turned back to Philip. “All I am saying is, be careful. The Duchess may be your wife in name only, but do not let your anger toward her father cloud your judgment. Taking out your frustration on her will not bring you peace. It will just cost you more in the end.”
Philip stared into his glass as Kenneth’s words echoed in his mind. He had sworn to himself that Aurelia was nothing more than a tool. But was that true anymore? Could he still claim indifference when he felt the fire in his veins whenever she was near?
“I know what I am doing,” he said finally, although the conviction in his voice was much weaker than before.
Kenneth and Thomas exchanged glances, but neither of them pressed the matter further. Instead, they raised their glasses in a silent toast.
“To old friends,” Thomas said with a grin, though his eyes remained watchful.
Philip raised his glass, clinking it against theirs. But as he took another sip, his thoughts remained with Aurelia and the nagging question of whether his revenge was worth the cost he was beginning to pay.
Chapter Sixteen
“Aurelia!” a familiar voice called.
