Page 108 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“Is that because you know you shall lose?”
“From your debt records, the only man losing here is you.” Alexander cocked his head. “So put away that gun and let us speak.”
“Never.”
Alexander looked into the house beyond the man, spying the faces of children peeking around a door deeper in the hallway. Small children with round, curious eyes.
“You have sons,” Alexander noted. “Surely you do not wish to subject them to witnessing their father shooting another man in cold blood.”
The lord stilled, his grip on the gun faltering.
Alexander pushed on. “I had to watch such things when I was a boy. It lingers, do you know? Is that what you wish for your ownsons? To be forged by witnessing violence? They will not grow up kind, as you hope for them. They will think their father a coward for paving his way to success with a gun.”
“Who are you?” the lord asked again, softer this time. The anger still clenched his teeth and twisted his face.
“A man who knows what it is like to be angry,” he told him, pushing the gun down. “And shooting is not the way to deal with it. Let me help you. You owe money to the Raven’s Den, but I can help you clear it.”
He did not know where the unexpected surge of understanding came from.
Perhaps because Donald’s desperation had led to Alexander now losing Madeleine. That he had seen firsthand what happened when men were not patient or understanding, when they did not listen.
“If you are having trouble, I will be here to help. You have a week to clear your debt.”
“And if I need more time?”
“Then you may come to the gambling hell itself, and only there. Do not seek help anywhere else.” Alexander gave him one last look of warning before he rode off, confused at his own understanding.
He went on that way—day after day, waking up to a cold bed, going to the Raven’s Den, arguing with Horace about his wellbeing, before he roamed London streets to chase and eliminate the desperation of gamblers.
And throughout it all, he begged himself to banish Madeleine’s face and voice, her very name, from his mind.
Yet she remained, hanging over him the entire time.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Alexander, I beg you,” Horace said two weeks later, his eyes heavy and tired. “Debts are being paid, or at least managed, but I need you to go home and rest.”
“No. Must we discuss this again?”
“Yes, we must. You look terrible, worse and worse by day. Do you even return home for mealtimes anymore?”
Why? He thought bitterly,so I can stare out at an empty dining table? So I can drink the wine my wife chose?
“I eat,” he muttered absently.
“I didn’t want to do this but I feel like you have forced my hand.” Horace sighed and stood up. “If you do not go home and rest, trim that beard of yours, and eat a decent meal, then I will have the guards bar you.”
Alexander scoffed. “They cannot bar me.Youcannot do such a thing. I am the owner.”
“And if you wish to create such a scene to tell them that upon your attempted entry then be my guest but I am sure you do not wish to.”
Alexander could not help but glare at his friend, betrayed yet understanding. He scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Horace confirmed.
“Yes. Fine. I will… I will do as you ask.”
“Not just for me,” he said. “I am only looking out for you.”
