Page 95 of Would I Lie to the Duke
But face the world he did. At balls and assembliesand opera boxes and supper clubs and everywhere in the whole of the city where people gathered to enjoy themselves and make merry. Noel would make merry until it fucking killed him. Trouble was, with a broken heart, merriment seeped out of him, pooling like congealing blood on the field of battle.
He went to bed alone every night and woke up just as alone. But he’d keep trying, by God. He’d celebrate, carouse, and cavort like a madman and pretend that he was the same rake he’d been a few weeks earlier.
Yet he couldn’t summon any pleasure when McCameron entered the chophouse. Posture as upright as ever, McCameron made his way through the riotous throng, nimbly ducking as a chicken bone flew through the air.
“Duncan,” Noel cried. It seemed as good a time as ever to call his friend by his Christian name. Flinging his arm wide, Noel said, “Join us. We’re a disorderly bunch in need of a strong, reliable, and sober presence.”
“Sobriety is in short supply,” McCameron said, eyeing the cups, mugs, tankards, and glasses strewn about the table.
Noel shoved the various vessels to the ground, the clatter barely heard above shouts and laughter. “We are now the most ab... ab... abstemious of gatherings.”
At that moment, the publican returned with a bottle. “From my own still, Your Grace.”
“Piss off,” Noel said affably.
“Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed once more and melted away.
“Sit, sit,” Noel directed to McCameron.
“There are no unoccupied chairs.”
“He can have my seat, Your Grace,” some ash-pale buck announced magnanimously.
“I must decline your hospitality,” McCameron said. He eyed Noel. “Can you stand?”
“Perhaps,” Noel replied. “Wouldn’t lay odds on it, though. Bad investment.” He winced at the wordinvestment. He’d always associate it with Jess. He’d associate breathing with Jess, likewise feeling any emotion other than being utterly cup-shot.
“You and me are talking, but we’re not doing it here.” McCameron wrapped an arm around Noel’s shoulders and hauled him up from his chair. “Up you get. Time for a wee cozy chat.”
“Good thing you’re such a braw laddie,” Noel said, affecting a Scottish accent. Even to his own ears it was terrible, so he didn’t use it again when he added, “I’ve the strong suspicion that if I attempt to stand without your support, my legs will liquify beneath me.”
For all McCameron’s strength, Noel had several inches on him, which made balance a rare commodity as they staggered outside. His friend half carried, half dragged Noel down the street, until they reached a narrow alley. McCameron deposited Noel onto a large empty crate, but made certain to prop him against the brick wall as it was dead certain that sitting Noel upright was impossible.
“This is charming.” Noel’s head lolled. A rat scurried by, yet what did it matter? He could be devoured by packs of vermin and wouldn’t care. “Got all the comforts of home.”
“We’ve stopped by,” McCameron said, folding his arms across his chest. “Rowe, Curtis, Holloway, and me. Your ruddy butler said you weren’t at home to callers. When the fuck have any of the Union beencallers?”
“Perhaps I thought I should expand my social circle. You should commend my efforts to pursue a path of personal growth.” The bricks behind Noel’s head were slick with an unknown substance, yet he let it soak into his hair.
“That lot at the chophouse are your new friends?” McCameron snorted. “Fine group if you like having your bunghole licked.”
“Sod off.” Noel sagged forward, bracing his arms on his thighs, his head hanging down.
“Holloway and Curtis told me what happened. With the woman.” McCameron’s words were surprisingly gentle, given that he was more familiar with barking orders at his men. “What you said at Ashford’s ball—none of it was true. It wasn’t a prank.”
Noel glared at his friend. “Like hell it wasn’t.”
“You forget, I met her. I saw how you looked at her. How she looked at you.”
“Like a swindler looks at their mark,” Noel spat.
“Lady Whitfield—”
“Is no lady,” Noel snarled.
“That’s what upsets you?” McCameron planted his hands on his hips. “The fact that she’s a commoner?”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse if she’s a commoner. She used me.” His throat burned and he tried to swallow around it. “Jess deliberately set out to seduce meso she could bring in investors to that sodding soap operation.”
