Page 54 of The Baron Takes a Bet
The vagueness of his answer concerned Holly. He was being ambiguous, and she didn’t like it. He was usually very open when she spoke to him, and she wanted him to be honest.
Coming forward, she sat opposite him just as a giant ball of gray fur emerged from underneath the chair. She pulled her legs up, temporarily startled as it brushed against the hem of her robe, before escaping through the opened door between their chambers.
“Blasted thing won’t leave me alone,” Gavin said, his attention returning to the fire.
“You know, John left her to me in his will.”
“Did he? Good. You may take it with you when you leave.”
“I think she may fancy you.”
Gavin watched her with evident curiosity as she leaned back against the plush chair. The corner of his mouth was pulled up slightly, and her heart pounded loudly. He seemed more himself, and she wondered why he was always so amused by her.
Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands together in her lap.
“I know Mr. Armstrong’s suggestion wasn’t exactly what you wanted to hear, but he is trying.” Gavin’s smirk faltered as his gaze drifted back to the fireplace. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk about it? She swallowed and changed the subject. “How was your visit with Combe and Trembley?”
“Fine.”
He obviously wasn’t in the mood to speak, yet she wasn’t willing to leave. He leaned over the arm of the chair, placing his empty glass on the floor. She sighed loudly and his attention lifted back to her.
“Is there something the matter?” he asked.
“You’re being purposely obtuse and it’s frustrating,” she said quickly, peering down at her interlocked hands.
A long moment passed before either of them spoke.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said eventually. “I’m usually better at keeping my dark moods at bay.”
Holly tilted her head.
“Dark moods?”
“Yes. If I’m not busy or distracting myself, I can become… well, peevish. And when that happens, I can become outright miserable.” He glanced at her. “It’s not pleasant. I don’t mean to bother you with it.”
“You’re not bothering me,” Holly said earnestly. “Everyone gets into bad moods.”
“I don’t.”
“But you can, if you want.”
“I choose not to.”
“But why—”
“Because I don’t—” he said quickly, but then stopped himself. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before speaking again. “I have a theory that the difference between a good life and a badlife is outlook. Now, I’m aware that outlook isn’t the only factor, but I mean to say that I’ve known poor men who’ve led great lives and rich men who do nothing but complain. I never wanted to be the latter and so I decided, a long time ago, not to let myself get in the way of being content.” He opened his eyes then and looked back at her. “I don’t like being miserable and I chose not to be.”
Holly stared at him for a moment.
“I don’t think anyone enjoys being miserable.”
“I disagree. I think there are plenty of people who like it, who marinate it and surround themselves with others like themselves. But it’s not for me.”
“I don’t think anyone can be happy all the time though,” Holly argued. “It would be impossible.”
“As I’m finding out,” he said, almost under his breath as he turned his focus back to the fire.
Holly frowned.
