Page 98 of Duke of Wickedness
He meant to deny it. He meant to say that this was another sign that he was no good for Ariadne. She shouldn’t be looking at him, after all, not when she wanted to find herself a husband, someone who would give her all the things that David couldn’t.
But instead, he asked, “What if I ruin her? What if?—”
In a flash, he thought of his mother, thought of how pale and fragile she looked on the day that he asked her—begged her—to leave with him. Thought of that dead look in her eyes, though she would live for another decade to come. Thought of the miserably brief flash of hope he’d held that she might actually leave, might actually choose herself.
She hadn’t. She’d stayed. And when he’d come back after his father’s death, she’d been paler. More fragile. Sadder.
“What if I dim all that brightness? What if I hurt her?”
“What if you don’t?” Percy asked gently. “You’re not giving her very much credit, David. Ariadne is different from when I first met her—and now that I’m looking more closely, I can see that she’s different from the way she was a few months ago. She isn’t your mother. She isn’t unprotected. I’ve already hit you once, and that’s… Well, if Xander got news of you hurting his sister, you wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.”
David was far enough gone in all of this that he felt faintly grateful that Xander Lightholder would murder him if he ever hurt Ariadne. Except that wasn’t comfort enough, because in that scenario, David had already hurt her.
He couldn’t bear it. He just couldn’t.
“I can’t,” he told Percy. “I…I can’t.”
Maybe there was enough finality in his tone, or maybe his friend had finally given up on him. God only knew that David deserved it.
But Percy just sighed.
“You’re an idiot,” he said.
David laughed, but it sounded desperate.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure that I am.”
CHAPTER 25
At the end of her first Season, Ariadne had been practically giddy with relief. At the end of subsequent Seasons, she’d felt a mixture of disappointment and exhausted pleasure—she hadn’t found a husband, she mused at the end of each year’s spate of social events, but at least she could take abreak.
This year, she felt…
Well, she felt nothing about the Season, because she’d spent the whole time fluttering over David.
And she still was.
But at least she would still get a pause from…all of it. Maybe she would go to the country. The family still largely avoided the main Lightholder country seat, even more than a decade and a half after the fire, but there were other estates. Or perhaps she could go to Catherine and Percy’s estate.
Or a nunnery. Maybe she should try a nunnery. Were there any nunneries in England? Maybe on the Continent. Goodness knew this whole marriage thing hadn’t been working out.
“Good evening, Lady Ariadne.”
Ariadne turned toward a voice at her elbow to find Lord Ledbetter, one of the gentlemen who had danced with her a few times over the past few weeks. He was nice. He was handsome. He made decent conversation.
A year ago, Ariadne would have found him extremely appealing. Now, though, she had to make herself notice his finer attributes.
Just like she had to force herself not to notice that David was standing off to the side of the ballroom.
Lurking.
She called it that because tonight, at least, he was apparently trying not to look at her, something that she only recognized because he was staring back about half the time that she dared a glance in his direction. The other times, he was staring at the floor or the ceiling or—most frequently—at the cup of lemonade in his hand.
Ariadne had drunk some of that lemonade earlier. She knew what it tasted like. It was not as fascinating as all that.
“Lord Ledbetter,” she said, hoping her smile seemed genuine. “How are you this evening?”
“I’m doing quite well, my lady; thank you for asking.” He gave her a conspiratorial sort of smile. Ariadne abstractly recognized that he was doing all the right things. He was being polite, but wasn’t taking himself too seriously. He was giving himself the opportunity to talk to her, but he wasn’t crowding her.
