Page 88 of A Duchess Bound
“If she cares so deeply for you, she deserves you,” Pontoun argued. “For as long as I have known you, you have been an incurable rake. Why have you suddenly decided that you are insufficient?”
He wasnotinsufficient, not in the manner that Pontoun meant. But if he loved Dorothy—truly let himself love her—Gerard would be gambling. He might lose her someday, and he could not endure any more loss. Nor could he endure the transformation which might occur if Dorothy ever left him. Gerard had seen his own father grow quite cold, and Gerard knew that his own nature was not warm or gentle or kind. Who knew what manner of monster he might become?
“If you knew the lady, you would agree with me,” Gerard said. “She deserves better than me. She deserves someone who can love her like she deserves to be loved, wholeheartedly and without reservation!”
“But that can be you!” Pontoun cried, his voice full of disbelief. “You speak as though you are this wretched man, but you are not. If she loves you, that is proof that your affection is enough for her!”
Gerard shook his head. “It is not as simple as you say.”
“It is, indeed!”
Gerard set his empty glass onto the nearby table with far more force than was necessary. “No,” he said.
Pontoun sighed, looking suddenly weary. “Layton, you are going to be the death of me.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” Pontoun replied. “I have spent the entire Season trying to fall in love, and you have been fortunate enough to stumble into it. But you want to deny it?”
“If you were in my position, you would do the same.”
Gerard’s thoughts had just ventured into a pleasant place, where his awareness of feeling was fleeting and inconstant. His fingertips tingled, and he flexed his fingers. A wave of exhaustion swept over him, so sudden and fierce that he had the urge to sleep in that chair.
“I would not,” Pontoun murmured.
Gerard shook his head, which felt as though it was not quite connected to his neck any longer. “It does not matter,” Gerard said. “I am upset now.”
Upsetwas not the right word at all. Gerard felt as though his heart had been crushed inside his chest, and it seemed inconceivable that he continued to live despite the injury.
“I will recover, though,” Gerard continued. “If I only give myself time, I will forget my affections for her, and having to reject her will hurt no longer.”
But it occurred to him that he had already made a fatal error. Had he not already fallen in love with Dorothy, and was rejecting her not paramount to losing her forever?
Perhaps, he could ensure that he did not love her any longer. He could, at least, control the damage a little. Gerard could make certain that he did not love her any more than he already did, and that might suffice.
CHAPTER 31
Two weeks had passed since she had seen Gerard. His face refused to fade in the mists of time, and Dorothy found her eyes sweeping over every garden, park, and ballroom in search of him. She had not yet found him and had wandered through the days as if in a dream.
And then?—
When she entered the ballroom, all the air left her lungs. Her heart beat so violently against her rib cage that she thought she might be ill. Dorothy raised an instinctive hand to her chest, trying to calm her nerves. It was him.
Gerard.
She shivered and rubbed her arms, as if she could force warmth into them.
“Is something the matter?” asked Elias, who halted beside her.
“No,” she said. “Nothing.”
Gerard had not yet seen her, for his attention was occupied by his friend, the Duke of St. Claire. Her eyes traced along his profile—his strong jaw, his high cheekbones, his sharp eyes—and to his thick, dark hair. It took all her power not to whimper at the sight of him.
The urge to flee swept over her, but Dorothy’s body refused to do even as much as turn away. She remained fixed in place, as if she had turned to stone.
He looked well. Was she to be relieved or dismayed that this man, her former lover, looked as though he was content with his life? Gerard did not seem to carry the same weariness as she did. Nor did he seem to be searching the crowd with reckless, feverish longing as she had. Dorothy bit the inside of her cheek.
Gerard had rejected her. She did not want him. It was pointless.
