Page 18 of His Wild Duchess
“We will take it into consideration, your Grace,” the owner said with a stiff nod. “The late Duke of Yeats visited us often. We would not want to…sullythe relationship between us.”
George grew smug. “I see.”
Taking a few steps closer, the owner bowed his head and spoke in a lowered voice for only them to hear. “I don’t know how those men like to do it in the colonies, your Grace,” the owner said. “But here in London, we don’t tolerate violence. We handle things like cultured and civilized men.”
George scoffed and laughed bitterly as he pulled away from the man. “As I said, I was going to leave anyway. Wouldn’t want to keep my business in a place like this.”
George stormed out of the club as the onlooking crowd of aristocratic gentlemen parted around him like the Red Sea. Fresh air hit him like an Atlantic wave, the cool chill of the evening sending shivers down his back. Finally, he felt as though he could breathe again. Antony panted for a moment alongside him as though he felt the same way.
George knelt till he could sit on one of the stairs outside Lew’s and Crake’s. The mastiff quickly followed suit, his side leaning against George’s leg.
“You’re quite the fellow, aren’t you?” George mused, reaching to scratch underneath Antony’s chin. “Never failed to stand up for me.”
The mastiff made a noise that would’ve been a purr if he were a cat. It was a deep groan, with drooping eyes and a relaxed frame. Antony leaned, resting his heavy head against George’s lap and releasing a heavy exhale.
“Good dog,” George whispered, unable to stop the childish smile from spreading across his face. He petted the dog for what felt like hours. The feeling never got old, of the mastiff leaning into the pets and his leg twitching when the good spot was reached. It brought happiness to George and cleared his frustration right up.
“Who knew,” he muttered, “that all I needed was to pet a dog.”
Antony looked up at him, mouth falling open to reveal a long tongue. For a moment, it looked like he was smiling.
“C’mon, boy.” George gently lifted the dog’s head till he could stand. “We should get you home before it’s too late.”
As he began to walk down the street back to the townhouse, Antony clung close to his side, never once slowing his pace to walk behind him.
By the time George arrived home, most of the staff had gone to bed. Kicking the shoes off his aching feet, he carried them alongside him as he walked slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion. Every bit of him craved sleep and yearned to endthe reality he lived in for just a few short moments before it all started again. George began to slowly go up the stairs when he was jerked backward, pulled by an unexpectedly enormous amount of strength.
“What the - !”
Whirling, George laid eyes on the culprit. Antony’s jaw was clamped tightly down on the tip of George’s shoes. There was a slight wag in the mastiff’s tail as he watched him expectantly.
“Antony!” George hissed, trying to keep his voice low. “No playing! Release!Release!” George tugged on the shoes repeatedly, careful not to damage them in the process. A low growl came from Antony’s throat, tail swishing faster. “No, boy! Antony, wait, no - !”
With a swift tug, Antony got hold of the shoes. He trotted down the rest of the stairs, looking up at George with alert ears.
“Abominable dog,” George muttered, despite the way he yearned to be able to play with him.
Antony took off across the foyer without another sound. George gulped, quickly running after him. He heard the dog’s claws scratch against the tile floor as he whipped around the corner, a few vases shaking on the shelves. George followed suit, almost gasping when he came around the same turn, nearly toppling over an end table.
“Antony!” George hissed, but the dog was nowhere near stopping.
The mastiff pelted down the hall, tail raised high in the air. George quickly followed, no longer able to soften the sound of his feet slamming against the ground. Whoever resided below him was in for a rude awakening.
Turning another corner, George narrowly missed slamming head-on into Mrs. Howard.
“Good gracious, your Grace!” the housekeeper exclaimed. “Why are you chasing that dog? Shall I fetch the -”
“No, no, Mrs. Howard,” George said between gulps of air. “Get back to bed now!”
He ran past her, catching Antony just as he turned another corner. Antony dropped the shoes, squirming out of George’s grasp and slipping through a slightly cracked door. George snatched onto his shoes before some other wild beast revealed itself and wanted to play next.
“Your Grace?”
George paused, facing the door.
Penelope stood on the threshold, dressed in a pale nightgown. “Did Antony give you trouble?” she asked, her long reddish hair flowing down her chest.
“No,” he replied, avoiding looking at her, “he was a fine companion.”
