Page 24 of A Gentleman's Kiss
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Dominick was worried about Lillian. She’d declined to come down to breakfast in the morning, and now she was not at Countess Rutherford’s ball.
He inquired after her, only to be told she was under the weather.
But he knew that wasn’t the case. She was probably still suffering from her assault the night before by Sir Trenton. He wanted to storm into Trenton’s house and pummel him in the face for what he’d done. However much he wished to beat the man to a pulp, that would not help matters, and it certainly wouldn’t make Lillian feel better.
Dominick leaned up against a back wall of the ballroom, his arms folded over his chest as he studied the other guests. They whooped and hollered, danced, drank, ate and generally had a merry time. He was not interested in any of it. The Duchess of Suffolk and her daughters had tried to engage him several times, and each time he begged off. He could see Her Grace becoming more and more irritated. He was sure her head would explode soon, and most likely he would hear it from his own mother who was quite close with the duchess.
No matter, he planned to attend the ball for a short time and then slip out.
He wanted to go back to Whitmore House to check on Lillian. She must still be completely devastated with the events of last evening. He couldn’t let her suffer alone. As far as he knew, the three of them—himself, Lillian and the cad Trenton—were the only people aware of what happened. What a sap he was, worrying about her so. But he knew why—even if the realization made him choke on air. He’d only just figured it out.
He loved her.
But it wasn’t in the cards. Knowing that felt as though he’d taken a bullet to the gut. People of his status did not marry for love. They married for property, money and elevation. The knowledge made him cringe. He’d tried to stay away from England for as long as he could to avoid such a cold and flaccid marriage bed. Alas, his mother was not willing to wait another Season for him to settle down.
His life was about to turn to horse manure. He would walk around like half of these other married gentleman—seeking solace outside the home, where their shrewish wives dictated every second of their lives. He scowled, scaring away a few ladies who passed closed by.
His mother and the Duchess of Suffolk had put the plans in place for him to marry, of all women, Lady Tamara.
His mother sent him a note letting him know they would be in town the following morning, and for him to join them. She also exclaimed her excitement at his courting Lady Tamara, and she had heard all about it from the duchess. She further went on to say, she and his father were very excited about the union and he had their support when he ask for the lady’s hand—which they expected would be soon.
When.Notif, butwhen. In their eyes it was already a done deal.
Dominick had groaned aloud when he read the letter then slammed it on the table. He had no intention of asking Lady Tamara for her hand, and he certainly did not want this news getting to Lillian.
Dominick was at a loss for what to do. He didn’t want to disappoint his family, but he didn’t want to marry Lady Tamara, either. He loved Lillian. Tamara was a spoiled, self-centered, little viper. He would not chain himself to someone like that for the remainder of his days. He could not imagine lying in bed with her, attempting to produce an heir. She would most likely chide him the entire time, tell him to do this and that like he was a green boy first out to pasture. Else, she’d lie there with her face screwed up in disgust and tell him to hurry up and get it over with. Either way, it would not be pleasant. He shuddered.
No. No way inhell.
He kept himself occupied during the ball with talking to his friends and business partners. At last he caught his chance, and slipped out into the garden, picking his way around the side to the front of the house, where he knocked on the door, surprising the butler.
“My hat and a hackney, sir,” he said, acting as if nothing were amiss.
The butler nodded quickly then returned with his hat and coat. “I sent a man to fetch a hackney. Good evening, Lord Wessex.”
“Gratitude.” He tucked his hat on his head, slipped into his jacket. He turned on the front steps and breathed a deep breath of smoggy air, elated that he was able to escape an hour after arriving with no one the wiser.
Climbing into the hired hackney, he gave the address of Whitmore House to the driver. When he arrived, it was silent inside. The servants were most likely eating and drinking, playing cards or some such since they did not expect the residents of the house to be back for some time. Luck was on his side then that no one would see what he was about to do. He set his hat and coat on a chair by the door and then ascended the stairs to Lillian’s room two at a time.
He scratched lightly at the door. There was no answer.
Dominick knocked a little louder. Movement could be heard behind the solid exterior, and he hoped he did not wake her. The night was young, perhaps she was still awake. Light shone from beneath the door, and Lillian’s shadow moved in front of it. He placed his hand on the door, if only to feel her on the other side.
“Who is it?” her hoarse voice whispered.
“Lillian, it is Dominick.”
“Go away.”
Looking down he noted that her shadow did not move. She may have asked him to leave, but still she waited. He rested his forehead against the door.
“Please. I must speak with you.” He would have gotten down on his knees to beg her to open the door if he thought it would help.
“I am not feeling well, perhaps tomorrow.”
Doubt was plain in her voice. He didn’t think she would ever open the door.
