Page 98 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
Laurence walked downstairs, his boots thudding on the wooden stairs. Usually, he would have relished James’s company. Today, he just wanted to be alone.
“Well, well, well,” James drawled from the parlor doorway. “It feels as if it has been an age since we last spoke, old friend.”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Lord Mallowby,” Laurence greeted.
James frowned at the sight of him. “My, when was the last time you slept, Your Grace?” he asked.
“Last night,” Laurence replied, stifling a yawn.
“Let me rephrase,” James said. “When was the last time you sleptwell?”
Laurence opened his mouth and then closed it.
“Actually, I think I can guess,” James said. “The night before the event?”
“Possibly.” Laurence scowled. “Listen, Mallowby. You know I enjoy your company, but as you can see, I am not up for receiving guests.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do anything special for me.”
“I am not saying that I will do anything special,” Laurence huffed. “I am asking you to leave.”
“You have a lovely parlor,” James said, walking into the parlor. Laurence frowned. “I would like to know who designed it. I am helping Lady Mary move into a new townhouse, and I would like to help her make it a home.”
“Did you not hear what I said?”
“No, I heard.” James looked around the room. “I just know that if I listen to you and leave, then you will continue…” He looked at Laurence. “Moping.”
“I do not mope,” Laurence growled.
“I am afraid if you believe that, then you have little self-awareness.”
“Leave me be, Mallowby,” Laurence groaned.
“So soon after I’ve arrived?” James tutted. “It is very rude for a host to turn away his dear friend so quickly.”
“Now isn’t a good time.”
“And where is your wife?”
Laurence hesitated.
James raised an eyebrow, the silence stretching out between them uncomfortably. Laurence pursed his lips. Still, James folded his arms, waiting for an answer.
“Her Grace is not here,” Laurence finally replied.
“And why would that be?” James asked as he sat down. He looked much too comfortable sitting in Laurence’s space.
Laurence gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to explain himself.
“That is none of your concern.”
“It is when my friend is once again becoming a self-destructive hermit.”
“I am not.”
“Lying is a sin, Your Grace,” James sighed dramatically.
“You’ve never struck me as much of a pious man,” Laurence said, raising an eyebrow.
