Page 85 of A Sinful Virgin for the Duke

CHAPTER 32

Frederick sat alone in his study, staring at the untouched glass of brandy on the table in front of him.

Shadows from the low-burning fire cast a melancholy air over the walls that now felt too vast and vacant. Every sound seemed to echo painfully in the quiet. The crackle of the fire, the distant whistle of the wind against the windows, the ticking of the clock.

He had thought he would find some peace once Gemma left, and that the overwhelming emotions her presence stirred up in him would settle once she was no longer near. However, her absence only exacerbated how he felt, leaving him restless and irritable, haunted by her laughter, her scent, and the echo of her voice.

A knock at the door broke his reverie, and he straightened as Andrew strode in without waiting for an invitation, wearing his usual confident smirk.

“You look terrible, Fred,” Andrew said, crossing his arms. “It has barely been a month since she left, and you look as if you have been at war with yourself.”

“Good evening to you as well, Andrew,” Frederick replied dryly. He didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his tone. “Did you come to offer your usual wisdom or merely to disrupt my peace?”

“Ahh, what peace?” Andrew scoffed, casting an appraising eye around the gloomy room. “This is hardly a refuge. More of a tomb, if I am to be honest.”

Frederick didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the fire, but Andrew wasn’t about to let him sink further into silence. “Come on, Fred. Get your coat, your bow, and your dog. We are going hunting. You need to clear your head.”

Frederick sighed. “I have no interest in a hunt today.”

“Nor did you the last time I suggested it, or the time before that.” Andrew crossed his arms, lifting his brow with a mix of exasperation and determination. “But we are doing this. You have moped in here long enough. It is either a hunt, or I will drag you by the ear to London. Imagine that—balls, soirées, endless chatter. I can be quite convincing.”

Frederick gave him a sharp look, though a hint of a smirk flickered in his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics, Andrew. Fine. We will hunt.”

He rose, and they made their way down to the stables. The familiar earthy scent of straw and leather greeted them, and the stable hands immediately set about preparing the horses, saddling Frederick’s large, black stallion, Arrow, and Andrew’s chestnut mare, Daisy.

Arrow tossed his head, whinnying softly as Frederick approached, his dark coat gleaming in the torchlight, and Frederick allowed himself a rare moment of calm as he ran a hand down the horse’s sleek neck.

“You have neglected him, too,” Andrew commented, eyeing Frederick’s stallion. “Just think, he has been just as cooped up as you.”

Frederick shot Andrew a warning glance but mounted Arrow without a word. The two friends rode side by side, leading the hunting party with a few servants and hounds following behind, eager for the day’s pursuit.

The air was crisp, and the rolling fields stretched out under the early autumn sky, the colors fading from vibrant green to a more muted palette as the season edged towards winter.

They rode in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional bark of the hounds. Andrew finally spoke, his voice low and conversational. “Tell me, Fred, was it worth it? Calling on Gemma’s family?”

Frederick stiffened, gripping the reins tightly. “What was I supposed to do, Andrew? Leave her to suffer indefinitely?”

“No, but…” Andrew trailed off, glancing sidelong at Frederick. “You could have handled it differently. She is in London now, practically out of reach.”

Frederick’s jaw clenched. “And how, pray tell, should I have handled it? You seem to know all the answers.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “You are impossible. And as stubborn as an ox.”

“Then save me the lecture, Andrew. I am in no mood.”

“Not in the mood for anything but Gemma, I imagine,” Andrew replied, his tone turning teasing as he nudged Frederick’s arm.

“Andrew.” Frederick’s voice was low and hard, a clear warning.

But Andrew simply laughed. “Relax. You are going to have to pull yourself out of this state eventually. Either go after her or stay here, brooding like some cursed ghost of Blackridge. Just… pick one.”

“Do you think I have not considered it?” Frederick snapped, irritated by Andrew’s unyielding cheerfulness.

“Not seriously,” Andrew said, his gaze steady and clear. “You have not considered going to her because you are afraid. Of what, I cannot imagine. But if you do nothing, this—” he gestured at Frederick, as though presenting evidence, “—will be your life. And we both know that is not what you want.”

Frederick fell silent, looking away. The hounds barked excitedly as they neared a wooded area, sensing game nearby, but Andrew pressed on, undeterred.

“You will be miserable if you do not at least try, Fred. Your grandmother will have your head if you let her go without a fight.”

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