Page 36 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Your company is, as always, a trial I must endure,” Victor shot back, though his tone lacked the bite that would have made the remark truly stinging.

He lifted the tankard and downed half of it in one go, a gesture that spoke more to his need to escape his thoughts than any real thirst.

Nathaniel leaned back, eyeing him with a keen look that contradicted his carefully crafted persona as a carefree rake. “Something is clearly wrong. You’ve been more distracted than usual, and that’s saying something, given your usual demeanor.”

Victor slammed his tankard down a bit harder than he had intended. “When have I ever been one for hearty chatter? We are clearly not a match made in heaven, due to your incessant prattling.”

Nathaniel broke into a genuinely happy smile. “Oh, deflection!” He laughed. “You, my dear friend, are trying to hide something from me, are you not? I can sense it. Something is wrong.”

Victor grunted. “There’s nothing wrong. I merely prefer silence.”

“You’ve made that quite clear over the years, yet here we are,” Nathaniel shot back with a smirk. “Come on, spill it. Is it Cuthbert’s widow? I noticed how you were watching her at Griggs’. And don’t think I didn’t see you two chatting after the hunt as well.”

Victor’s grip on the tankard tightened, the mention of the Dowager Countess and her son dredging up memories he’d been trying to drown in cheap ale.

The taste of her lips. The soft gasps she made when he deepened the kiss. The way her body fit against his, as if it was made just for him.

“Drop it, Knightley,” he warned, his voice lowering to a rumble that would have made most men flinch.

But Nathaniel was not most men.

“The boy reminds you of John, doesn’t he? I noticed how you looked at him. And his mother—she’s quite a striking woman. Spirited too, from what I can tell. Not the type to swoon at the first sign of trouble.”

“I saiddropit,” Victor repeated, more firmly this time. “The Cuthberts are none of your business, nor mine.”

The lie felt bitter on his tongue, but he kept his face neutral out of sheer habit. Whatever had happened by the lake that morning was a fluke, a fleeting madness that wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen again.

Before Nathaniel could dig deeper, their chat was interrupted by the arrival of two women whose low-cut dresses and painted cheeks made their profession clear as a printed sign.

“Well now, what do we have here?” the taller woman purred, her eyes gliding over Nathaniel with a practiced appreciation before briefly pausing on Victor, taking in his scarred face. “Two fine gentlemen drinking alone? That must be amended immediately.”

Her companion, a curvy redhead with sharp eyes, sidled up to Victor with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing how to handle male attention.

“You look like soldiers,” she remarked.

“Oh, you’re absolutely correct, my perceptive beauty,” Nathaniel replied, wrapping an arm around the taller woman’s waist as if it were second nature. “The finest officers His Majesty has ever had the pleasure of commanding. We’ve sailed the seven seas and lived to tell the tale.”

“Is that so?” the redhead said, inching closer to Victor, undeterred by his lack of encouragement or his scarred visage.

“So, you’ve served king and country. Seems only fair you get a little service in return, don’t you think?”

Victor stayed quiet, but he didn’t push her away as he might have on another night. There was a certain logic to what she was suggesting—a physical release to rid himself of the unwanted desires that had been nagging at him since that morning.

Straightforward. Mutually understood. A business deal without the complications of real feelings.

“What a splendid idea,” Nathaniel said, already getting to his feet. “I think I’ll take my new friend here and see what kind of patriotic gratitude she’s willing to show.”

He shot Victor a look, no doubt urging him to join in the fun with the redhead.

Yet Victor hesitated. The woman was attractive enough in the obvious way of her line of work. She would likely be skilled and efficient, asking for nothing but physical performance and payment. It would be easy to close his eyes and lose himself in the sensations if only for a little while, to escape the confines of his mind.

But even in the face of this opportunity, he realized it was pointless. Instead of seeing the woman next to him, his mind conjured up the image of Lady Cuthbert, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide with surprise. The taste of her still lingered on his tongue, making any thought of a substitute not just unsatisfactory but downright unappealing.

“Not tonight,” he said to the redhead, pulling out a handful of coins from his pocket—more than enough for the time they’d spent together. “I appreciate your company, but I really don’t need it.”

“I truly am a master at oral ministrations, Sir.” She leaned in even closer, her proximity plumping up her bosom against his arm.

“I don’t doubt you are,” Victor returned, “but I truly am in no need of your… particular brand of entertainment this night, Madam. Perhaps another time.”

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