Page 27 of Good Duke Gone Rogue

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IT WAS PURE TORTURE to say those words, but Reggie managed to reign in his pain and control his expressions. He knew she didn’t see any future between them. He had predicted that. But to hear her say it…well, it sliced through his heart on more than one plane.

But then she threw her arms around him and placed a soft kiss against his jaw, and he was a puddle.

“Thank you, Reggie. I just can’t believe my luck.” She drew back, but her arms were still around his neck. “You know the Duke of Greyshire. You can help me verify that this note is real.”

“That won’t be a problem.” His hands were on her waist. “I’ll go with you. I’m sure it’s real though, the earl would have had no reason to leave you such a false hope.”

“I’m sure it is too. Everything left by the former earl has been true, all the same, I don’t want to make any assumptions.” Taking a step back, she waved the note in the air. “This could change everything. I’m going to visit the horse in two days’ time. I plan to auction this off to the highest bidder.”

“You don’t want to stud the horse yourself and manage a racehorse?”

“I don’t have the time.” Her eyes dropped to the note, and her discomfit dissuaded him from pushing the issue.

“I’ll write to Quinn right away.” He locked eyes with her, “By the way, it’s a marvelous idea.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His shoulders pulled up and then pushed down, like a man grappling with a monkey on his back. When would he ever be able to say no to her? Should he have said no? Was there even one good reason to deny her request? Other than his own inconvenience. She didn’t need to know the depths of his feelings. He wasn’t going to try and convince her that he was a viable option for her future, was he?

But studying her clear blue eyes, as expansive as the sky, there was not enough time in the world to explore her. Just as she was in front of him, as if jolted out of a tedious routine, she was even more perfect than before. How could it be possible? Did the woman have any flaws? Besides his younger age, what was standing in their way?

Maybe if he stepped up his game. Showed her such pleasure that she would never want to call anyone’s name but his, then maybe she could overlook his age. Or maybe it was something deeper…could he be what she needed?

He wanted to ask her if he stood a chance, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t spoil the moment. Nothing was worth it if it erased that honeyed smile from her face.

Chapter 12

AT DINNER THAT EVENING, instead of smiles, a heaviness cloaked the manor that hadn’t been there for a while. Not since Reggie had raced home to tend to his father at the same time that Kat had run off on her scandalous mission to Scotland. The family had then been pulled in all directions, and each person had their own priorities. Of course, Reggie had his primary obligations to his father and the earldom.

The Earl of Winchester was a loving man, caring, if not a bit adverse to physical affection. No matter, Reggie knew that his father was steadfast. He recalled several times in his youth when his father had come to his rescue or bailed him out of a bad situation. The time Reggie had broken the flower shop window late one night carousing the village. It had been an accident, of course. But he knew immediately that he couldn’t hide his shame from his father. He also knew he didn’t have to hideit. Sure enough, upon confessing, the earl made the necessary arrangements to have it fixed. And extra flowers were even bought for an unnecessary arrangement.

Like every father, he had his eccentricities. There were a few mornings every summer, more than Reggie cared to count, when he had been awakened by a trumpet. Yes, his father trumpeted loudly with more exuberance than any reasonable person expected on a lazy Saturday morning. But there was nothing more pleasant to the earl than a family day playing yard games. And the trumpet was the call to get out of bed.

The embarrassment of his father touting said trumpet to other people’s house parties had taken a while to wear off, but thankfully it did. Reggie would be lying if he said anything other than it hadn’t been easy, and it had taken longer than he would have wanted, but by his late teens he chalked up the trumpet playing to whimsy. By then, he could just laugh off any barbs someone might whisper about his father. Not that many would do that, the earl was a likable man. And dearly loved by his family.

So when his health took a sudden turn, Reggie didn’t waste time going to see him. And after a short while, it seemed as though his father was going to pull through, so everyone had resumed their normal activity.

But this morning he had taken a turn for the worse. It was just another fever. They weren’t even sure what was wrong with him. But truthfully, it was never just a fever, even though no one could find any other symptoms. Too many people in fine fettle were unable to fightjusta fever, so it was imprudent to refer to it so lightly.

Since that morning, the physician was on call, and Reggie’s nerves were fried.

Sitting at the dinner table was almost a distraction. His mother was at his father’s bedside and had encouraged herchildren, grown though they were, that they needed to eat because it could be a long night. Reluctantly, he had sat down with food. But the food never made its way to his mouth. It coated a spoon, was speared to a fork, but nothing more. Had they eaten cold potato soup or warm beef broth, he didn’t know. Was more than one meat served? Had there been fish? His eyes were glazed over, unseeing the food at the table.

It was saying something when Charlotte, the quiet one, was holding down the dinner conversation. Perhaps in times of crisis or grief she behaved differently by overtalking because Reggie had to assume that Charlotte knew no one was particularly interested in the color of roses she chose for her wedding. Instead, she must be trying to chase away the somber silence.

“I was thinking we might have red roses for the wedding.” At least Charlotte’s voice was soft and sweet, like a lullaby. “Bella might have other plans for me though, what with her knowledge of plants. Oh, and perhaps I should consult Mary and Margaret. They would certainly know the language of flowers better than anyone else I know. And they would be more than happy to have input on what message my wedding should convey. Do you not agree?”

It was hardly a question she expected Reggie to answer. His blink, not even directed at her, was enough. She plodded on more about flowers. Carnation. Crocus. Clematis. Clitoria. Surely those couldn’t all be flowers.Surely, he misheard.

And then a footman rushed into the room and whispered, none too quietly, into Reggie’s ear. Reggie would never recall the exact words the footman spoke. Had he said,This might be it? It’s time? Come now?All he knew was the meaning. And the meaning felt thick and syrupy dripping over him, gluing him to his chair. There was a low din in his ears that wouldn’t go away. There should have been a trumpet sounding. This was a noteworthy announcement if there ever was one. Besides, heneeded the reverberations ricocheting through his body to call him out of the haze.

His hand suddenly felt warm. When he looked down, he saw Bernadette’s hand covering his. Charlotte was on the other side of him, lips tight. Her hand rested on his shoulder. It should have felt like a most incongruent moment to have his lover on one side of him and his sister on the other, but all he felt was that he was surrounded by the familiar. And he needed that because at the moment, nothing else was recognizable.

Clearing his throat, he rasped, “I have to see him.” Reggie pushed himself to stand. He wasn’t aware of what Bernadette and Charlotte were doing or saying, but they must have followed him. When Reggie entered the room, the smell was suffocating. The room was dark, and his mother was sniffling. There in the middle of the bed lay his father. Eyes closed. Slow breaths. Breaths so slow and so shallow, Reggie had to focus to see them. He stepped closer and put his hand on his father’s chest. A chest that had offered many embraces. Lungs that had projected a few rebukes, to be sure. But here lay a man full of mercy and whimsy. It was not his time. It couldn’t be.

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