Page 75 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke
Cecilia was going to be death of him.
CHAPTER 26
Love was a problematic emotion, Theo had always known this. While many of his happily married friends swore that it was the best thing that ever happened to them. He was skeptical about it.
Yes, it might be true, but the process of falling in love was always messy. He had watched them struggle with their emotions, he had witnessed how they had tried to run from the intensity of their feelings towards their lovers. It was messy, nonsensical, and entertaining as well. He had laughed as they fumbled, content with the thought that it would never happen to him.
How could it, when his heart was a block of ice in his chest, swirling in darkness, so thick and poisonous, that there was no way it would yield to such an emotion?
Unfortunately, Fate, with its characteristic wicked humor, had made sure to prove him wrong when it had sent him Cecilia. Perhaps he had lied to himself first when he convinced himself at their first encounter at the ball, that it was lust, but even then,he has known it was different. He was quite acquainted with lust, he had built his reputation on it, he knew what it felt like, and what he felt for Cecilia was not just lust, it had been the start of something more dangerous than that. He had known that, but he was too tempted by her to let her go. He convinced himself that he could help her play the game of scandal without getting attached.
It was a lie.
From the first moment he had given in to the urge to kiss her, it was out of his hands. His simple attraction became a craving, one that overwhelmed his thoughts with her. With every night he took her into his arms, his obsession grew until she was a part of his every breath and he craved her presence. He was too busy trying to rein his obsession, that he had not realized that he had fallen prey to cupid's arrow.
He had fallen in love.
The thought alone was laughable. He could imagine his friends' amusement if they found out. Alas, he could not tell them, if he did not wish to unleash chaos even worse than the war they had fought in.
Magnus would be livid if he ever told him that he was in love with Cecilia. He would definitely kill him if he found out that he had been corrupting his innocent sister.
While it was tempting to surrender himself to the surreal emotion, he could not love Cecilia. It was forbidden on so manygrounds. Apart from the dangers of being murdered by a dear friend, he was not callous enough to bind Cecilia to himself when he had demons haunting him relentlessly.
Unfortunately, forbidden fruits were tempting. The only sane way to avoid temptation was to flee. So he was running, running away in search of something, anything that would distract him from the intense cocktail of chaos and longing that swirled inside him, making it difficult for him to breathe or think.
Predictably, he ended up in the underground boxing ring. Of course, the underworld welcomed him easily, his demons were at home here, this was the only place that quietened them. He stepped into the ring, hoping that it would work enough to numb him. Exhaustion was the key. If he was exhausted, he could not long for her. He did not have to fight the urge to go to her.
He must have underestimated the strength of his emotions, because his usual strategic awareness that was part of the reasons he won these matches was missing. Instead, his concentration was marred by the images of a certain minx.
For every moment of distraction, he paid for it in bodily damage. A busted nose here, a punch to the stomach there and soon his body was a mass of pain so much so that he welcomed the fall when his opponent landed another kick to his side.
He laid there reeling in pain. From the blinding pain in his side he was willing to bet that he had broken a rib or more.
Of course the audience cared very little. There were boos, cheers and chants, urging him to stand up and fight. From his peripheral vision, he could see his opponent pacing, eager to continue the fight. He didn't blame him. Many fighters in this infamous ring dreamt of fighting him, the infamous masked fighter with a mysterious identity. It must sting that when he got the chance to fight with the 'legend', it was no challenge at all. While a coward would relish that opportunity, a seasoned fighter would be frustrated by the lack of challenge.
If it was any other time, Theo would have pulled himself up and given him a fair fight, but for the life of him he could not find the will to stand.
His vision was swimming from pain. Distantly, he realized that he was losing consciousness. Ordinarily, he would be afraid but at that moment, he welcomed it as a better alternative to the madness that had infected his mind the past few days.
"Theo," somebody called to him, jolting him to wakefulness. It could not be him. No one knew his name here. He wore a mask to protect his identity.
"Theo," the familiar voice called urgently, closer now. He could make out someone kneeling in front of him, stretching a hand out to help him up.
"You damn idiot," William said when he finally stood up, supporting him when he swayed.
Of course it was William. No one else could recognize him through this mask.
"What are you doing here?" he groaned, clutching his side, craving a stiff glass of whisky in that moment.
"I should be asking you that. I thought you quit this," William bit out as he led him down the ring, towards the exit of the wrestling arena.
"I thought so as well," Theo returned on a laugh. "Apparently, I have not. I have good reason to be here. What are you doing here, leaving your wife alone at home?" he queried in return.
"What good reason would you have to be in this godforsaken place?" William asked exasperated, completely ignoring his question about his presence at the unsavory alley.
"It helps me sleep," he muttered with a smile that he knew would annoy William more.
"I know better ways to fall asleep. You do not have to-" William admonished.
