Page 28 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Gossip?” Marlington blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I was merely stating my thoughts.”
“You merely demonstrated a disturbing lack of discretion and decency.” Ambrose stood, his full height adding weight to his words. “Lady Emily is from a family that is beyond reproach. I suggest you remember that before voicing such speculation again.”
Marlington’s face flushed red. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense.”
“Didn’t you?” Ambrose moved around the desk, his movements deliberate and intimidating. “Because it sounded remarkably like you were questioning a lady’s virtue based on nothing more than idle speculation and a taste for scandal.”
“I…that is…I would never presume…”
“No, you wouldn’t. Because you’re a gentleman, aren’t you, Marlington? And gentlemen don’t engage in such behavior.”
The rebuke hung in the air like a physical presence. Marlington shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly recognizing that he’d overstepped badly.
“You’re quite right, Your Grace. My apologies.”
“Good.” Ambrose returned to his chair, his manner returning to cool professionalism. “Now, shall we discuss these housingcontracts, or do you have other pressing social observations to share?”
“The contracts, Your Grace. Certainly.”
As Marlington fumbled through his papers, Ambrose found his thoughts drifting despite himself.
Emily was back in London. She was living as if their time at Nightfell had never happened. As if he had never met her.
Which was exactly what he’d wanted. What he’d insisted upon.
So why did the thought of her moving on without him feel like a knife twisting in his chest?
“Your play, Nightfell.”
William gestured toward the cards spread across the green baize table, but Ambrose barely glanced at them. The smoky interior of Boodle’s gaming room buzzed with conversation and the clink of coins, yet he felt detached from it all.
“I’ll pass this hand,” Ambrose said, pushing his untouched cards away.
“Again?” William raised an eyebrow as he studied his own hand. “You’ve passed the last four rounds. Are you actually here to play, or merely to brood in public?”
Ambrose’s jaw tightened. “I’m here.”
“Physically, perhaps.” William discarded a card with practiced ease, then he turned his voice into a whisper. “But your mind is clearly elsewhere. Let me guess—blonde hair, blue eyes, and a talent for making you question every decision you’ve ever made?”
The observation hit too close to home. Ambrose reached for his brandy, using the movement to avoid William’s knowing look.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Am I being ridiculous?” William won the hand with a flourish, gathering the coins with obvious satisfaction. “Because you’ve been distracted for days. During our meeting with the harbor master yesterday, you agreed to dock fees that were nearly double the standard rate.”
Had he? Ambrose tried to recall the conversation, but all he could remember was the way sunlight had streamed through the office window, reminding him of morning light in the music room at Nightfell. And the way Emily had looked when she’d played piano, her fingers graceful on the keys.
“The fees were acceptable,” he said curtly.
“They were highway robbery, and normally you’d have negotiated them down to half.” William dealt another hand, his movements sharp with concern. “What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing’s happened to me.”
“Hasn’t it?” William’s voice dropped lower, more serious. “You sent her home, didn’t you?”
Ambrose’s hand stilled on his glass. “That was always the plan.”
“Was it? Because from where I sit, you look like you’ve lost something you wished to keep.”
