Page 90 of The Duke's Second Bride
“Yes,” Luke said cheerily. “We have been keeping up with our meowing. You will be m-much impressed with us when you come to play with us next.”
Clearly satisfied that he had been successful in his mission to cheer her up, he turned back to the door.
“You d-don’t need to say sorry for other p-people worrying about you, Ava,” he said. “I don’t mind. That’s what happens when you c-care about someone. You worry about them whether youw-want to or not. Just like how you worried about me with the horse. Or how Father worried when you were sick.”
And with that, he left, leaving Ava all alone to ponder the truth of his words.
He was right, of course. When you cared about someone—loved them, even—it was impossible not to worry about them, she reckoned. One had no choice in the matter.
But love made the worry bearable, or so she had always thought.
Seeing as how Christian had chosen to avoid her entirely rather than risk worrying about her at all, she felt as though she had proper confirmation that he did not want to care about her at all.
She sighed. Pudding purred on her lap, the sound increasing as she began to pet his head.
But even Pudding’s softness and warmth was not enough to lift the heaviness that had sunken like a stone on top of her heart.
Christian had never been much of a drinker. But over the past week or so, since he and Ava had drawn a line in the sand between them, he had taken to going out more frequently than he was used to.
It began with a glass of scotch alone in his office every now and again. But after two or three times of that same occurrence, he realized he could imagine no worse thing than drinking alone in a dark, quiet room.
However, he also was not feeling particularly up to the rowdy socialization of a popular London gentleman’s club. So, he mainly contained his drinking to smaller pubs on the outskirts of the city.
This was one such night. He was three or four drinks deep, the most inebriated he had been in a while. Around him, there was a low buzz of conversation from the rest of the pub’s patrons.
He tried his best to keep his head from slumping onto the bar in front of him, less from drink than from exhaustion and sadness. He had been sleeping poorly ever since his last conversation with Ava.
It haunted him. The look on her face when she finally gave up. He had pushed her away so strongly that even a woman as determined and stubborn as Ava had deemed him a lost cause.
The thought stung, though he could not deny he felt as though it was no less than what he deserved.
“Another round, sir?’ the barkeep asked.
Christian waved him off. “No, thank you,” he said.
“That’s probably a good call,” came a voice from behind him. “Never a good idea to drink alone. I thought you knew that, Christian.”
Vincent slid into a stool next to him.
“What are you doing here?” Christian grumbled.
“Looking for you,” Vincent said, waving off the barkeep before he could approach. He eyed Christian’s mostly empty glass. “But I think you knew that.”
Christian made a sound that could have been an agreement or a disagreement; he wasn’t quite certain himself.
“You are one of the smartest men I know, Christian,” Vincent said, pitching his voice low so that only Christian could hear him amidst the din of the busy pub. “As a matter of fact, I would say you are far, far too intelligent to willingly throw your life down the drain in this way.”
“What life,” Christian said mournfully, thinking of how Ava had accused him of allowing his fears to rule him. Here he was, proving her right.
A life ruled by fear—what sort of life was that? And yet, he could not see a way out of the hole he had dug for himself.
“You have a title men would die for—not to be crass,” Vincent said. “You have wealth and a successful business, making youricher by the day. You are what some women may consider handsome, though, of course, you are not as handsome as I.”
Christian took another sip of his drink.
“You have a son. In case you’ve forgotten. I know you never could, but it is worth bringing up. You’ve done quite a good job with him, you know, and it is clear he looks up to you a great deal,” Vincent continued. “My son said as much. When they played together, apparently, he wouldn’t stop talking about how proud he was to have you as a father.”
Christian felt his throat tighten. But he didn’t protest or take another sip of his drink.
