Page 85 of The Duke of Daring (The Untouchables)
“That is what he said, yes. ‘He’ being the man who loaned me the money.” Charles looked down at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m doomed.”
Andrew didn’t want Charles to die. Yes, he’d allowed the fool too close to him, and he couldn’t let him die. “I’m going to give you the money, but you’re going to leave London. Tell your father you need to rehabilitate yourself—he’ll admire that.”
Charles blinked at him. “You’d do that? But where am I to go?”
Andrew steeled himself against the emotions in Charles’s voice—happy disbelief at Andrew’s offer and despondency at what he likely saw as banishment. Yes, that was a fair characterization, Andrew decided. “That’s up to you and your father. I’m not paying for that, but I daresay he will if it means you’ll put your life in order. Gain some perspective, and don’t come back until you can withstand temptation.”
“You’re right of course.” He sounded resigned but also determined. “My father will be relieved. And pleased, I think.”
“I’m certain of it.” Andrew felt a pang of envy. What he wouldn’t give to know what his father would think of him now. Yes, he tempted fate from time to time, but overall he was responsible and behaved with honor and decorum. His mother, he knew, would be proud. She wouldn’t, however, like to know that he kept himself apart. Mrs. Alder had told him that many times.
Andrew finished his whiskey. “I’ll have the money sent over in the morning. I just need the direction.”
Charles nodded. “I’ll write it down for you before I go. I owe you a belated congratulations on your marriage. I’m astonished to hear you’re taking a wife.”
“As it happens, I am not.” Andrew tightened his grip on the glass. “We decided we wouldn’t suit after all.”
Charles looked stricken. “Is this because of me? You were betrothed an hour ago.”
“No.” Andrew didn’t want to speak of her. “You should go and talk with your father, and you should leave tomorrow. The sooner you depart London, the better, I think.”
“You’re right, I’m sure.” He clapped a hand on Andrew’s shoulder for a brief moment. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing. You’re a true friend.”
Andrew didn’t want his friendship. He wanted him out of his life. And he’d do the same with Beaumont and Greene and anyone else who might consider themselves his friend. He took Charles’s glass and deposited it on the sideboard along with his own. “Come to my office on your way out.”
Andrew took down the direction of where to send the money, and Charles left. Suddenly weary, Andrew sank into the chair behind his desk and stared at his inkwell for some indeterminate, but likely lengthy, amount of time. He was interrupted only by the arrival of Tindall.
“My lord?” the valet inquired as he stepped over the threshold.
Andrew looked up. “Yes?”
“I wanted to inform you that I received an offer of a new position today. For Lord Clare.”
The Duke of Clare needed a new valet? “Have you any idea what you’re getting yourself into?” Clare was a notorious philanderer.
Tindall blinked. “Perhaps a bit of it will rub off on me, my lord.”
Andrew wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly, but then laughed when he realized he had. “Perhaps. An added benefit of the position.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Put like that, it seemed an excellent opportunity, and an improvement over his current employment situation. Andrew was suddenly sad to see him go. Hell and damnation, what was wrong with him? All this melancholy feeling about friends and retainers and women, anddamn it.
He nodded. “When will you be leaving?”
“A fortnight, if it’s convenient for you to find a replacement before then.”
It wouldn’t be convenient, but it was necessary. “Yes, thank you. And congratulations.”
“Thank you, my lord. I’ll prepare your clothing for this evening.” He began to turn.
“Don’t bother,” Andrew said, halting Tindall’s movements. “I won’t be going out.” He planned to curl up with a bottle of gin instead. Change, it seemed, was going to take some work.
Tindall nodded and left.
Andrew’s insides curdled. He was losing Tindall and Charles. He’d excise Beaumont and the others. And he’d already lost Lucy. The dark despair that had choked him for so long after his family had died washed over him, signaling another attack. Damn it, he was tired of losing himself to the pain. It was his own fault for opening himself up as he had with these people.
His eye caught the last missive he’d received from Sadler about the parachuting excursion the day after tomorrow. Thinking about that offered a modicum of relief, of hope. He reread the letter, letting thoughts of flying high and conquering another adventure soothe him.
