Page 18 of The Lord I Once Loved

“Marsden!” Cavendish yelled, throwing a glass of brandy in my face, stinging my eyes. “Get a grip on yourself!”

His hands were restraining me, and I realized I was still poised to fight, as if I was in the boxing ring. Only Cavendish had the strength to hold me back.

The proprietor of White’s emerged before me, his face contorted in rage.

“I want you out! Out of my establishment, Lord Marsden, and never return!” He fumed, muttering insults about my behavior under his breath.

I got one last look at the vile creature Turley before Cavendish pulled me out of the room, leaving dozens of silent, shocked faces behind.

I shook the Duke off as we entered the lobby, glaring at him.

“Cav, lay off-”

“No, Marsden.” He said severely, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it.

“Look,” he continued, making direct eye contact with me. “You’re my oldest friend, and I don’t take that lightly. I know, I’m no angel myself…”

I glared at him, and he sighed, continuing his lecture.

“But, your behavior, Marsden… yourdrinking… it’s out of control. I know Turley is a prick, but what were you doing with Miss Pembroke anyways? And what wasthat, Marsden? Beating a pathetic Lord in White’s in front of all of the ton? Are you that far gone, my friend?”

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but the liquor had finally gotten to my head. I felt the room spinning, Cavendish’s stern, concerned expression shifting before me.

“Marsden,” He growled, slapping me across the face. “You’re self-destructing. Perhaps you should leave London for a time, go home to Devonshire? When’s the last time you saw your land?”

“Cavendish,” I spat, the word garbled by alcohol, “Do not lecture me-”

He stepped back, shaking his head.

“I don’t like seeing you like this, Marsden, alright?”

I pushed away from him, steadying myself. I noticed a few servants across the room, poking their heads around the corner to spy.

“I’ll be going.” I said gruffly, breaking his eye contact.

The longer I remained there, the more I could see the truth in Cavendish’s words… and it wasn’t a feeling I was comfortable with. In fact, all I wanted to do was run away… and erase the memories of this entire affair in another bottle.

“Take care, old friend.” He said as I strode out the door, regaining a bit of sobriety and balance in the warm evening air.

I walked in deep thought, the silhouette of my Mayfair townhome emerging in the distance.

Cavendish was right. I was self-destructing.

But at this point, it was all I knew how to do.

Istrodeintomytownhouse, the valet bowing deeply and then scurrying to get out of my way as I entered. The anger at Turley that had been coursing through me earlier had faded to a dull anxiety. Now I simply felt restless – as if I needed to run a mile around Grosvenor Square to get my energy out.

Afterhaving another drink, of course.

My butler approached me in the foyer, his eyes taking in the dried blood still smeared across my fists. I had somehow forgotten about it as I had walked here. Christ, I thought, I must have been the talk of all of London by this point… the Viscount Marsden, strolling through St. James with blood on his hands.

“My Lord, shall I draw up a bath for you?” He asked, his tone carefully measured.

It only took me a moment to make up my mind.

“No,” I responded curtly. “Simply a small basin and towels will suffice. I will be going out again shortly.”

The butler failed to hide his look of incredulity, but remained silent. I walked past him, up the stairs and towards my chambers. I had no desire to see his disapproval at the present.

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