What am I doing?
Luke sat forward without uttering a word and returned the nearly empty whisky glass to a trestle table beside him. He couldn’t drink any more, not with his mind in this state.
“Luke….” The Duchess of Bannerman murmured his name yet again and reached for his arm, trying to pull him back down into the armchair, but he resisted her and stood to his feet, moving out of her grasp.
“I should not have come here.” He looked around, searching for where his tailcoat had been discarded.
“Whyever not? You used to—”
“I know what I used to do.” He was tired now, speaking with exasperation as he searched the room for his coat that could not be found. “What passed between you and I, your Grace, it ended. Months ago now, we finished what we shared.”
“That does not mean we could not revisit what we shared. Some of those nights, they were exciting indeed, were they not?”
Luke moved around the room, searching past a settee, when he at last, caught sight of his tailcoat. It was flung across the back of a salon chair. He moved toward it, aware his feet moved from side to side, as well as forward, in his body’s effort to keep its balance and not fall over. He had barely taken two steps when his progress across the room came to a hasty halt, for the Duchess stepped in his way.
“You cannot deny the excitement, surely?” she whispered, lifting her hands toward him. She ran those fingers up his shirt sleeves, reaching for his skin. Luke felt nothing, though. There was no tremble of excitement as there had once been, only numbness.
“Your Grace—”
“Stop calling me that. Call me Maria.”
“Your Grace.” He made a point of repeating it, to show he was not going to abide by her wishes. “You knew who I was when you first took me to your bed. I never offer any lady anything more than a few nights. I am sorry if you ever thought it was more, I did not mean to give you the idea that it could be more, but I genuinely thought you were merely after the same thing.” She pulled back her hands and placed them on her hips, with the skin of her cheeks turning a deep red.
Is that embarrassment? Or anger?
Luke couldn’t tell in his drunken state. He walked around her, heading for the salon chair and retrieving his tailcoat. The first time he attempted to put it on, he nearly managed to put it on upside down, with the tails over his shoulders.
I do not remember the last time I was so in my cups!
“Then tell me this, Luke, for I believe you owe me this. What lady were you trying to forget when you came here tonight to drown your sorrows in my whisky?” the Duchess’s words pulled Luke to a stop, hesitating with his tailcoat in the air as he attempted to hold it the right way up.
“I should not have come here at all. That was weakness, merely harking back to a freer time.”
“You do not deny then that it is a lady who has you in this state?” the Duchess gestured at him wildly. Luke paused with his tailcoat, turning his focus on her as he realised what he had done.
I have confirmed her suspicion. Not denied it.
“I never mentioned a lady.” He managed to right the tailcoat and get it on this time. He walked toward the door, eager to leave, but once more, the Duchess stepped in the way, apparently determined to stop his escape. She stood in front of the door, holding it closed with the flat of her palm as she angled her head up toward him, far too close for his liking.
“One night, Luke. I could make you remember why you used to enjoy my company so much.” She tilted her head and tried to reach up toward him.
No!
Luke veered back, stopping her before she could reach him for a kiss.
“I am beginning to think you do not understand the word ‘no’, your Grace.” He shook his head emphatically, determined to end this moment here. “I enjoy your company, yes, but for conversation these days, nothing more.”
“That is not the way it used to be—”
“Perhaps not. Call me a young man that was easily swayed by charm and allure, if you will, but I am not so easily manipulated these days.”
“Ha! You think you are the one being manipulated? I thought you were the rake, Luke,” the Duchess said, stepping toward him and thrusting a finger into his chest.
“Maybe I have earned that title, but I was sober the day you and I met, and I remember clearly who invited who into their bed. It was not I. Now, if you would excuse me. I wish you well, your Grace, but it was a mistake to come here.” He moved around her before she could make another attempt to stop him and stepped out into the hallway.
In his state, he tripped on the rug that ran the length of the corridor, having to brace himself against the nearest wall to keep himself standing as he closed the door behind him.
What have I done to myself?