You had to let her come to you, he told himself.Otherwise, you would never have known how much you meant to her.
Well, he knew now.
“I need a drink,” Will said out loud as he attempted to lever himself to his feet. Everything spun. He closed his eyes and, for a moment, just saw Rose—her face, looking at him, expressionless. He opened his eyes.
“Dammit,” he swore.
The aching feeling of loss in his solar plexus was widening into a gaping chasm. He felt like he wanted to cry and scream at the same time just to get rid of the pressure. He steadied himself with a hand on the wall.
You have to get over her, he told himself.
He changed his clothes, which were crumpled and reeked of tobacco smoke. He would have to walk to White’s, but the fresh air might do him good. He had a stabbing pain in his temple. He would leave Dante where he was for another evening. He did not expect to be in a fit state to ride him after another night of drinking himself to oblivion.
“Rose, Rose,” he lamented in his mind, over and over, as he walked through the streets catching nobody’s eye, the pounding of his feet matching the pounding behind his eye, and the pounding of his heart, which felt like he was running a marathon. He tried to breathe his way to calm, but it didn’t work.
“Rose, what have you done? To both of us?”
He walked into White’s, ignoring everyone, not even giving up his hat and his gloves.
“Whiskey, please,” he barked at the barman. As the warmth hit the back of his throat and burned a path downwards, he could take a deeper breath, and he felt his heartbeat calming.
Will was not a drinking man. He imbibed alcohol socially as the occasion demanded. Now it felt like a lifeline.
He sat down at the familiar bar, his head down. It was already six in the evening. He wondered what was happening in Arundel. Was she safe? Was he already after her? What if he strikedher again? His fist tightened around his glass, his knuckles white, and he felt sick. He knew she'd walked into the arrangement with her eyes wide open, ignoring every entreaties from him, but he couldn't bear the thought of that soft, white skin being marred. He sipped his drink once more.Don’t think about it, he told himself. But it was impossible not to. Ernest Barrington was a vile individual, and the thought of him laying a finger on her was torture. His heart was beating fast of its own accord again, making his breathing ragged and labored.
“Damn that blasted woman,” he muttered under his breath as someone suddenly slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“There you are! Where have you been?” John was standing behind him. “I hammered on your door for twenty minutes this morning. Did you find some comely maiden to share a warm bed?”
“No,” Will said darkly. “I was home.”
“Well, you must be going deaf, my man.”
“I was drunk,” Will said.
“And heading back there rapidly, I see.” John looked pointedly at his whiskey glass.
“I just want to be left alone,” Will said. He didn’t want any ‘I-told-you-so’s’ from him or Charlotte.
“No, you don’t,” John said heartily. “You want to know what happened here last night.”
“I truly don’t,” he assured him.
Did he not understand his audience?Will thought. Why would he be interested in social tittle-tattle when his heart was breaking?
But John was already prattling on while Will resisted the urge to punch him to silence him. It was only when he heard the name Ernest Barrington that he began to listen.
“So, Barrington was drunk as a skunk, lording it over everyone at the bar, proclaiming his seniority to anyone who would listen. He was being so rude about Rose I almost intervened myself, but then he said something lairy about Lord Benson’s wife, and Benson went for him. He was chasing him around the bar. The weedy runt jumped on a table to escape Benson’s fists but then lost his balance and went flying. Knocked out cold. I don’t think Benson even got a punch in; the Duke was so in his cups.”
John was laughing but Will didn’t smile.
“Anyway, Barrington was carted off to St Barts screaming in agony. So I went to his home this morning, and his butler said it’s serious, and they were preparing to send a note to Arundel to postpone the wedding.”
It took a few seconds for Will to comprehend what John had said. Then he stared thunderstruck at his friend. It hadn’t happened? Rose was not married? Barrington was seriously hurt?
Will came out of his chair in one fluid movement, grabbed the lapels of John’s jacket, and pushed him back against the wall.
“You took that long to tell me?”