“What do you mean what am I going to do about it? She rejected me. Twice.”
“You are in love with her, are you not?”
“Are you deaf?”
Avondale waved a dismissive hand. “You love her. That ought to be enough encouragement to motivate you into action.”
“Who says I love her?” How bloody lame. It was written all over his misery.
“I’ve never seen you in such a wretched state, old friend. Only a woman can do this to a man. Go home. Go take a bath. Shave. And go get your woman.”
Avondale didn’t understand. If it were that easy, he would have done it already. But the way they had ended things was decisive, as was the threat he had tossed at her feet. How close had he been afterward to paying a visit to Huntly to confess his deeds and ensure her hand? But he hadn’t. Not because he was righteous and would never do that to Phaedra, but because he wasn’t sure Huntly would give him his daughter’s hand.
“You didn’t see the loathing in her eyes.”
“Are you sure it was loathing?” Avondale asked.
“There was also hurt, distrust, perhaps a touch of distaste.”
Avondale choked. “Christ man, what did you do to the woman?” His eyes suddenly widened. “Tell me you didn’t seduce the chit.”
“Would you shut your damn mouth?”
Avondale held up his hands in surrender. “Well, did you?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So you did.” Avondale gave him a once over. “There must be something else going on here. Why else would she reject you?”
“She doesn’t trust easily. I betrayed her trust.” Deerhurst sighed. “Whatever she’s grappling with, I can’t fight it for her no matter how much I want to.”
“Perhaps, but it’s your life, and if you want her in it, you’ll find a way to stay in it. You get my meaning?”
“We can’t all be as lucky as you.”
But already Deerhurst’s mind spun in all directions with all the ways he could stay in Phaedra’s life. If she was carrying his child, of course, it would be a done deal. But he didn’t want her to come to him out of responsibility. He wanted her heart. He wanted her to choose him. He wanted what he had lost.
Her trust.
Else it would be like him and Olivia, only he would be Olivia in this scenario. Refusing to let go. Always showing up in her presence. Allowing obsession to become an ugly, tangible thing. That had been a nightmare. He refused to be a nightmare in Phaedra’s life.
His attention caught on Cromby and one of his cronies sauntering into the club and plopping down at a table behind them. He tried to pay them no mind, but their voices cut through.
It’s done,” Deerhurst heard the man at the table behind them say. Cromby’s friend.
“Good,” Cromby replied. “My pockets will be filled when morning comes.”
Deerhurst met Avondale’s gaze. Cromby was an arse, and he had also caught Deerhurst’s attention. The man had scared and tried to compromise Phaedra, Deerhurst was sure, and Deerhurst would never forgive Cromby for that. While he would like nothing more than to roll his eyes, this topic of pockets being filled was a sensitive one. He listened harder.
“You will have more blunt if you do it yourself.”
Deerhurst stilled, his head tilting to the side as he listened to their conversation.
Cromby grunted. “I have a reputation to uphold. Don’t like my hands to get dirty. Besides, that bitch spurned me at Morewood’s ball. She’s going to get what she deserves tonight.”
Deerhurst’s heart dropped to his shoes, his eyes lifting to meet Avondale’s, who sat up in his chair.
“And you’re sure you gave the right address?”
