Boyd uncorked it, lifting it to his mouth. The warm, bitter liquid made him gag. He pulled back, coughing. “What’s this?”
“It’s coffee,” Griffin said, smirking.
Boyd stared at it in disgust. “Count on the stoic Englishman to carry that piss instead of liquor.” He shoved it back, reaching for his own flask and uncorking it with a shaky hand.
Griffin raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it early to start drinking?”
Boyd’s chuckle came low and empty. “Start? I never stopped.”
Griffin exhaled, his gaze steady. “That bad? I never thought Eros would bite your ass, old man. Took a long time coming, though.”
A tap on his shoulder made Boyd glance up. Almoster’s expression had softened, his voice quiet but firm. “The heart has ways the mind fails to understand.”
Boyd exhaled. “Beth Croft isn’t what I expected. She—” He swallowed, unable to finish. She’d ruined him.
“Women. Heaven has no bliss without them.” Almoster’s aristocratic tone carried a faint amusement.
Griffin shook his head. “The women were right then. You want her. That changes everything.”
“Changes what?” Boyd’s voice dropped, bitterness creeping in. “I’ve messed up the whole thing. This is nothing like the courtships you two had with your wives.”
Griffin snorted. “The courtships we had were far from perfect.” He gestured toward Almoster. “He seduced my sister while being accused of regicide.”
Almoster raised an eyebrow. “And you seduced Julia while engaged to Beth Croft.”
Griffin cleared his throat, looking slightly sheepish. “The point is, our starts were rough. But they ended all right.”
Neither of them seduced their women while planning to hurt them. Their lives were built on love and loyalty, while his was forged in hate. And now he had a silent, hollow house waiting for him.
Boyd stood. “I’m going to the hunting lodge. You two stay and enjoy Christmas with your families.”
Chapter sixteen
"A lady values reflection, for wisdom lies in learning from the past and avoiding the repetition of the same mistakes." From The Polite Companion: A Lady’s Guide to Social Grace
“More, Dora. It’s not tight enough.”
Beth gripped the bedpost, her knuckles whitening as her maid tugged on the corset laces. Her breaths grew shallow, her torso bending to the will of the garment.
Yesterday, without the corset, she had moved freely, exposed in ways she hadn’t expected. It had been uncomfortable and glorious, but—not worth the risk.
No. She needed the corset. Once it closed around her waist, it would patch up this—this wound in her chest.
Beth welcomed the structure, the restraint—a familiar armor that concealed as much as it held together.
Her gown from last night still draped over the chair, a silent rebuke, and beside it, the cello—a witness to things left unsaid. She had allowed no one to see her play, to see her laid bare. But he had coaxed her, peeling back fabric and fears. Still, after seeing her bare, he rejected her. She gripped the post tighter, swallowing back the ache in her throat. She needed to leave before he crushed her heart into something unrecognizable.
The satin creaked as the maid pulled, sculpting her into the fashionable silhouette—a narrow waist hinting at fragility even as it demanded resilience.
She would never set it aside again.
A shadow crossed the floor, and Beth looked up to find Julia standing in the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the half-packed bags.
“As you can see, I’m—”
“Thank you, Dora,” Julia interrupted briskly. “We’ll take it from here.”
Dora hesitated, casting Beth a concerned glance before slipping out.
