His mother wiped her eyes and turned to leave.She paused at the door, and for a moment, she looked less like the formidable duchess and more like his mother—the woman who had read him stories as a child, who had held his hand at his father's funeral, who had aged a decade in the months after the burial.
“I loved your father,” she said quietly.“I do want that for you, Wesley.But you have to try to find it.”
Then she was gone, and Wesley was alone with his brandy and the weight of everything he couldn't say.
He sank into the chair his mother had vacated, still warm from her presence, and let his head fall back.The afternoon light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air, and Wesley thought about Thea.
He always thought about Thea.He had sensed something was off with her at the garden party, but he still didn’t know what that was about.He just had a row with his mother, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder what Thea was doing.
His mother said he wasn’t trying.She wasn’t wrong about that.All he could think about was the way Thea would fit against him.How she would feel if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her in every way that had haunted his dreams for years.
But then he would look foolish when she pushed him away.And he wasn’t one to force himself on a woman.
Wesley poured another brandy and resolved that some things just weren’t meant to be.
********
The Fox was loud tonight, the usual crowd swelled by a group of young bucks celebrating someone's birthday in the corner.
Wesley found their regular table and dropped into his chair.Kit was already there, cap pulled low, shuffling the deck with those quick, slim fingers.Something about Kit's hands had always struck Wesley as odd.Maybe it was their small size?But he'd never bothered to give it much thought.Kit was just Kit.Sharp-tongued, good at cards, irritating in a way Wesley had grown to admire in the cocky man.
“You look terrible,” Kit said, taking in his appearance.
“Then I guess I can’t make it much worse.”He raised his hand to signal for a drink.
Louis and Max arrived, settling at the table.Louis took one look at Wesley's face and signaled for a bottle instead of glasses.
“Has something happened?”Max asked.
“My mother paid a visit.”
“Ah.”Louis poured four whiskeys, sliding one to Kit without asking.“Let me guess.You’re to marry Lady Caroline and produce your heir as quickly as possible to honor your duty to the family name.”
“That is the measure of it.”Wesley wasn’t even sure why he had come out, other than he couldn’t sit in his study staring at the fire any longer.
“Well none of that is new.”Louis drained half his glass.“The question is what you're going to do about it.”
“Get drunk and lose money to Kit, most likely.”
Kit collected the whiskey with a nod of thanks and dealt the first hand.“Happy to assist with the losing money portion of that plan.”
The game settled into its rhythm, but Wesley could feel his friends watching him.
He won the first hand and lost the next three.Kit raked in the coins with that satisfied grin.
“Damn and hell,” Kit muttered.“That's a pretty pot.”
Wesley had heard Kit say that a dozen times now.The same mild curse, the same pleased tone.It was becoming as familiar as the cap pulled low and the rough voice.
“You always say that ridiculous phrase.”
Kit's hands stilled for just a moment on the coins.“I might be just a tad superstitious.Can't change what works.”
The game continued.Wesley's mind drifted—the whiskey doing its work—and he found himself watching Kit without meaning to.There was something familiar about the man, and he hadn’t quite put his finger on it yet.He was almost sure he’d seen the man before meeting him at the Fox.
“All right.”Louis set down his cards.“I think you’ve had enough to drink now, and we're doing this.”
Wesley looked up.“Doing what?”
