Dorothea offered him a polite smile. “Much better, thank you. I slept deeply and seem to have recovered from my cold.”
Dominic took a step back from the bed. “I should go,” he murmured, avoiding her gaze.
Doctor Taylor glanced at him over his spectacles. “You’re more than welcome to remain, my lord. The examination will be brief.”
Dominic shook his head. “I have work that requires my attention that I’ve put off long enough.”
Doctor Taylor gave a nod of understanding and set his bag at the foot of the bed, unlatching it with the practiced ease of a man who had done so a thousand times. “As you wish. I assure you, I’ll take excellent care of Lady Warwicke. You’ve nothing to be concerned about.”
Dominic turned to her then and there was something vulnerable in his expression. The way he looked at her was raw and unguarded.
“Rest, Dorothea.” He lifted his hand, almost touching her arm—then stopped. His fingers hovered for a breath, then fell silently to his side. “I will return shortly.”
And just like that, he turned and strode from the room, the door closing behind him.
Dorothea stared at the place where he’d stood, her heart twisting. Despite everything he tried to hide… he did care. She just didn’t know if he would ever let himself show it.
Dominic sat alone in the shadowed corner of White’s, a glass clutched tightly in his hand. Around him, the club buzzed with its usual polite murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of restrained laughter. But he heard none of it. His thoughts crowded out every sound, every distraction.
Dorothea had nearly died.
If he had arrived just a few minutes later… he couldn’t finish the thought. It twisted in his chest like a blade.
He cared for her. Of course he did. That wasn’t the question. The problem was that his feelings didn’t matter. This was about keeping her safe. He had made his decision for her benefit. She deserved freedom. A life unmarred by a broken man.
So why, then, was he beginning to question everything?
No.
He shook his head and took a long sip of brandy. The annulment was the only way forward. It was what he’d decided from the start. She would understand eventually. Given time, perhaps she would remarry someone capable of giving her the future she deserved. Happiness, security, maybe even a family.
The thought of her being with another man made his stomach turn.
A voice, loud and entirely too cheerful, broke through his musings. “Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be drinking, even for you?”
Dominic didn’t bother to look up. “Go away, Bedford.”
Bedford ignored the warning and dropped into the chair opposite him, still grinning. “And miss an opportunity to be insulted before my midday meal? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
A second, more apologetic voice joined the conversation. “I’m sorry, Warwicke. My wife insisted I bring him with me.”
Dominic looked over and gave Lord Westcott a nod. “You’re welcome here. Bedford… not so much.”
Bedford placed a hand over his heart. “I didn’t realize you cared so deeply.”
Westcott sat down with a sigh. “You look troubled, Warwicke.”
Bedford raised a brow. “Troubled? His face always looks that way. Like he’s contemplating murder.”
“And yet you remain seated across from me,” Dominic said dryly.
“Because I’m an excellent listener,” Bedford replied, unbothered. “And modest, too. One of my many virtues.”
Dominic looked heavenward. “Don’t you have somewhere else—anywhereelse—you could be?”
Bedford leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “Not a one.”
Westcott cast a long-suffering look at him. “You’ll have to forgive Bedford. He’s my wife’s cousin. I’m obligated to tolerate him.”
