The words from their argument returned with brutal clarity—her eyes flashing like blue steel as she ordered him to leave.
He had never imagined himself overbearing.
And yet he’d sat there—issuing commands, calling it protection, and wondering why Beatrice had looked ready to set him on fire.
Unfortunately, she’d left him with no other choice.
Tender-hearted, fearless, infuriating Beatrice would walk straight into danger if it meant sparing another woman from it.
Which was why tonight, by God, Gideon would don his bloody evening clothes and attend yet another blasted event for the pleasure of watching her from across a ballroom while she looked through him as though he had become furniture.
No. Not the furniture. More like the enemy.
And nothing was likely to change that.
He could apologize. Properly. Repeatedly. He could tell her she had been right about him being afraid. And yes, he’d been bossy and overbearing as well.
But he could not give her the one thing she wanted most.
Free rein to place herself in danger.
Footsteps sounded from beyond the study door.
Not the measured tread of a servant alone. Another step followed it, uneven and heavier. Followed by a knock.
“Enter,” Gideon called.
Gideon glanced up just as Dash stepped into the room.
And then winced. For half a second, neither of them spoke.
Christ.
Dash looked worse than he had two days ago.
His coat was properly cut but badly worn, as though he had slept in it. His cravat sat crooked at his throat. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. His eyes were bloodshot, hollow, and gone dull with the exhaustion of a man who had burned through all his options.
Burke withdrew without being told, closing the door softly behind him.
“Dash.”
Gideon came around the desk.
His oldest friend gave a humorless half-smile. “Do not look so relieved to see me alive. It is unbecoming.”
“Is this relief? I didn’t notice.”
Dash’s mouth twitched, but the expression collapsed almost at once. His gaze moved over the papers spread across Gideon’s desk. “What is all this?”
“Nothing of immediate concern.”
Dash looked back at him. For all his dishevelment, grief had not made him stupid.
Gideon gathered the nearest sheet and turned it facedown. Dash would be made aware of all of it soon enough.
“Why are you here?”
Dash exhaled, then lowered himself into the chair opposite the desk as though his bones had given up holding him. For the first time, Gideon noticed that beneath the exhaustion and ruin, there was something else.
