Page 163 of The Dueling Duchess

“Men like to leave without saying goodbye,” Blade said.

The two women exchanged a speaking look.

Guy frowned. “Now wait just a moment. I’m not avoiding her for my own sake. I’m—”

“He’s avoiding Cat for her sake,” Helen explained to Blade.

“Of course, he’s doing it for Cat’s sake,” Blade agreed.

Both women turned to face Guy. “Otherwise that would make him a coward.”

“Coward,” Angus echoed.

Guy pointed at the bird. “Now you just stay out of this. Besides, what ever happened to standing up for your sex?”

Angus ignored him.

The two women stared.

Guy flung up his hands. “Fine. I’ll come by before I leave.”

He waited for a response—any response—but received none.

“I heard Cecile leave early this morning with Dumas and de La Fontaine.” Guy couldn’t help sneering a bit when he said the name. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“He wants to make sure he’s not here when she gets back,” Blade said to Helen. Both women nodded.

Guy scowled. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not standing right in front of you.”

“Cecile didn’t say when she’d return when she left this morning,” Helen said.

“Probably having too good a time with le duc, was she?”

Damnation! Why did he say that? He wanted to chew out his own tongue.

Especially when both females smirked.

“Well,” he said, gesturing to the still steaming pot on the table and the plate of butter biscuits. “Thank you for the kind offer of tea, but I really can’t join you,” he said sarcastically.

Blade looked untouched, but Helen had the grace to blush at her inhospitable behavior.

“I’ll be off. But don’t worry,” he added when Helen opened her mouth, “I’ll stop by to say goodbye to Cat.” He turned to Blade. “If I don’t have the pleasure of seeing you again before I go, I’d ask that you have mercy on poor Elliot.”

The fiery blush that flooded Blade’s pale cheeks was both fetching and rewarding.

She opened her mouth, but Angus beat her to it. “Poor Elliot.”

Guy laughed and left while the leaving was good.

As he walked out the front door, he felt a sadness that made it hard to move his feet. He’d only lived there for a few months, but he had to admit they were some of the happiest months of his life.

The urge to stay—to turn around and head back up to his tiny cupboard and unpack his bag—was strong.

But it wasn’t the house that had made it a home. It was the woman who owned it. And she wouldn’t be living there again, either.

* * *

“If he wants to go, let him!” Cecile retorted, pleased when her voice came out angry rather than hurt.