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“Hear, hear!” toasted Lady Buchanan, and the four of them clinked their teacups together.

Pride suffused Patience’s being as Dorian rose to embrace her. She sank into his arms, fortified by his belief in her.

If only he would trust her with whatever demons still plagued him…

34

The next day, Dorian struck the punching bag of a London boxing gym with furious force, each blow landing with a satisfying thud. His muscles were coiled and tense, his bare chest misted with sweat, his mind consumed by the chaos of emotion churning within him.

“You seem agitated,” Luhst remarked, leaning against the wall, his expression one of cool amusement. “Did your duchess throw you out of her bed?”

Dorian grunted, not breaking his rhythm. “Shut up, Lucien.”

Lucien smirked.

Eccess drank from a flask and punched another bag. “If she did throw you out, I can’t say I blame her. With that scowl on your face, you’d scare off even the most determined of women.”

Dorian glared at him but kept pummeling the punching bag with relentless intensity.

Irevrence chuckled from his lounging position a nearby bench. “Perhaps he has lost his touch. Marriage has made him soft in more ways than one.”

The other dukes guffawed at the crude joke.

Dorian paused, his chest heaving, and fixed Irevrence with a steely gaze. “I assure you, Sylvester, my ‘touch’ is as potent as ever. And there’s nothing soft about me.”

Pryde, who was boxing with Enveigh, scoffed as he paused and gave Dorian a look full of rare mischief. “Is that so?” he asked. “Then why are you here, beating your frustrations into a leather sack instead of satisfying your wife?”

Dorian clenched his teeth. He’d never thought he would fall into this trap. But he loved Patience. And he could glimpse true happiness for the first time in his life. He could sense it, so close it was almost within his reach.

But it was also as far away as ever.

Because he was living a lie. He was in love with his wife, but she was in love with a false version of him. Not with who he really was.

There was only one way out.

“I feel compelled to reveal the truth of her brother’s death,” he said.

The rhythmic thumps and grunts of the men boxing died away, and it was only Dorian’s own fists that were hitting the bag.

Dorian stopped, too, looking at his friends’ shocked faces.

Pryde shook his head, his brown hair misted and clinging to his forehead, his chestnut eyes dark and serious on Dorian. “I told you. You should have never married her.”

“You’re going to risk all of our futures,” said Lucien, taking one step forward. Dorian didn’t remember last time Lucien looked so serious. “We helped you cover it up!”

“I know,” Dorian said, though doubt colored his tone. “But it’s all I keep thinking about. Honesty.”

Another fierce jab sent the bag swinging. Honesty was what he kept thinking about as he intensified his morning routines. He was split between the desire to keep everything as it was, to continue lying to the woman he loved…

And the need to confess.

When he’d opened up to her, showed her his hand, and then let her take control in their lovemaking… It was one of the best moments of his life.

What would it feel like if he didn’t need to pretend anymore, if he could just lay out everything as it was, tell her what had truly happened to her brother?

Relief. Acceptance. Peace. God, how he craved it all.

Eccess stumbled over, cheeks ruddy from overindulgence. “Honesty? Pah! Save that for the pulpit, I say. A man must have his secrets.”