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“I’m not certain you mean that.”
Blake jabbed a finger at the dark, glossy table. “I did not come here to be plagued with—” he waved a hand “—whatever this is. Are we here to drink and relax or not?”
“Well, I would relax except you look as though you are ready to leap from the table and pounce on the next person who enters.” Ashford narrowed his gaze. “How long has it been since you had a woman?”
Blake lowered his voice, aware of the other members at nearby tables. “...months.”
“Months?” Ashford spluttered. “How many?”
“Five months, damn it.”
“Well, no wonder you keep looking at Demeter as though she is the tastiest morsel at the buffet. Though she is quite lovely once you pay attention to her...” He met Blake’s stare and grinned. “Anyway, it is not surprising. Five months has to have been the longest you’ve gone since you’ve come of age.”
It was. But he didn’t quite know why. He’d anticipated the Season being an end to this drought, blaming a lack of choice. By rights, he could have found himself a lover on the first night of the Season yet he hadn’t. None of the women appealed, somehow.
“Like I said before, you need a mature relationship. A warm woman to come home to every night.” Ashford said this as though he was several decades older than him rather one year.
Blake pressed his lips together. “I am not getting married. That’s for old men.” And it led to children, and who knew what would happen then. His father had been terrible. What if he was a bad father too?
“Trust me, I would never push you into the institution of marriage, but as I said before, a mistress would work quite nicely.”
“I do not need a mistress,” Blake said firmly. “And I do not need this conversation. I am just fine.”
Ashford eyed him for a moment then sighed. “You are my friend, Blake. I’m allowed to be concerned about you.”
Blake let his shoulders drop. He was being a bitter, horrible ass, and Ashford didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was more like his father than he realized. Boodle’s usually provided a warm sanctuary where he could indulge in good food and the finest drink, where he could forget his bare, unloving childhood. His cousin gaining membership made him feel itchy, as though the man had crawled under his skin.
Or was that Demeter?
No. It couldn’t be. As lovely as she was, she wasn’t the sort to crawl under a man’s skin and stop them from thinking of anyone else.
He finished the last drop of whisky and set the glass down. “Forgive me, Ashford, I am not in the mood for drinks it seems. I should probably head home and stew alone.”
“I’ll at least walk home with you,” Ashford offered, rising with him.
“There’s really no need.”
“Blake, you know you cannot tell me what to do any more than I can tell you.”
Resigned, Blake headed out onto the busy street, Ashford keeping up a brisk pace beside him. As they came to the junction where King’s Palace dominated the skyline, making the houses around it seem insignificant, a blur of mottled gray and beige fur darted across the road, scarcely avoiding being hit. It struck Blake’s leg, forcing both him and the animal to a stop. The creature trembled pathetically, his matted coat and boney frame only just revealing him as a mid-sized dog. It looked up at him, its eyes dark and pathetic.
Oh Lord.
Blake crouched and put out a hand by the side of his head. The dog sniffed tentatively then butted his cold nose against his hand. Blake eyed him as he sat patiently. “You weren’t a stray all your life were you?” he murmured.
“What the devil are you doing?” Ashford demanded, his tone tight. “Don’t touch it for Christ’s sakes.”
The dog nudged his hand and planted his rear down.
Standing, he looked at his friend then back at the dog then blew out a breath as the animal remained patiently seated upon the pavement, his expression resigned.
“Damn it.”
He scooped the animal up before he could change his mind and the creature sat placidly in his arms as though he was always meant to be there.
Ashford’s expression grew horrified. “He probably has fleas and goodness knows what else. Put the thing down.”
“I can’t.”
