“Why to be re-introduced into Society.” She linked her arm through Pamela’s and moved her forward. “It is well past your time for a husband, sister.”
16
“Open the bloody door!” The pounding on his office door barely made a dent in Nick’s consciousness.
“Go the bloody hell away.” At least that is what Nick thought he said. It did come out quite garbled.
The sound of a key inserted into the door had him cursing more. “Get out.”
Ernest, his second in command at the club threw the door open. “It smells like a rotting pig sty in here.”
“I don’t remember asking you.” Nick lifted his head from the desk and tried to bring Ernest in focus. It didn’t work. There was still three of him. “I told you to get out.”
Ernest placed his hands on his hips. “Look at the shape you’re in. You haven’t eaten, slept, or” he sniffed the air, “bathed, in over a week.”
“Ah, more advice I didn’t ask for.” Nick picked up the bottle of whiskey and shook it. “Empty. Get me another one.”
“Like hell, and absolutely not. I’m dragging your arse down to the bathing room and dumping you in the tub of water I just had filled for you. Then you’re getting a shave, a haircut, and a hot meal.”
“Go away. I don’t need you mothering me.” Nick waved his hand and laid his very painful head back on the desk. The coolness of the wood soothed his warm face.
“Do you know how long you’ve been hiding in this office?”
Nick sighed. There was that annoying voice again. “Eleven days, six hours and probably about twenty minutes.”
“Not that you’re counting,” Ernest said.
“Once more. Go away.”
“All right. You leave me no choice.” Ernest walked over to Nick, pulled his head up by his hair and socked him on the jaw. He then lifted his slumped body over his shoulder and walked off.
“Are you trying to drown me?” Nick came up sputtering from the tub of water ready to kill someone.
Ernest threw a linen and small jar of soap at him. “Clean yourself up. I have someone coming up to shave you and cut your hair. After a decent meal, you’re going to dress as a gentleman and go downstairs and take care of your business.”
Nick cupped his jaw and rotated his head. Damn, Ernest could have broken his jaw.
Forty minutes later Nick was dry, dressed, fed, and somewhat sober. He stared in the mirror as he fixed his ascot. He’d lost weight, his eyes were red and his skin pale as new snow.
The club, however, was doing well—no thanks to him. Ernest had reported to him every night after closing, but he had little interest in it. It was difficult to care about something when he didn’t give a damn about anything. He’d been miserable since he’d returned from London.
Watching Pamela’s eyes fill with tears at his harsh words and then later climb into his carriage to leave for her brother’s house almost killed him. Like the coward he was, he hid behind the curtain in the drawing room and watched her go.
It felt like hell to be noble.
He’d been drunk ever since.
Ernest strolled up to him as he reached the bottom step of the staircase to the club floor. “You still look like shite.”
“It is truly amazing how many opinions you can offer that I don’t give a damn about.” He walked to the north wall and watched a game of poker.
The infuriating man followed him and then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, surveying the room. “If you ask me, you’re an arse for not going back for the woman.”
“Didn’t ask you.” Nick looked back at the bar contemplating another drink but since he wasn’t much of a drinker before this binge, his ornery stomach would most likely reward him with a deposit on his shoes if he tried another drink after eating.
“Of course, you didn’t ask me, because you know what a damn fool you were to listen to that addlepated brother of hers who is led around by his nose by that witch of a wife of his.”
Nick looked over at him. “And how is it you know so much about these people?”