Dating the Duke (The Aristocrat Diaries 2)

“Oh, honey. Come here.” Gabriella pulled me into a gentle hug, then wrapped her arm around my waist and took me inside. “Arthur, could we have some tea in the living room, please?”

I vaguely saw Arthur out of the corner of my teary eyes.

“Yes, milady. Is everything all right with Miss Astley?”

“It will be, thank you. Just the tea, if you could.”

“It’ll only be a moment.”

“Thank you so much.” Gabi took me to the living room and sat us both on the sofa. “Honey, what happened?”

Another round of tears started, and she took me into her arms and started rocking me in a soothing way. I cried harder than I had in a long time, so hard that I barely registered Arthur bringing us the tea she’d asked for. I’m sure someone came in at some point because she asked them to give us some privacy and I heard the sound of the door shutting, but really, all I was aware of was the incessant squeezing of my heart and the throbbing of my pulse in my ears.

It roared, over and over, and it only seemed to amplify the hurt I felt.

I didn’t know how to make any of this stop.

“It’s all right,” Gabi said, smoothing my hair. “Oh, Addy. I’m so sorry. I know he’s my cousin, but I’d kill him for you.”

I shook my head and wiped at my eyes. “He didn’t do anything. I just… I don’t know. I guess it’s just not right for us.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Gabi said slowly.

“All right, let’s go.” Eva stormed into the room and rolled up her sleeves. “Come on.”

“Go where?” Gabi asked, amused.

“Whitborough. I know he’s your cousin, but I’m going to murder the bastard. You hurt my sister, I hurt you. Pack up, come on, he’s bigger than me and I need some back up.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her. Even when she was trying to be a hard arse, she still needed backup.

“All right, Rambo, calm down,” Gabi said, fighting a laugh of her own. “I don’t think it’s like that, so lower your weapons.”

“Ugh,” Eva said, sitting next to me. “Cat called me and told me it was time to roll. Talk about anti-climactic.” She looked at me. “You look fucking awful.”

“It’s good to see you, too, sis,” I replied dryly. “Were you expecting Princess Diana?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting… that.” She motioned to my face. “So I don’t have to kill him today?”

I shook my head.

“Just as well, I do have a date tonight.” She leaned back on the sofa and rested her legs on top of mine. “Now. Spill. Ooh, there’s tea. Hold on.” She poured three cups, grabbed hers, and sat back. “Okay, now. Tell me why I’m not on my way to murder that bastarding duke right now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE – ALEXANDER

Bentley Manor was quiet without Adelaide.

That was what I’d gathered over the past five days without her. It was quiet, it was empty, and it was… lonely.

I didn’t realise how much time we’d really spent together until she was no longer here. I hadn’t set foot in the library since she’d gone. That was almost our space, and I couldn’t bear to see the chess table or the spot on the sofa she always sat on.

And the desk that I’d come to think of as hers.

No.

The library held too many memories for me.

I’d come to rely on her company.

No, not rely.

I’d come to cherish her company. She was a bright spot in every day for me, and I’d felt more alive with her around than I had in a long time. She’d given me a purpose beyond just being a father and a duke.

She made me feel like Alexander again.

When Adelaide was around, I didn’t have the responsibilities or the duties I did all the other times. I could read and play chess and relax without guilt.

Being with her was never a chore.

It was always pleasure, in every sense of the word.

That was before I even considered that I loved her.

God, I loved her. I loved her more than I’d ever thought possible, and I didn’t know how I was going to move on without her. It sounded stupid and ridiculous, but she’d become a part of my life so quickly that my life without her lost a little bit of purpose.

I missed her.

I missed her so much it physically hurt.

Her car was gone. Her shoes were gone. Her keys were never on the kitchen island. Her hands were not in the kitchen sink washing dishes against Boris’s wishes. There was nobody in her bedroom—the housekeepers had scrubbed it and changed the sheets, and there were no longer any traces of her ever having been here.

It hurt.

Killed me, actually.

But there were things to do. There was a business to run, an estate to manage, land to look over, accounting to deal with, staff to handle. I had to be a boss, a son, and a father.