Page 65 of The Lion Duke's Proposal
"When?"
"Five days ago. Right here, in the study." Leander reached out, turning the crystal glass in a slow circle, watching the light catch the amber surface. "She said something, and I…it was not considered. I lost my grip."
"No, I imagine you did." Anthony was quiet for a long moment, letting the weight of the confession settle. "And since then?"
"We have been..." He cut himself off, searching for a lie that would not sound like one. "There has been some distance between us."
"Mutually?"
"I don't know." He set the glass down with a sudden, sharp force. "No. Mostly because of me."
Anthony nodded slowly, his eyes calculating. "Can I ask you something without you telling me I'm wrong before I've even finished the sentence?"
"I make no promises."
"What is it like?" Anthony asked, stepping closer. "Being married to her. Not the arrangement. Not the legalities or the plan to ruin Norish. What is it actually like when the doors are shut?"
Leander remained silent for so long that any lesser friend would have taken the hint and withdrawn the question entirely. The clock on the mantel ticked twice, loud and rhythmic.
"Being married to her doesn't feel like something I am doing to manage a situation," Leander said finally, the words dragging out of him against his will. "It feels like a privilege."
He paused.
"When I arranged the move to London, I told myself it was strictly operational. Norish is in the city; moving here compressed the geography and puts us within striking distance. All of that is true. It makes tactical sense." He looked toward the window, his chest tightening. "But the truth is, I knew the move would mean she was only four streets away from her sister. And that was the very first thing I thought of when I signed the lease. Not Norish. Not Cuthbert. Her sister's comfort."
Anthony said nothing. He was exceptionally good at knowing when to keep his mouth shut.
"It doesn't feel like an obligation," Leander said, his voice dropping an octave, raw and entirely exposed. "It feels…" He reached deep into his mind for the proper word, but when he got there, he found that the word was one he was completely unprepared to say aloud in this house. He refused to give it breath. "It feels like something else entirely."
"Yes," Anthony said simply, his voice gentle. "I know."
"London is talking," Anthony continued, changing the course of the conversation. "About the marriage. The privacy of the ceremony. The speed of it. People are drawing conclusions in the clubs."
"People always draw conclusions, Anthony. It is the only exercise thetongets."
He stopped, then continued.
"Besides, they are drawing the wrong ones." His jaw tightened so hard a muscle ticked violently beneath his ear. "She deserves better than to be dragged through the mud by bored matrons. She has had more than enough of that in her life."
Anthony watched him, his sharp eyes evaluating the tension in Leander's shoulders, deciding whether to push the blade in a little deeper. He pushed. "Do you have feelings for her?"
Leander reached for his glass, his grip white-knuckled. "I have a strict responsibility for her."
"That is not what I asked you, Leander."
"I know exactly what you asked." He took a long, burning swallow of the spirits, his eyes fixed on the desk. "The responsibility is what I can act on. It is the only thing I have a right to touch. As for the rest, I am not prepared to act on the rest."
Anthony looked at him for a long, heavy moment, measuring the absolute finality in his old friend's face. Then, he picked up his own glass, sat back against the leather sofa, and let it go.
It was the other quality that made him valuable, knowing exactly when the line would break if he pulled any harder.
He let it drop and did not return to it, and the two men sat in the quiet study just as they had sat in rooms together for twenty-five years.
She could hear them inside.
Not the words, just the low, rhythmic cadence of their voices drifting through the open study window. It was the back-and-forth of a long, unbroken friendship, heavy and comfortable.
Julia sat perfectly still on the stone bench, her open book resting flat against the blue silk of her lap, while Benjamin slept soundly three feet away. She listened to the distant murmur without trying to, her attention caught by the sound the way it always was by things happening at the edges of rooms.
