Page 2 of Cold November Rake

"Alec, behave," Emily, the Duchess of Tyrone, murmured to her husband, who was unashamedly kissing her neck while his hand played with her bare skin between the sleeve of her gown and her long glove. She self-consciously moved away from him, her cheeks turning the color of burgundy.

"If we took our own carriage, we wouldn't need to behave," Tyrone said with a grin.

Emily narrowed her eyes in reprimand.

And that was precisely why Sutton was not going to let the pair use his carriage without his supervision. He didn't want to imagine what might happen on his velvet seats, nor did he want to offend his driver.

Sutton stretched out his long legs, his posture rigid, and turned his head to stare out the window at the barely passable roads.

It had been dry when the two couples left for the theater, but the rain had come and gone while they were inside. Now, the muddy roads meant it would take them twice as long to reach home, forcing him to sit with two lovebirds who couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Tyrone glided his fingers down his wife's long sleeve, then entwined their hands. He leaned in closer than Sutton thought was possible and whispered something in his wife's ear.

Her cheeks and ears became redder than the candle flame burning inside the carriage as she swatted at his shoulder.

"You are being exceedingly inappropriate," the duchess murmured to her husband. But instead of feeling abashed, he swiftly stole a kiss from her, making her giggle.

Yes, their behavior would have been exceedingly inappropriate in more formal company. In the intimate setting of a close friend's carriage, perhaps Tyrone didn't think it was. After all, Sutton had witnessed far worse from Tyrone during his bachelorhood.

And normally, he wouldn't have cared. If only he didn't feel a dull, nagging ache settle beneath his ribs and the strong fingers of jealousy strangling at his throat.

No, no. He was not jealous because he wanted Emily for himself, though there was a time when he'd thought she deserved far more than his wastrel friend. But Tyrone had changed his ways—for the most part—and instead of indulging in spirits, he was now indulging in another type of delight:

His wife.

And that was the part that so irked Sutton.

Wife.

Family.

Sutton wanted that: companionship, friendship, flirting, banter, understanding, and the undeniable need for one another in a marriage.

He'd wanted it since he was barely out of school. But now he knew that he wasn't ever going to get it.

The carriage finally rolled to a stop, and Sutton silently thanked the stars.

"Thank you for tonight," Emily said with a smile as the door opened. "I haven't been to the theater in ages. It was wonderful to get out of the house again, though I must admit I missed Liam and Ana."

"This is our first long night away from the children, and you did fabulously, mo tíogar," Tyrone said with a peck to his wife's cheek.

Children.

Another spear through Sutton's heart.

Tyrone hopped out of the carriage and helped his wife alight.

"Would you like to stop in for a cup of chocolate?" Tyrone asked.

Sutton almost laughed.

Chocolate. Again.

He resisted the urge to ask for brandy, knowing Tyrone's household didn't stock spirits.

"No, but thank you for offering. I know you must be dying to be tête-à-tête with your wife."

"That I am," Tyrone agreed with a wide grin. "Farewell, my friend."