Page 83 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
But the thought of proposing to her? Of spending his days discussing things that were important to him with her? Of spending his nights at her side? God help him. He clutched his roiling stomach.
Late in the afternoon, there was a knock on the library door.
“Yes?”
His butler appeared. “Mr. Jameson is at the door, Your Grace.”
Matthew sighed. Jameson was probably here to chastise him for not showing up at the boathouse today. Matthew wasn’t in the mood, but he would never turn Jameson away.
“Send him up, Simms,” he said tiredly.
A minute later, Jameson strode in. “Why’s the fire going in here?” he complained. “It’s bloody hot.”
“Is it?” Matthew hadn’t noticed.
Jameson narrowed his eyes. “Are you ill? Is that why you didn’t come today?”
Matthew sighed. “No. I’m not ill.” He rose abruptly and went to his desk where he poured himself a healthy tumbler of brandy. He poured a second for Jameson, who still had that suspicious look on his face.
“You aren’t one to miss our meetings.”
“True,” Matthew said shortly.
“What was it, then?”
It was Joanna Porter. Her silky thighs and her sweet kisses and…well, and everything about her. She could take him completely away. She had that power over him, and he’d gladly relinquished it.
Matthew looked over at his friend now occupying Jo’s seat. Odd, how Jameson had sat there a hundred times before and Jo had sat there twice and how Matthew now considered itherseat.
His friend knew something was amiss. Not surprising. You didn’t know a man for twenty-five years without being able to read him without words.
Jameson would listen. He might not understand what was going on—well, he certainly wouldn’t, as marriage was the last thing on his mind—but he’d listen, and he’d at leasttryto understand. Because he was Matthew’s friend, and while Jameson had led Matthew astray more than once, he always gave his honest opinion.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” Jameson asked.
“I’m considering it.”
“Stop considering and spit it out.” Jameson sounded annoyed, and for some reason, Matthew found that comforting.
He took a long swallow of his brandy and, realizing there wasn’t much left in the glass, he finished it. Then, knowing he was procrastinating, he rose to refill his drink. “Another?” he asked Jameson.
Jameson looked pointedly at his still-full glass. “No.”
Matthew took his time, pouring carefully before returning to his seat. Then, he sat in silence, taking care this time to take smaller sips. He didn’t want to be three sheets to the wind before sundown.
Finally, he cracked under the weight of Jameson’s stare. “I was supposed to propose to Miss Cherrington at Vauxhall Gardens.”
“Mmm,” Jameson said. “I noted that you didn’t.”
“It is unlike me to fail to follow through on my plans.”
“I’m aware,” Jameson said drily. “So, why didn’t you?”
Matthew blew out a harsh breath. “I’ve been trying to understand that myself.”
Jameson raised a skeptical brow. “Have you? Because it seems rather obvious to me.”
That stopped Matthew short. He frowned at his friend. “Does it?”
