Page 4 of My Ruthless Duke
His words were practically a snarl as the footman walked backward slowly to carry out his orders.
“Dorian, I think you have done more than enough already!”
Dorian paused in the foyer, his sister’s voice giving him pause as she hurried down the main staircase, her slippers a soft whisper against the carpet runner. Dorian’s tongue ran over his teeth.
“George is your son, Mary, and you wish to allow this woman to harm him and get away with it?”
“He is all right, Dorian. You can just let her go, firing her without a recommendation should be enough of a punishment.”
“Shebeatmy nephew, Mary!”
Of all the people in the world, his sister and nephew were the only ones not afraid of him. Mary was the only one who did not shrink or recoil when his voice was raised. Perhaps the only one who could stand toe to toe with him, yelling back, that would not invoke his particular ire.
A fact she was currently exploiting.
“It was but a few lashes, Dorian! He is all right!”
“I willnot toleratesuch abuse under my roof!” Dorian shouted, his face only inches from hers. “That cycle shall not be repeated in this home, Mary! I told you when we buried Father, there shall be no more pain in this home. The walls have seenenoughviolence! Or do you not remember?”
Mary flinched.
Of course, she remembered. He could see it in her face. The pair of them wore more than their share of scars over the battered and ruined skin of their backs and thighs from their father’s sadistic whippings. Georgie was but a six-year-old child, and no child deserved to be harmed for their transgressions. He did not care what his crime might have been.
“Our father ruled by fear. He demanded blind obedience, or he beat it into us. How is that any different than the tactics that you are employing today, Brother? You ought to be careful lest you become more like him than you realize.” Mary finished, turning sharply on her heel and starting to head back upstairs.
“You are mistaken. I shall never become like that bastard, and I certainly shall never have children. This bloodline ends with me.”
Mary paused on the stairs, her hand delicately resting on the banister. “You should not say such things.” She turned slowly, her chin angled over her shoulder. “Normally, when you are in better control of your temper, you are a wonderful uncle to Georgie. You would be a good father, Dorian.”
Dorian scoffed. “What man in his right mind would be willing to risk passing on this madness gene to a poor child?Thatwould be true cruelty.”
“There is no such thing as a madness gene, do you even hear yourself?” Mary said, brandishing her arm in his direction. “Ourfather was a cruel man, Dorian. But he was just a man. You need to find something to channel this…” she gestured to his chest. “Energy. Or, perhaps, I do not know… take a wife. Perhaps that would give you something to occupy your time with and thaw out that frozen heart of yours.”
“Oh, do not mistake my issues, sister. It is not that I have a heart of ice. It is that I possess no heart at all.”
Dorian had already indulged deeply in his cups well before he arrived at White’s. It was perhaps a poor choice of location, given the sheer amount of people that had chosen this evening to frequent the club. It was such a rare thing that Dorian actually wished to be around people. Tonight, it was not so much a desire to be social that motivated his actions, but rather, a need not to be idle. He could not stay in that house for a moment longer, listening to his sister’s needling comments. She was already cross enough with him for refusing to attend the Blithe’s ball. The last thing he needed was to spend his night being performative and false in his actions and words.
No, he needed to drink at least until his mind had found a healthy numb to level him out.
“Whiskey,” Dorian ordered as he shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the attendant near the door. “And keep them coming.”
He did not pause to hear the words of greeting or welcome. He merely wandered into the main room, where men gathered around small tables, playing cards or conversing softly. There was a layer of smoke in the air from the pipe tobacco, and the lighting was mercifully dim. It made the roaring inside of his skull softer and easier to manage.
“Your Grace! Over here!” Patrick Hislop rose from his seat to motion him over to the table where he was surrounded by Dorian’s acquaintances. Rhysand, Duke of Huxton, and Xander Harrison, Duke of Larsen.
Dorian did not consider himself the sort of man to havefriends,but these gentlemen were some recent acquaintances at White’s. As Dorian joined them, an attendant brought his glass of whiskey to the table on a small napkin. It appeared that Xander and Patrick were in the middle of a heated debate about something that he could not find the energy to care about as he nodded to Rhysand in greeting.
“Long time no see, Davenport.” Rhysand seemed unaffected by the lack of answer as he began collecting the cards from their table and shuffling them so that they could start a new round that would include Dorian as well.
“Have they been squawking all night?” Dorian asked, his voice low as he nodded his head toward the arguing couple.
No sooner had he commented than the argument paused. Xander blinked at him as if seeing a ghost.
“He speaks?” He reached out and grabbed Dorian’s shoulder, which Dorian swiftly pulled away from. “I had no idea that you were capable, Davenport. I thought that your emotional range was limited to brooding and staring judgmentally.”
Dorian’s brow arched as he sipped his whiskey. “If that is what you think, why do you think teasing such a man would be a wise choice?”
“Perhaps I simply enjoy the thrill of walking such a dangerous line,” Xander continued.