Page 22 of Winning Her Duke

“As I recall, sharing a fondness for something is what got Reggie leg-shackled,” Julian so helpfully pointed out about someone from their club.

“That and his need for an heir,” Kit added.

“I assure you that is not where this is headed,” Hale said more vehemently than was necessary. “As you well know, I don’t feel any such obligation to my title. I hardly knew my father and the two times we met, he didn’t mention anything about procuring an heir. I rather felt he didn’t care about it at all and wished he’d not been forced into the marriage with my mother. Perhaps he even wished he’d never had me.”

Hale shook away the thought. It didn’t matter and it wasn’t relevant to their conversation.

“The point is, the best thing he could have done for me was not put the mantle of responsibility upon me on his deathbed. I am free to do as I choose.”

“And in all of this talk about your freedom, do you find you want to choose her?” Kit asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “As I told you, our meeting was simply a misunderstanding that resulted in a few hours distraction. Nothing more.”

He wouldn’t go into detail that it had been much more than a few hours. Admitting to two visits and an early morning ride would have them rolling about on the floor in hysterics.

“Don’t forget, a dance,” Julian said with a mocking grin. “No, make that, two dances.” He held up two fingers.

“All right. Two dances. It was the least I could do after overstaying again today.”

“Actually.” Graham tilted his head and paused a moment as he tapped his index finger to his chin. “The least you could do was not attend the ball where you’d be forced into dancing with her.”

Kit nodded in agreement, before adding his comments.

“But here you are, and I would even say, eager to get on with your dance with the lady.”

“Two dances,” Julian pointed out again, unhelpfully.

“I’m certainly not eager.” Hale dismissed his lie with a wave of his hand.

“You’ve looked over at the orchestra three times as if they are not warming up their instruments quickly enough for you.”

“Bollocks.” His friends knew him too well. Why did he bother to have friends? All they served to do was harass him whenever possible.

When he’d showed up at Heriot’s School alone, escorted there by a footman rather than a loving parent, Julian and Kit—then awkward boys—had accepted him and offered their friendship. They’d, together, set themselves up in London so they wouldn’t be the only Scots. Their constant friendship was a kindness he’d always felt he lacked the ability to repay. Until this moment when he thought he’d finally come to pay the price for their camaraderie.

Julian chuckled.

“You have only to tell us the truth to be excused from this torture.”

“And thrust into a worse topic, I’m sure.”

“We only want to prepare ourselves if you think to throw yourself into the parson’s trap.” Graham shook his head slowly.

“You know that is not going to happen.”

“But if you were to find a woman whose company you actually enjoyed…” Julian suggested with a raised brow.

“So that I might entangle my heart just to have her seek out entertainments elsewhere? No, thank you,” Hale said bitterly.

“Not all women are as disloyal as your mother,” Julian answered.

“Watch yourself, Melville.” Using the man’s title was a warning in itself. They rarely used them, preferring to address one another as people rather than the titles they held.

Julian raised a hand in surrender.

“I haven’t said anything you haven’t said yourself.”

“Surely, you understand why you are not permitted to disparage my mother regardless of my feelings for her.”