Colin slowly emerged from his slumber, immediately wishing to plunge back into the nothingness of sleep. Throbbing spasms rippled from the back of his head, along his scalp, until they exploded behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut. The tight skin around his left cheek pulsed with sharp, stabbing pain. He touched the no doubt bruised, swollen area, and hissed.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” said a familiar imperious feminine voice.
Colin groaned, fighting off a new pain located auspiciously close to his arse. “Hello, Grandmother. Did you watch me while I slept?”
“More like sat vigil to ensure you didn’t leave this world while you slept. The way you poison your body with alcohol I wasn’t sure how you’d fair. If you didn’t wake soon, I planned to rouse you. By force if necessary.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
He opened his eyes, rotated his head on the pillow, and took in the petite woman perched in a chair next to his bed. She glowered at him. Her frigid eyes, as clear as a cloudless blue sky, assessed him in the critical way of a disappointed parental figure.
Even at the age of one and sixty, it was clear to see why his grandfather had snatched her off the marriage mart and made her Lady Herstshire only two weeks into her first season. Her delicate, classically beautiful features made her the envy of most women and the desire of most men. Features she’d passed on to Colin’s mother, who had passed them on to him. Ones he took advantage of at every opportunity. He had no qualms admitting to anyone who asked that his reputation as one of the worst rakes in London was well deserved.
Lady Herstshire stood, placed her sewing in her vacated chair, and came to sit on the edge of his bed. She flicked the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes, sending a new explosion of pain shooting through his skull. She positioned her hand to repeat the punishment, but Colin quickly blocked his face from her assault.
“Ow! Contain yourself madam.”
“If you wish to act like a child, I will treat you like one.”
“Hamon battered me well enough last night. I can assure you of that.”
“True.” She gently ran a finger around the wounded area of his face, her expression softening. “You’ve been asleep for so long, I almost feared he’d hit you too hard.” Then as if it had only been a fleeting figment of his imagination, the tenderness vanished. She straightened and folded her hands primly in her lap, her glower back in place. “Though it is a shame that you needed to be struck and unceremoniously carted home in the first place.”
The dip in her inflection and the thin layer of censure underlying her words were so well done that if Colin were a different man, he’d feel shame—quite possibly even a tinge of remorse—for his behavior. As it were, he was not that sort of man, and the grim memories haunting his every waking moment made it hard for him to want to be.
“You may no longer speak of Hamon in my presence,” Colin brooded. “His role as my best friend and your pseudo-grandson are terminated henceforth. The insidious bas—fiend is no longer welcome here.”
Lady Herstshire shook her head, casting her eyes to the heavens. “Give me strength.” She met his gaze again, her eyes a wall of steely determination. “My daughter, your mother, suffered in agony to bring you into this world. For what? So you could squander your life on drinking, chasing skirts, and evading your responsibilities?”
Colin laced his fingers over his stomach, an unbothered smirk forming on his lips, making him appear every bit the smug, uncaring cad. “You know, the more you use that particular tactic to invoke guilt in me, the less effective it becomes. Besides, I have it on good authority that my coming into the world was a rather smooth affair.”
A streak of pink blossomed over Lady Herstshire’s cheeks. “Oh, hush now. It isn’t proper to discuss such things with your grandmother.”
“As you wish,” he raised a dispassionate shoulder. “Although, I can’t let this moment pass without reminding you that we wouldn’t be discussing the subject if you’d finally give up your campaign to sway me with guilt. It will never work.”
“Then tell me how I can get through to you,” she fumed, an undercurrent of frustration and distress in her voice.
Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed. She released a long, weary exhale, her posture hunching and her forehead wrinkling, making her appear as unsure and out of control as Colin felt.
He wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand over hers but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hated being the source of so much vexation in her life. Although she was tough on him, he never doubted everything she did was out of love. But exercising his self-control, and presenting himself as a moderately decent gentleman, was becoming a more grueling feat each day.
She covered his hand with her own, her gaze boring into his, pleading for understanding. “I worry about you as any grandmother would. Within the span of a year, you’ve come back from war, lost your father and brother, and inherited a title and the burden of responsibilities you were never meant to shoulder. That is a lot for any man to come to terms with.”
“Yes, it is,” he whispered.
“I’ve barely seen you shed a tear, let alone properly grieve. All you do is drink, gamble, and keep company with women of questionable moral repute. I’m afraid that one day, your pain will drag you into a darkness you can’t escape.”
Colin said nothing. He slumped farther into the pillows. Her words struck a secret chord in his heart that he tried his best to avoid. She was right about the darkness, although it had possibly already ensnared him in a mental prison he’d never escape from.
Either way, the truth in her words was something he didn’t wish to face.
He slipped his hand from beneath hers and donned his best imitation of an unencumbered smile. “I promise I shall try and do better.”
His acting talents must not have been as convincing as he’d hoped. She silently searched his face, probably hoping to find something that would make her believe his vow. After a moment, she nodded without much conviction.
“Yes, well, your first step toward that end can be making sure you’re dressed and in attendance at Lady Devonford’s ball this evening. You’ve slept through most of today, so you should be more than recovered from your night of debauchery. If not, I will have Cook whip up one of her concoctions to help you mend faster.”
Colin pulled a disgusted face. “I will never be so foxed as to need one of those ever again. Drinking that vile brew once was more than enough, I assure you.”
“If that is your choice, so be it. Either way, you are to be in attendance this evening.” Her warm palm cupped the side of his face. “It is time to put away your juvenile antics and act like the respected member of society that you’re supposed to be. You are no longer a second son. You are the Duke of Herstshire, and with that comes specific obligations.”
“You’re right. I will be there. I swear it.”
“Thank you. Well, I must be going. I’ll be visiting with Lady Chamberson if you are in need of me.”
“Have a lovely time. And make sure to save some gossip for another day.”
She straightened, smoothing her hands over her dress. “A lady never gossips. She merely informs her friends of things they should be aware of.”
“Ah yes, my apologies. Thank you for doing your part to protect the vulnerable moral fiber of the ton.” Colin sat up and kissed her on the cheek.
Lady Herstshire demurely tilted her chin down, her honey brown lashes lowering, performing the part of a humble, benevolent member of society better than any stage actress. “I do what I can.”
They both laughed. She kissed his cheek, then gracefully rose from the bed, and departed the room.
Left with only his thoughts for company—ones he greatly wished to evade—Colin tossed back his coverings and slung his legs over the side of the bed. The shock of his feet meeting the ice-cold floor sobered him up better than any of Cook’s draughts ever could.
Before he’d made it to the looking glass over his wash stand, Mr. Lewis, his valet, entered carrying a pitcher of warm water. Colin inspected his reflection, taking in the generous growth of fine hair over his cheeks and jaw, the puffy darkness beneath his eyes, and the streaks of red mixing with the blues of his irises giving them a violet hue.
His grandmother was right. He couldn’t keep carrying on the way he had. The effects of excessive alcohol consumption and continually dwindling hours of sleep were beginning to take their toll.
The time to stop running from his pain had come. Perhaps finding a respectable wife would provide the solution he sought. Stories of former rakes reformed by a good woman's love were a favorite among the scandal sheets. He wouldn’t require love in his marriage. His affection would always belong to the woman whose heart he’d broken several years ago. But perhaps the influence of a polite, well-bred young lady would provide the motivation he needed to make his actions match his desire to be a better man.
“Tell me, Mr. Lewis, do I look as bad as I think I do?” Colin asked.
“Probably worse, Your Grace,” Mr. Lewis replied without missing a beat. He placed the pitcher next to the washbasin, then headed to the armoire to begin setting out Colin’s clothing.
Colin’s chest rumbled with his laughter. “Good to know.”
Mr. Lewis had entered his family's employ when Colin was still in leading strings. The older gentleman never veered from the truth, even to spare Colin’s feelings, which was why he held him in the highest esteem and never doubted his loyalty.
“Well,” Colin turned away from the glass. “I believe you have your work cut out for you today. Lady Herstshire has demanded my attendance at Lady Devonford’s ball this evening, and I must look my best. I do believe she plans to introduce me to every eligible young woman of marriageable age, and for the first time, I don’t plan to argue with her.”
Mr. Lewis’s eyebrows pitched into his hairline. “Does this mean we shall have a new duchess soon?”
“If all goes well, hopefully, yes.”
“Then let us make haste whipping you into shape. You almost look as bad as the day you stumbled home after spending a week with that French actress.”
Colin laughed outright. “What a week that was.” He stared off, lost in his wickedly delectable memories of his provocative week with Brigitte, which might or might not have included another woman. That part—as well as most of what had happened—was hard for him to recall. He cleared his throat, returning to the present. “If I look as bad as that, then you are in trouble old man.”
“Yes, I know, my lord.”
“Well, let us begin. First, with a good shave.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Colin glanced at his reflection again while he waited for Mr. Lewis to collect his shaving instruments. Tonight he’d begin his search for a wife. That should be easy enough. As long as he continued avoiding her. The woman he was never meant to love, but always would. It had come to his attention recently that she’d made her debut this season—the reason as of late he’d preferred to lurk about his club instead of attending social functions.
But what could go wrong if they happened to see each other again? What happened between them was a long time ago. He could be civil.
Possibly.