Chapter 34 Derek
Derek
“Where have you been?” the dowager hissed at Derek as he sidled into the Ironcrest box.
“Does it matter? I’m here now, as promised.”
“Only because I summoned you!”
Shaking his head, he grinned. How the dowager managed to yell in a whisper he would never know. “I was otherwise occupied,” he drawled.
Her nostrils flared, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. She closed her eyes, speaking silently to herself. He frowned. Was she praying?
She opened her eyes and pierced him with her gaze. “I saw you and the guests you were with. I realize my place in your hierarchy of priorities.” She looked him up and down. “You look terrible.”
Well, that wasn’t fair. He’d had a hell of a week and was merely trying to cope.
He’d just killed a man, for God’s sake! The dull aftereffects of that night were long gone.
Visions of Pennington’s bloodied form and Livy’s ghostlike state haunted him in equal measure.
He was happy the wretch was dead. Fucking thrilled.
But he hadn’t been prepared for the way taking a life would affect him.
It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to violence—he barely held back the maniacal laugh rising in his chest. No, he knew violence all too well.
He was intimately acquainted with fists, with a boot.
And he might not dabble in it as much now, but as a youth, as a young man?
He and Rafe had had so much rage, so much hatred inside them begging for an outlet.
He hadn’t had control over it like he did now.
He and Rafe made others wary for a reason.
It may have been a long while since he’d gotten into a public brawl, but the ton hadn’t forgotten.
It had just never gone as far as murder before.
And the nightmares. The bloody nightmares.
He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched with sweat, having the same nightmare over and over again—that Livy hadn’t been reached in time.
Derek couldn’t get it out of his head. He had given up on sleeping unless he was so drunk everything went black.
Something he never did. He had visited The Devil’s Eye and gambled recklessly—well, somewhat recklessly; he’d still set limits for himself.
It was too painful to be fiscally irresponsible.
Some habits were slow to die. He was throwing out all his bloody rules to try to cope.
He had even gone to a room with a wench.
And immediately left. Leaving the woman quite put out.
The only friend he could have talked to was away—he couldn’t possibly tell Rupert he’d killed a man.
Rupert would piss himself. He’d briefly thought of visiting Ryker…
but the man would’ve laughed in his face.
The man had probably killed so many people that Pennington was a drop in the bucket.
Not that Derek wanted to get vulnerable with Ryker.
With Rafe away, he had no one. Was there truly something so wrong with letting a second-rate actress rub against him as a distraction? He’d take anything as a distraction right now.
He really fucking hated emotions.
Derek swallowed down a frustrated retort and said as calmly as he was able, “You know that is the furthest thing from the truth, Dorothea. You are my family. I would have thought you would understand this may not have been the easiest week for me.” He looked out, surveying the box.
“And thank you, I am well aware I look as though I haven’t slept in a week. Because I haven’t.”
“You say I am your family, Derek, but you are not allowing me to be your family. I am worried about you. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?
” She dropped her voice to a hissed whisper.
“You think I don’t know what you’re going through?
You haven’t any idea, Roderick. Trust me, the skeletons you bear are nothing compared to mine.
” Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she let out a slow breath.
“Here is not the place. But I would greatly appreciate”—in other words he better do as told—“if you visited Ironcrest House. For an extended stay.”
Derek deflated. Bloody hell. She was right.
He was well aware he tended to isolate himself.
But he’d only ever been alone. He hadn’t had a semblance of family until he was seventeen.
At that point, it was so foreign to him…
he didn’t know what to do with it. And it wasn’t as though Dorothea and Rafe exemplified what one might call a stable, loving family.
They all tried in their own ways. As best as three broken individuals could.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured. “I’ll come stay for a few days tomorrow…” His voice trailed off, gaze catching on Livy standing with her aunt and Lady Rutledge. She was smiling, eyes sparkling. She looked happy. Relief surged, a wave flowing right through his chest. That she could smile after everything…
Even if that smile was probably due to the idiot, Mr. Thorton. Derek had seen them cozy against the banister for all the ton to see. That had spurred him to accept the actress’s advances, desperate for distraction—from everything. But just as with everything else, it’d failed miserably.
A man walked by the group of ladies, brushing up against Livy’s arm in the confines of the box. In an instant, her form went rigid, her entire body flinching at the contact. Her previously shining eyes dulled, her smile faltering and turning brittle. His mouth went slack.
“She’s been like that all night.”
He glanced at Dorothea, her gaze on Livy, eyes sad and knowing.
“She will recover. In time.” She paused, then whispered, “We all do eventually.”
“I should go make pleasantries.”
Dorothea’s attention snapped to his, brown eyes sharp again. “Yes, let us go over together. I will distract Lady Rutledge and Lady Elliot so you can speak with Miss Forester.”
Derek couldn’t even be bothered by that statement—one that oozed of meddling and far too much insight. Now that he was within reach of Livy, he had to know she was all right.
As they approached the women, Derek purposefully walked around in front of Livy so she would see him coming.
He bowed his head, murmuring his greeting.
She went to lower herself in a curtsy, and his hand shot out reflexively to grab her arm, to stop her from lowering on his behalf. She froze at his touch.
Bloody daft fucking imbecile, Derek.
Her eyes locked on his, but she didn’t flinch. Just stared at him with those stormy blue eyes. He slowly pulled up on her arm, and she straightened.
“I think we are past such formalities.” His voice came out like gravel, and he hastily cleared his throat. “Sit with me?”
She nodded, and they seated themselves at the side of the box, a few seats down from where the other women settled, already deep in conversation with Dorothea, and away from the remaining guests in the box.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Lord Dunmore.” Livy searched his face. “It has been some time…”
Since he’d written or called on her. Since he’d acknowledged her existence. He’d received word from Ryker that she and her aunt had arrived home safely, that her final assessment by the doctor found nothing of concern. After that, he’d proceeded to drown himself in vice. With very little success.
“My apologies, Miss Forester. I have been preoccupied with business as of late. I haven’t forgotten our deal.
Though it appears you’re having more success than I am.
” He flashed a roguish smile at her, hoping it didn’t come across as forced as it felt.
Seducing her was the last thing on his mind after what had happened.
“Not as much as I would have hoped. Warren—Mr. Thorton—visited the box tonight, but it was clear he still doesn’t believe I have much standing in society.”
Derek’s fists clenched at Livy’s slip of her beau’s first name. Livy’s gaze traveled to his clenched fists and then back to his eyes. She tilted her head, her gaze calculating. It was the same look she’d worn when she’d laid out how she was going to conquer the ton.
“Though…” she continued, “I think things are looking promising. He knows I’m here to find a husband.
A ball where I’m surrounded by eligible suitors would be just the thing.
Perhaps he will see me sitting here with you.
” She leaned toward him, those lush pale pink lips curling into a small smile.
“Spark some jealousy in him. Just as you taught me.”
He gritted his teeth. Something ugly raced through him at the thought of her using him to make Mr. Thorton jealous.
It was anger, he told himself, definitely not jealousy churning in his gut.
Which didn’t make any sense, since he was the one who put such ideas in her head in the first place.
His anger burned hotter as self-loathing crept into the mix.
“I am sure your Mr. Thorton would be above such petty feelings.”
“Yes, well.” She shrugged. “Perhaps if I rubbed myself up against you, he wouldn’t be.” She whipped her head toward the stage, glaring so hard at the play he feared she’d set the stage aflame.
His mouth went slack, and he stared dumbly at her. She’d seen him with the actress, that much was clear. And she was jealous. Leaning back in his seat, his mouth tipped up in a feral smile. This week had just gotten a hell of a lot better. For reasons he wasn’t going to think too hard on.
“I had no idea your prowess was so great, my lord, that it required you to seduce multiple women at the same time,” she muttered.
His grin widened. Oh, she was very jealous. His mood continued to improve.
“Darling, multiple women at the same time is my specialty.” He threw her a wink to mask the uncomfortable pang that hit him as the words left his lips.
She let out a delightful little enraged squawk, and he chuckled, the pang dissipating.