Chapter 17
Seventeen
“Perhaps a toast?” Alaric raised his mug in the air. “It feels somewhat necessary, considering the circumstances.”
“I was wondering who might suggest it.” Sebastian was grinning as he raised his own.
“Well, if everyone else is…” The third member of the group, Cassian, joined in with an exaggerated sigh as he too raised his mug.
Then, mugs raised, the three dukes turned and looked pointedly at Ronan who had not moved to join in on the toast. He knew why they were doing it, to purposefully annoy him, and he did not wish to give them the satisfaction of baiting him.
“Can we not,” he grumbled sullenly, not at all in the mood for the charade.
“It wouldn’t be a toast unless we all joined in,” Alaric said.
“And it would be bad luck,” Sebastian agreed. “Surely, you would not wish such a thing on your three best friends?”
“Only friends,” Cassian corrected.
They continued to look at him, each grinning from ear to ear.
Ronan groaned and raised his mug to join theirs, making it clear with the dismissive look on his grizzled face that he did not appreciate the jest. Even if that was only half true.
He liked to pretend that he wanted nothing to do with it, while secretly harboring an internal smile because he hadn’t realized how much he missed these gatherings until now. Years were spent convincing himself otherwise, because what need did someone like Ronan have for friends and companionship?
“To the Wicked Dukes!” Alaric cheered as the mugs clinked together. “It has been an age since we were all gathered like this, by my count. Far too long.”
“It is fun to behave and all that,” Sebastian agreed. “But it does grow rather boring.”
“I’ve been meaning to give my wife something new to complain about,” Cassian added with laughter. “Telling her that I met up with you scoundrels is sure to do it.”
Again, all three men turned expectantly to Ronan.
Despite his best efforts, a smile crossed his lips, and he rolled his eyes as if he thought the whole thing ridiculous and beneath him. “Better to drink alone but seeing as that isn’t an option, I suppose you three will do.”
Their mugs clinked and the four friends threw back heavy mouthfuls of frothing ale, laughing together as they had not done in far too long.
Yes, as loath as I am to admit it, I’ve missed these little gatherings. Try as I might to relish my alone time, this right here… it reminds me of why some company is worth cherishing.
Ronan surprised himself with these thoughts, especially considering the strange mood he had been in these last few days.
Fighting within himself as he was, determined to ignore that which rocked him, knowing what it meant while wishing and praying it would not be the case because that would be far easier than the alternative.
Of course, it was Thalia who occupied his thoughts. She had ensnared him like no other and he had less than a clue what to do about it.
“So, who is to go first?” Sebastian looked about the group of friends.
“First?” Cassian asked. “What are you talking about, man?”
“You remember how these things used to go,” Sebastian explained. “One of us would have a…” He chuckled and shook his head. “A complaint. A misdeed. A wrong brought upon their shoulders that they needed to unload. No judgements, bad advice only. So, who is first?”
“Wish that I could…” Alaric sighed as he settled into his chair, a glowing smile across his sharp features. “But the wife would kill me if she found out I was talking about her behind her back.”
Cassian snorted. “Gone soft, have we?”
“And you can talk!” Alaric shot back. “Come on then. Give us something. For example, how did you manage to sneak out to be here? I thought the wife kept you locked in her room.”
“Nice try.” Cassian winked. “But you’ll get no such complaints from me either.”
“Same here,” Sebastian added, a smile also taking his visage. “Would that I could but…” A casual shrug and a mouthful of ale. “Life is good, so why complain?”
“So, that’s it, is it?” Alaric looked between his friends. “The Wicked Dukes turned to… to what, exactly?”
“I would offer the Happy Dukes,” Cassian tried. “The Content Dukes, perhaps? But they just don’t have the same ring to them, do they?”
“Ronan?” Alaric was on his friend. “Anything to add? Surely your morose and utterly depressed self can salvage the situation?”
“Try again,” Sebastian laughed. “He’s worse than the three of us put together. As loved up as—”
“Careful,” Ronan growled, eyeing each of them in warning.
“He speaks!”
“Prove us wrong then,” Sebastian said, the look behind his eyes as wicked as the name of their group might suggest. “A complaint. A tale of woe. Something to justify these meetings, lest we might have to disband them altogether.”
Once again, all three friends turned on Ronan as if they expected him to do as asked.
But that was not the point, and he knew it for a fact.
What they really wanted, the reason this meeting was called in the first place, was to confirm what each of them was starting to suspect.
That Ronan, the final member of the Wicked Dukes, was wicked no more.
I shouldn’t have come. When Alaric suggested it… I should have realized what he was trying to do.
But then why did he come? To prove otherwise, desperate to keep a hold of his reputation because it was all he had in this world? Or was he, like his friends before him, ready to hang up the laurels of loneliness and morosity, because some things in this world were worth changing yourself for?
He wished that he knew what he wanted.
It had been three days ago when he and Thalia attended the garden party which had ended when his fist found its way into Lord Westmere’s repugnant nose. He had no regrets about his actions because the despicable lordling had deserved it. What Ronan regretted was what had happened after.
Ronan could not stop thinking about it. The moment shared with Thalia in the foyer—confessions made, the tense silence falling between them, the look in her eyes as she leaned in and offered herself to him in ways he did not think he wanted but now wondered how he had managed to control himself again.
He should have kissed her. He wanted to kiss her. His lips tingled at the thought and Ronan cursed himself for running as he had done.
But it was also the right move—the only move!
He told himself this often, forcing the lie down his throat because Ronan could not risk opening himself to someone like that.
A marriage of convenience was one thing, but if it transformed into something more, it would open the way to pain and suffering and heartache because as far as Ronan was concerned that was inevitable for anyone who might dare to trust him.
It was for Thalia’s sake that I turned her down. She might not thank me for it, but it was for the best…
“I would love nothing more than to satisfy you each with the laboring’s of my marriage,” Ronan growled, making sure to look each of his friends dead in the eye. “But there is nothing to tell.”
“Exactly,” Sebastian said with satisfaction. “Ronan is a changed man—”
“There is nothing to tell because my marriage is not worth speaking about,” Ronan interrupted him.
“As I have already explained, it is a marriage of convenience, and that is how it will remain. My wife lives under my roof, but we do not talk and we do not interact. She is nothing to me.” He felt his stomach twist at the lie.
“Huh…” Cassian exhaled. “Well, that was rather blunt.”
“And a lie,” Sebastian shot back. “Or Lord Westmere would say as much.”
Ronan shrugged. “He insulted my wife, and in so doing, he insulted me. I was protecting my own name. Tell me that you would not have done the same.”
Alaric chuckled. “I certainly don’t need a reason to want to punch Lord Westmere in the face.”
“No, no.” Sebastian sat forward, refusing to drop it. “Do you really mean to tell us—look at me as you do—” He fixed his gaze on Ronan. “Do you really mean to sit there and tell us that you have no feelings for your wife? None.”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
“Nor do you intend to,” he pressed. “Remember, I saw you together, Ronan. I saw—”
“What we wanted you to see,” he growled in warning. “That is all. The whole point of this entire Season is to rectify my image and fix my name. Thalia serves that purpose, but it is the only purpose she serves. Nothing else.”
He could tell that Sebastian did not believe him. Nor did Alaric and Cassian. But they knew better than to argue, because Ronan’s moods were a deadly thing and not worth testing.
“I suppose this is good news,” Cassian sighed. “The Wicked Dukes live on.”
“I guess so…” Sebastian fell back in his seat, watching Ronan closely, very obviously not buying a word of what he had said.
“And here I was, all ready to be happy for you too,” Alaric said, taking a sip of his ale. “It is about time you found someone able to stand you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Ronan said before drinking a large mouthful of ale. He sucked through his teeth and then took another. “But you each know me best, enough that you should know exactly how I feel about…” He grimaced purposefully. “Marriage, and everything that comes with it.”
“Your war against happiness,” Cassian chuckled. “Yes, we know it well.”
“Reality,” Ronan said darkly. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
It was all a lie, and his friends knew it. But not nearly as much as Ronan did.
The truth of the matter was that he was starting to develop feelings for Thalia. Slowly, she was luring him from behind the walls he’d spent a decade erecting, showing him just what it meant to have someone in his life who he might care for as they might care for him.
It felt good, better than he wanted to admit. But that was the danger, because Ronan knew what came next. And because he knew it, he refused to give in. Better to be hated now than despised later. A lonely life, and the only one he deserved.