Kissing the Rake (Howertys #2)

Chapter 28: Games with Friends

"Shouldn't you be home with your new wife?"

Jacob peered over his cards at Gowthorpe, wishing he could wipe the smug look off the other man's face.

"I thought we were playing," he muttered. "Maybe if you focused on what's in your hand instead of my marriage, we might actually stand a chance of winning."

"Don't take your anger out on me." Gowthorpe took a sip of his drink before putting a card on the table. "It's not my fault you're a miserable git."

Touché. He averted his gaze while lifting his own glass, not wanting to admit how close to home that comment really hit. Of course he should be home with his new wife. But he couldn't be. Staying away was the only way he could ensure she got the bloody marriage of convenience she wanted. Being close to her was torture, knowing he couldn't touch her, couldn't kiss her. It was all he wanted to do. Well, not all. It was only the beginning, but he couldn't think of what he truly wanted to do to his wife without going mad.

Since arriving in London he'd treated her abominably, leaving her alone at all hours and keeping his distance as much as possible when he was home. It was all he could do since he didn't trust himself around her. It had been proven again and again that his restraint around her was basically non-existent. So here he was. At his club, playing cards with his friends. Rather than at home, in bed, with his wife.

Taking a sip of brandy, he wondered what she was doing right now. Was she bored? Did she miss him? Was she pining over that man she apparently loved? He scowled.

"Why aren't you home with your wife?" Gabriel Winter asked, never one to take a hint.

"And miss out on your delightful company?" Not even Winter could miss the sarcasm dripping from that sentence. With a glare, Jacob turned to the last man at the table, an acquaintance of Winter's as they'd needed a fourth player. "What about you, would you like to ask something about my marriage?"

The tall, dark-haired man's face didn't so much as twitch. "Not particularly."

"Good. If we're done discussing it, perhaps we could keep playing?"

He really didn't need to be reminded of the state of his marriage. Every time he saw Jessica's forlorn face, it was a stark reminder of everything wrong in his life. She hated London. He knew that. He also knew he was the reason she was stuck in a place she hated. With him. He often saw her in the garden while he hid in the library, taking her shoes and stockings off and walking around in the grass. Watching her like that nearly crushed him, the guilt heavy on his shoulders. But he simply could not contemplate living at Holcombe with his father. Not even for her.

Bloody hell. He should have been a better man—a stronger man—and not seduced her that evening. Truth was, he had probably lost that battle when he first tasted her lips, and his brain moved her out of the box titled 'Pensington's sister' into one where she was a woman. And not just any woman. She was Jessica. His Jessica. Someone who was everything good he was not. Someone who deserved everything he couldn't give her.

Someone who loved someone else.

With a grunt, he threw his cards down. He couldn't concentrate, so he might as well go home and be miserable there.

"What are you doing?" Gowthorpe frowned. "We're winning, don't you dare leave now."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Why not? You kindly reminded me I should be home with my wife."

"You could at least finish out the set. It's only polite," his friend muttered before nodding towards their fourth member. "Especially after we enlisted Winterbourne here to fill the last spot."