Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(10)

He shook his head, trying to shake off these feelings. Needing to do so now more than ever.

The thoughts, though, were persistent and they grew even more intense as he caught sight of Graham moving through the crowd, his gaze focused on Simon. Simon tensed as Graham reached him and took a place beside him to watch the game on the lawn continue.

“Crestwood,” Graham said softly.

Simon flinched. They used to all call each other by their first names, he and James and Graham. Somewhere along the way in the last few years, Graham had become more formal with him. Perhaps he sensed what Simon tried to hide, but he’d never said a word about it.

They hardly said a word to each other at all anymore, unless James orchestrated it.

“Graham,” Simon said. “Enjoying the party?”

Graham hesitated a moment, just a flash of time but long enough that Simon sent a side glance at him. Graham was watching Meg, but he wasn’t smiling.

“It is a party, much like many others.”

“I suppose,” Simon agreed. “And yet this one is different, at least for you.”

“How so?” Graham asked, facing him with question in his eyes.

Simon swallowed, shocked that Graham didn’t realize the most important thing in his life had happened here. “You and Meg. You’ve chosen your date to marry.”

“Ah.” Graham shook his head. “Of course. Yes. I suppose that does make the party special.”

Simon clenched his fists at his sides and slowly tried to calm his racing heart. He could not understand Graham. He’d been engaged to Meg for years, yet he didn’t seem to make any effort to connect with her. If he had been any other man in the world, Simon would have challenged him for her. He would have stolen her if he had to.

But Graham wasn’t just any other man. He was one of Simon’s closest friends.

Simon watched as Meg straightened and stepped back to allow the next lady to take her shot. Her gaze slipped across the lawn and when she found Simon and Graham, the smile that had brightened her face fell. Her cheeks paled. And Simon saw, yet again, that same desperate expression she’d had on the terrace a few nights before.

His heart clenched at it.

“Is Meg…is Meg all right?” he asked softly.

The question seemed to startle Graham and he turned his attention to his fiancée. He shrugged. “She looks fine to me. Why? Did she turn an ankle?”

“No,” Simon said. “I mean, is she well? Is she…happy?”

“Of course,” Graham answered swiftly, without even considering the question. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Simon knew he should leave it at that. That he should say it was nothing and back away before Graham saw what Kit and Roseford already claimed to know. And yet, as he glanced once more at Meg, saw the tug of a frown on her mouth, he found he couldn’t.

He drew a long breath. “Just…her spark seems dull, don’t you think?”

Graham didn’t look at Meg again. Instead he kept his stare firmly on Simon’s face. Simon stiffened at the intensity of his friend’s glare and found his body clenching, as if readying for a fight.

The silence stretched between them for what felt like forever, and then Graham said, “She seems fine to me.”

Graham’s voice was soft, but dangerously so, and firm. In that moment Simon realized he was in a battle. And if he didn’t behave carefully, his house of cards would be destroyed around him.

He moved closer and saw Graham stiffen just as he had a moment ago. His chest ached with how far apart they had grown. Because of him. This was his fault.

“Graham, your friendship means a great deal to me,” he said in a rush of words.

Graham nodded slowly, cautiously. “As yours does to me. I would not want anything to come between us. And I know Margaret values your friendship, as well.”

Simon fought the urge to step back from that statement. That reminder that he could not, would not, ever be more to Meg than what he was today.

He clenched his teeth as he looked at her. She had set her mallet aside now and stepped away from the game. “Yes, we have always been…friends,” he conceded slowly.

Graham tilted his head, forcing Simon to look at him. His expression held no anger, but it was hard. Cool. “You cannot interfere with what James has planned, Simon. It is what will happen. It is far too late to change it now.”

Heat rose up in Simon, flushing his face and pumping blood through his veins all the faster. He knew this feeling and he hated it. It was rage. Rage directed toward Graham for what he said. Rage that Graham had what Simon had always wanted, rage that Graham didn’t seem to appreciate the gift he had been given all those years ago. And rage that Graham would question Simon’s loyalty. Simon, who had stood by mute as the woman he loved was taken from him by a friend he considered a brother.

He wanted to lash out at Graham. Verbally, physically. He wanted to strike at him, and he hated himself for it.

“I have never interfered,” he growled instead.

Graham arched a brow and was quiet a moment before he said, “Of course.” He turned away from Simon, and the tension of the encounter faded slightly when they were no longer face to face. “Excuse me. I think I see James motioning for me. Good afternoon, Crestwood.”

He walked away then, without a look back. Without another word. And Simon stared at him as he did it, wishing he could call his friend back and repair this rift between them. Knowing he couldn’t until he overcame his feelings for Meg.