Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(42)

“I’d considered Fenworth as well.” His friend, however, said nothing else about his ultimate decision on that gentleman’s suitability. “Coventry,” he murmured in a contemplative tone. He picked his head up and gave him a questioning stare. “What is wrong with Coventry?”

“He’s…” Too handsome. “He’s…” He waved a hand and partially wished he could pluck the appropriate words from the air. “A rogue,” he managed.

“Ohh,” That single syllable utterance drawn out, hinted at a differing of opinion. “Is he?”

“He is,” he said tersely.

The viscount returned his attention to the page. “Winterhaven?” By the incredulity underscoring that particular name, Auric gathered they were of opposite views on this prospective suitor as well.

Tamping down his annoyance, he stood. “I gather you’ve prepared a list of possible gentlemen as well?” he asked, highly doubting Wessex had given Daisy and her future bridegroom another thought. Auric leaned across the table and collected his journal from the other man’s fingers. When he had committed himself to looking after Lionel’s family, Wessex had spent the past seven years devoted to his own happiness and pursuits. He’d likely not given a thought as to who might make Daisy a— His friend reached into his jacket front and pulled out a folded sheet. “Well, have a look.” He set it down on Auric’s desk.

Blinking back a moment of shock, he reached for Wessex’s list. His very full list. The viscount had managed to identify, one-two-three, he jabbed his finger at each name, four-five-six, he continued counting. “Ten names?” he charged.

Wessex rolled his shoulders. “Certainly a better showing than your meager collection,” he drawled, mistaking the reason for Auric’s questioning. “You’ve but Winterhaven and Danport.”

This was not the time to mention that he’d intended to ink Danport’s name from the sheet. The Earl of Danport wasn’t a rogue, but he was too charming. That would never do.

“The list,” his friend drawled, effectively jerking him to the moment.

Irritation stuck in his chest as he returned his attention to the potential husbands selected by the viscount. Surely, Wessex didn’t believe there were this many men worthy of Daisy? No, unlike Auric, he had not taken time to inquire as to Daisy’s expectations and requirements for the man she’d take for her husband, which likely accounted for that very full list.

Coventry was there. Fenworth, as well. Winterhaven…? He picked his gaze up.

“Winterhaven is not on there,” Wessex confirmed, anticipating his unspoken question.

He tossed the sheet back and it fluttered in the air. The other man caught it reflexively, rumpling the sheet.

Auric scowled. Friend or not, what did the roguish viscount know about who would suit Daisy? “And what rationale went into your selection of the respective gentlemen?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

Singularly unaffected by Auric’s displeasure, Wessex smiled. “I sought a respectful gentleman, free of scandal, for the lady.”

He dug his elbows into the edge of the table. “That is your main criteria for the lady?” When it should be her happiness and making sure there was a man who not only desired her heart, but also, more importantly, cared for it.

Wessex snorted. “Oh, and I expect you, in all your ducal arrogance, have quite determined the correct criteria?”

Auric frowned. He’d not thought much beyond Daisy’s own desires and the immediacy of his own passionate sentiments. No handsome gentlemen. No rogues. No man who’d worship that mouth as he’d done yesterday afternoon. He gave his head a shake.

His friend squinted, peering closely at him through thin slits. “What is that?”

Auric looked about. “What is—?”

“On your brow.” He motioned to Auric’s forehead. “It appears as though you’ve ink just above your eyebrow.”

Likely from slamming his forehead into that page. He fished around the front of his jacket and withdrew an embroidered kerchief. Remembering too late—The small quizzing glass etched in daisies slipped from the folds of the white fabric and clattered to his desk. He instantly scooped it up.

Wessex followed his gaze. He widened his eyes. A sharp bark of laughter escaped him. “By God, what the hell is that, man?” Deep, bellowing guffaws bubbled from his lips and he slapped his knee. “Never tell me in your advancing ducal years you’ve need of a quizzing glass.”

“Shove off,” he ordered, except he knew the other man well enough through the years to trust Wessex would not so readily relinquish the matter.

Tears of mirth seeped from the corner of his eyes, as he snorted with amusement. “Th-the alternative i-is that you’ve further protected your s-starchy, frowning r-role to perfection.”

At the other man’s words, Auric scowled. Is that how the world saw him? As this miserable, unpleasant, disapproving fellow who’d never have his name scratched upon a list of one such as Daisy’s?

“…You used to be so much more fun than this cold, curt, and crusty duke…”

Not that he wanted to be on Daisy’s list. Nor did she have a list. But if she did, he’d not want his name on there. Because… “Go to hell,” he growled to a still chuckling Wessex. He didn’t like the idea of him having fun at his expense.