A betrayed boy yet lurked in the man who’d come to call. A devastated, betrayed boy.

“I comprehend now, Ethan, that you and Nick remained innocent of the most lamentable adolescent behaviors. It took some time, Della’s incessant carping, and raising several more boys before I understood my mistake. By then, you were no longer speaking to any of us, save Della, and things turned out for the best.”

Ethan took another measured sip of his tea, then another, clearly trying to absorb the explanation the earl offered, but no doubt stumbling over the emotional enormity of the wrong done him, and not for the first time.

“In what manner,” Ethan spoke very softly, “do you consider things turned out for the best?”

“The two of you were entangled. You protected Nick. He protected you.”

“Is that not what brothers do?” Ethan asked with chilly civility.

“Not when one will take a seat in the Lords and the other is merely an earl’s by-blow. Sooner or later, you and Nicholas were going to have to face facts. I did neither of you any service by letting you get so close in the first place.”

The earl reassured himself of this version of the facts regularly. Things had worked out for the best—or they would soon.

“So having made that mistake,” Ethan said, but not quite dispassionately, “your only recourse was to compound it by separating us the way you did, bellowing accusations, and setting us against each other?”

The earl let his teacup clatter unsteadily onto its saucer. “I’ve said I was wrong, both in what I did and how I did it. I am not a perfect man, as you well know. But admit to me, please, that both you and Nicholas thrive, and despite my errors, you are both people to be reckoned with, capable of standing on your own two feet.”

Ethan rose to those two feet with an ease the earl tried not to envy. “You think old age alone has impaired your hearing and vision, sir. I can assure you, your faculties have long been wanting, else you would have realized Nick and I have always been capable of standing on our own two feet, regardless of our relationship as brothers or friends. Good day.”

He departed in a few brisk strides, closing the door with enviable decorum.

Round one to the pup, your bloody uncrapping lordship. The earl sat back with a sigh, sipping his cooling tea disconsolately. God willing, there would be a round two.

* * *

Valentine took a seat at Nick’s Broadwood and folded down the music rack, then petted the instrument as if it were an obedient mistress. “So tell me what you seek in a wife, Nicholas. The hunt doesn’t seem to be progressing, and the Season doesn’t last forever.”

Satan’s hairy testicles. “This line of questioning—upon which you seem fixated—does not bode well for our friendship, Valentine.”

There was no heat in Nick’s reply. He’d never go a round of fisticuffs with a friend whose hands were so very talented. Instead he went to the sideboard and poured them each a brandy. “Any woman who marries me has to understand it will be a marriage for the sake of appearances only, and leave me in peace for the rest of my days.”

Val’s opening flourishes at the keyboard came to an abrupt pause. “In God’s name, why?”

“Why what?” Nick set Val’s drink on the piano’s lamp stand.

“Shame on you.” Val moved the drink to a little music table. “Why wouldn’t you, of all the randy creatures on God’s earth, marry a woman to take to your bed?”

Nick lowered himself to the sofa and regarded the drink he really did not want. “Firstly, I don’t need to marry to find women by the pairs and trios in my bed. Secondly, I do not intend to have children with my wife, because my size makes me poor breeding stock. Thirdly, I will not take advantage of some sweet young thing by taking her to my bed, then tossing her over while I go look for livelier game elsewhere, thus precipitating endless painful and avoidable scenes involving many damp handkerchiefs, broken vases, and hurt feelings.”

“You are full of tripe,” Val said calmly. When he resumed playing, the clever bastard chose a lullaby. Sweet, lyrical, and perfectly suited to cadging confidences from unsuspecting friends. “First, you adore women and invariably make them happy, at least bed-wise. There are witnesses to this, Nick. Eyewitnesses. Second, you are superb breeding stock, being handsome, intelligent, prodigiously healthy, and, for want of a better word, lusty. Find a great strapping country girl and space your children, but do not tell somebody who is only a bit shorter than you that size makes you dangerous to your wife. Third, even you have lost your appetite lately for the easy conquests, if you can call them that. You are posturing to take a real wife, my friend.”

The little song lilted along, while Nick considered firing a pillow at Valentine’s head.

“I am posturing to court the semblance of a real wife.” Nick stretched out on the long sofa, his drink resting on his chest. “The fiction must be credible, at least until one of my brothers can go about the business in earnest.”

“You are serious about this,” Val said, frowning at Nick over the lid of the piano.

Nick waved a hand. “I killed my mother, you know.”

Val didn’t dignify that with a rejoinder, and the music grew even softer. “If you were going to marry in earnest, what sort of wife would you seek?”

Nick didn’t answer. He kept his eyes closed, let his breathing slow and deepen, let the music wash through the melancholy Val’s choice of topic left in his chest. What sort of wife would Nick choose, if he had any sort of meaningful choice?

A woman who could love him, of course. A woman who didn’t care he’d be an earl, who didn’t care he was too damned big to fit even in a ballroom, who didn’t care that the one thing he must never do was attempt to secure the Bellefonte succession.

* * *

“Leah danced the supper waltz with Reston again,” Darius said as he appropriated a drink from his brother’s decanter.

“And that’s good?” Trenton Lindsey, Viscount Amherst, watched his younger brother pour, thinking Darius’s eyes held a hint of something desperate.

“It’s good. She seems to like him, and he’s not Hellerington. The talk about Reston seems harmless enough—he enjoys the ladies of a certain reputation, but nothing more condemnatory than that. Have you seen Reston?” Darius tossed the drink back and punctuated the question with a glower.

“I doubt it. I do not circulate, to speak of, unless I’m escorting Leah. You know that.”

“He’s big,” Darius said. “Enormously tall with the muscles of a stevedore.”

A hazy impression tried to coalesce from the swampier regions of Trent’s memory. “Blond? Like Wotan or Thor in evening dress?”

Darius eyed the sideboard, his expression shifting to include a touch of consternation. “Berserker of the Bedroom is one of his nicknames. Biggest damned peer of the realm I’ve ever seen.”

Trent ran a finger over the sideboard and found a smudge of dust accumulated on his fingertip—a metaphor for his memory, perhaps. “I have met him, at Tatt’s. Reston seemed genial enough.”

“Always. He pulled me aside tonight and warned me very pleasantly that one of my female associates tried to threaten him when he’d parted from her.”

Female associates. A prudent older brother didn’t touch that with a garden rake in one hand and a bullwhip in the other. “What kind of lady would threaten that much man?”

“She is no lady at all,” Darius said on a sigh. “Why do you think I found her of any interest? Reston backed her down somehow, though.”

Interesting word choice. Rather than dwell on the implications, Trent took the empty glass from his brother’s hand and set it on the sideboard. “One wonders, Darius. There are naughty women, and then there are mean, wicked women. One should distinguish.”

Darius picked the glass right back up. “And their characteristics are always easily discernible across a ballroom?”

“Perhaps not.” Trent smiled in response. “But across a bedroom, one’s instincts are usually reliable.”

“Across a bedroom, it’s usually one’s instincts getting one into mischief.” Darius made short work of a second drink and set the empty glass down.

“Valid point.” Trent’s smile faded. “Darius, I can’t help but renew my expression of concern for you. Whatever is amiss, I wish you’d tell me.”

“Nothing is amiss.” Darius clinked the stopper into the decanter then did it again. “Nothing more than usual, anyway. My thanks for the brandy. You’re managing well enough?”

“Anytime, and yes, I’m managing,” Trent murmured, watching the way his brother’s eyes strayed to the darkness beyond the window. They were lying to each other, and Trent felt despair taking up residence beside the permanent sadness in his gut. “Come by in the morning, and we’ll look at Leah’s schedule. You need some decent rest, and I can be her escort.”

“It will be afternoon before I can get here,” Darius said, hand on the door latch. “Midafternoon.”

“Until then.” Trent watched his brother silently slip out into the darkened corridor, even as he wondered what could possibly be worth remaining out and about for what little remained of a cold, dark night.

Five

“Did you know your father is selling off property?” Nick passed Leah the bag of bread crumbs and kept his gaze on the swan coming closer to their side of the pond. When Leah tossed a handful of crumbs onto the water, the swan retreated, while the ducks swarmed into the water, honking and flapping with no dignity whatsoever.

“I am not in his confidence regarding financial matters,” Leah said. “Regarding any matters, really. What is he selling?”

“The smaller of the two estates in Surrey.” Nick turned slightly to admire Leah’s profile. The breeze was such that her scent drifted over to him, redolent of lily of the valley, and he was struck by the simple beauty of her features on a lovely spring day.

“We used to have four estates, total.” Both her tone and her expression were… sad. He wanted, badly, to make that sadness go away. “Wilton would go to Trenton, of course, and then Ambrose Place to Darius. The two little properties were to be Mama’s gifts to Em and me, for our dowries. But when Darius escorted me to Italy, the earl sold Ambrose Place.”

“There’s a path around the pond,” Nick said. “Shall we stroll?”

“I’d like that.”

“The lady and I will stroll the path around the water,” Nick informed their liveried watchdog, who was at the ready up on the gravel walk. “There is no need for you to accompany us.”

Wilton’s minion nodded, though his expression was disgruntled.

“Come.” Nick winged his arm, then tucked his hand over Leah’s and led her away from the footman. “And walk slowly, if you please. I’ve been in want of your company.”

“I’ve danced with you twice so far this week.”

“That is your presence,” Nick said. “I miss your company.” He let a comfortable silence stretch while they put some distance between themselves and the footman. When they had wandered out of earshot, Nick bent down and unabashedly inhaled Leah’s fragrance.

“I don’t believe I’ve encountered lily of the valley on another woman. It suits you wonderfully.”

“I like your scent as well. Sandalwood, but something else too.”

“It’s blended exclusively for me. I didn’t want it too sweet, but sandalwood alone can be cloying. Now, why would your papa be selling an estate that should have been held in trust for you?”

“Because he does not consider himself under any obligation to provide a dowry for me,” Leah said. “I am fallen, and thus not worthy of such an honor.”

The sadness was muted behind a mask of composure, while hurt lingered in her eyes.

“Just how fallen are you?”

This silence was not quite so comfortable. The answer was none of Nick’s business, and yet, he wouldn’t withdraw the question.

“You ran off with that young man,” Nick guessed, “because you allowed him liberties.”

“I did,” Leah said, gaze fixed on the flat surface of the water. “Liberties only a husband should be allowed.”

So she was not a virgin, and Nick let out a long, slow breath. He hurt for her, because she’d thought to gift her lover with something irreplaceable, only to have the lover taken from her permanently. But another part of him, the part that panted and wagged its tail, was relieved. Stealing kisses from a woman of experience was not quite so reprehensible as stealing kisses from a virgin.