“So…” she continued when he said nothing. “Is there a, eh, gentleman who is special to you?”
Good God
! “Aunt, my dearest, have pity on a man,” he said through his fingers. “My adaptive abilities are obviously much slower than yours.”
She laughed, and some of the tension finally fell away. “I understand, of course. You won’t be wishing to discuss your amours with your tottering old aunt.”
He smiled, more inside than out. No, he certainly would not, at that! “A tottering old aunt, perhaps. You? Absolutely not!” The last bits of tension vanished. He must have shrunk two inches when his body relaxed and he sank back into his chair. “Now, if you truly love me, we will discuss the weather or the current state of fashion.”
“A compromise?” She smiled. “I have not yet decided on the seating arrangement for tonight, and I would like your thoughts on it.”
Normally such a task would have bored him to tears, but at that moment he was grateful for anything.
“Thank you, Aunt,” he said a few minutes later, patting the top of her papery hand.
She looked up. “There is no need to thank me, my dear. Just promise me that you will not turn sheepish with me and cease visiting.”
“I promise. After all, how am I to safeguard my inheritance if I don’t keep an eye on you?”
“Rotten boy.”
* * * *
Sir Samuel Shaw was having one hell of a miserable week. Three days had passed since the Glennbury ball, and he had spent almost the whole of them hiding in his rooms like a child. Again. He had hidden for nearly a week that first time, crying himself hoarse with humiliation and fear, until eventually the headmaster at Harrow had threatened to have him sent down home if he did not cease his unmanly
lazing
. That had been more than ten years ago, and he had pulled himself together; he was ashamed that he had been forced to do so again. Why did Henry have to come? Why could he not have just stayed in the country where he had been rotting all this time? Sam hated him. He had hardly thought about him in years, succeeding in pushing the horrible memories away until they were just echoes, but the sight of him had brought every bit of it flooding back as if it had happened yesterday. He hated him.
He hated Henry Cortland, damn Earl of Brenleigh!
Sam looked down at the mangled newspaper in his hand and sneered, his pace increasing as he made his way down St. James Street. The notice was there in black and white for the world to see. Oh, how proper! The world must think
so highly
of the smiling, soft-spoken Lord Brenleigh. No doubt every matron of the ton was busily writing out invitations to every picnic and ball and simpering soiree, hoping that he would grace them with his beautiful presence.
And beautiful it was. Henry had changed so little over the years. If anything, he had grown more shockingly handsome, his form filled out to lean, Corinthian perfection, while his smile and those eyes were still just as soft and luring as they had always been. But Sam knew how nasty they could be, how they could glitter with disgust. He had seen those soft blue orbs turn cold as ice, and that cultured voice turn harsh with accusation.
“What do you think you’re doing? You…you pervert!”
Sam shuddered, momentarily losing his stride. Oh, yes, he knew precisely how heartless Henry Cortland could be, and yet Sam had not believed him capable of this.
This!
The paper wrinkled further in his hand.
He knew better than most how important it was for men like him to protect themselves, to find clever ways of getting on in the world without either denying their desires completely or living with life-threatening recklessness. In pursuit of that, there would always be the unsavory necessity of lying. He knew that, but there had to be limits. There had to be
some
kind of ethical threshold a man was not willing to cross to please himself, surely? Sam held in his hand all the proof he needed that Henry Cortland cared nothing for such limits. He only cared about himself. It was disgusting. The only one who was worse was Lord Richard. How could he? His own sister!
Sam ground his teeth and looked down at the notice again.
HIS GRACE, THE DUKE OF CULFREY, PROUDLY ANNOUNCES THE ENGAGEMENT OF HIS SISTER, LADY ANNE AVERY, TO HIS LORDSHIP HENRY CORTLAND, EARL OF BRENLEIGH
Proud, is he?
Culfrey would not be nearly so proud if he knew his sister was being used as nothing more than a rope to pull Lord Richard and Henry together. They would be brothers-in-law. There would be no end to the amount of time they could spend in each other’s company without raising the slightest bit of curiosity. All the restraint and circumspection that men like them usually had to employ would fly out the window. Why, Lord Richard would even be able to reside with Henry and Lady Anne in the country for as long as he pleased, and society would view it as nothing more than a doting brother making a long visit to his sister. All the while he and Henry would be…
Sam cursed under his breath. How could they? His stomach roiled with pity for Lady Anne, whom he had never met, but whom he was certain could not possibly deserve such a deceitful union. Sam was no saint, to be sure. He knew his reputation among…well…his own kind, but that was not at all comparable. Never minding that much of his reputation was an exaggeration of his own choosing, the parts that were true were honest. He never lied to his casual lovers. He never led anyone with false notions of love or faithfulness. He was always direct.
And he certainly never slithered his way into the hearts of innocent young ladies just so that he could have their brothers.
He folded the paper into a jagged square and shoved it into his coat pocket as he mounted the steps at White’s. He needed a drink and a very heavy, very rich meal. Potatoes swimming in butter and cream, with roasted pork still sizzling… No. What he really needed was to go to Jackson’s Saloon and box with someone twice his size until he could no longer remember the name Henry Cortland. It was none of Sam’s concern, anyway. To hell with Henry and Richard Avery too!
Choosing to forgo the feast Sam had been contemplating, or at least delaying it, he chose instead to take tea and a small repast in the breakfast room so that he could read the rest of the newspapers and avoid conversation. He was in no frame of mind to put on a face and be pleasant for whoever might happen by. As it turned out, there was going to be no need to make pleasant at all, since the object of half his disgust chose that moment to enter the room.
Lord Richard walked in with a long, happy stride, his eyes toward the windows as if he was intent on taking in the sunny beauty of the day. He had the look of a man thoroughly pleased with himself. He stopped instantly upon seeing Sam, but his expression dimmed only slightly.
Ah, I am not even worth being cross over
. Sam scoffed and returned his attention to his paper. To think he had actually felt bad after his liaison with Julian Garrott, believing that he must have misunderstood his initial assumptions about Julian and Richard’s loose arrangement. Well, he had been right all along, as it turned out. There had been no deep feelings. Richard had replaced Julian fast enough, obviously.
When Richard did not move, Sam looked up again and saw the same dilemma that Richard did. There were already two other gentlemen taking breakfast together at a smaller table, leaving nothing but empty tables and Sam sitting by himself. The two men had nodded their greetings to Richard, and would no doubt notice if Richard chose to sit alone rather than with the only other man in the room. Such was the nature of gossip, even among men.
Richard and Sam exchanged the same rueful expression.
Bloody hell!
Richard approached Sam’s table, and Sam was forced to make a very hearty offer that Richard breakfast with him, all while both of them stared daggers at each other.
Don’t know why you think you have a right to hate me. You obviously didn’t care two jots for Julian.
Richard ordered his breakfast from the footman, a shocking amount of eggs and beef and toast that left Sam’s stomach growling. It simply wasn’t fair that men like Richard continued to look the way they did with seemingly no effort. Damn them all.
“Is there anything of interest in the papers this morning?” Richard said, his voice forced to polite conversation.
“Huh!” Sam grunted, unable to control himself. Of interest, indeed! “Oh, I would say so. Engagements are always an object of interest.”
“Of course.” Richard frowned a little and reached for his tea. “The Season is always filled with them, though usually not this early.”
“I suppose some men just can’t wait,” Sam retorted, his eyes narrowed. “Young ladies will be herded into marriages to suit their families, won’t they?”
Richard’s frown deepened, this time tinged with exasperation. “I suppose so. Have you finished reading this?” He indicated a paper near the tea tray.
Sam almost rolled his eyes. “Yes, though that is yesterday’s paper.”
“I did not catch the news yesterday, I’m afraid, so no harm.” Richard snatched up the paper and began to read, no doubt feeling relieved of the need to keep up their sham conversation.
They continued their silent tableau through Richard’s feast being delivered, which he ate with one hand as he read the paper with dedicated focus. Sam could not help casting cold glances at him now and then, wondering how the man could just eat his breakfast and linger over the latest news items as if he had not a care in the world, all while he was planning the sacrifice of his only sister just to make his affair easier. Sam could feel his empty stomach churning.
Eventually the other two diners finished and left the room with much good-natured chatter. As soon as the door closed behind them, the atmosphere in the room rose by several degrees.
“You need to work on your polite conversation, Shaw.” Richard snorted, finally slapping down the paper. “Acting is a profession you should never consider taking up.”
“You are quite right. I am not nearly the actor you are, and likely never will be. No doubt you will have your talents taxed in the near future,” Sam spat, casting his own paper aside.
“What?”
“You will have quite the little show to keep up, I’ll wager,” Sam continued. “It’s no mean task convincing someone you still care about them while at the same time using them abominably.”
“You talk out of your ass,” Richard spat, pushing his chair back. “What the hell are you talking about—”
“You’re quite the one to be getting lofty with me,
my lord
. I cringe to think what kind of man it takes to use his own sister in such a way. Tell me, do you plan to take up residence in the countess’s rooms on the Brenleigh estate, or will you at least have the good grace to fuck your sister’s husband in a guest chamber?”
Richard’s fist flew so quickly that Sam never had an opportunity to react. His head snapped back against the chair, causing it to topple over and him with it. His ears rang, and for a moment he could not tell if he was up or down. He was on the floor, at least, his chair having gone sideways and deposited him there.
“You lowly bastard!” Richard growled. “Get up so I can challenge you, even if you aren’t a gentleman worth the trouble.”
Sam lifted himself onto his knees, his head still ringing. The sickly taste of blood reached him, and he realized that his nose was gushing. The evidence had already made its way down his cravat and onto the plush carpet.
“You!” Sam spat, humiliated. “You stand there like
you’re
offended, when you have not a moral bone in your body.”
“You know nothing. Nothing!” Richard roared his fists still clenched as he now stood over the table.
“Oh?” Sam gurgled, his stomach lurching at the taste of blood. He pulled the crumpled newspaper from his pocket and threw it at Richard. “Well, I can
read!
Do you plan to lie now and tell me that there is nothing between you and Brenleigh? Come on, then. Let us see who is a better actor!”
Richard’s expression was savage as he unfolded the newspaper and looked at it. Long seconds passed. He was very still. So still, in fact, that it sent a shiver of fear down Sam’s spine.
“No,” Richard whispered. “This…this isn’t true. There was some kind of mistake.”
“Mistake?” Sam rubbed his nose and winced, though it did not appear to be broken. Thank God. He turned his head to Richard again and nearly choked at what he saw. Richard’s complexion had turned alarmingly green. The hand that held the newspaper shook until, finally, the offending piece of paper was left to flutter to the floor. He closed his eyes.
My God
. “You…you didn’t know?” Sam struggled to his feet. “You didn’t plan this?”
Richard pressed his trembling fists over his eyes. His whole frame appeared to be closing in on itself; then he let out a vicious cry and kicked his chair away from the table.
“No!” Sam cried in a hard whisper, spattering more blood on the floor. No, no! His eyes darted to the door, and already he heard the sound of rushing feet. As quickly as he could, his head still swimming, he righted Richard’s chair, then scrambled toward the stone hearth that was just a few feet from their table. He grabbed a low stool, toppled it over, and then fell to his knees near the hearth. His last act just before the doors flew open was to smear blood from his nose onto the cushioned fender that surrounded the hearth.
“Sir!” a footman cried. Another footman and the front butler came bursting into the room. Sam hoped that all saw what he wanted them to see—Sir Samuel Shaw on his knees near the hearth, obviously having just tripped over the little overturned footstool before crashing into the hearth fender.
Sam raised a staying hand to them, as any gentleman would be expected to do. As good servants, of course, they ignored it and hefted him up to his feet. Sam shot a meaningful glance at Richard, silently pleading with him to pull himself together and play along.
As if waking from a fog, Richard stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “Sam, my God. You…you could have taken a spill straight into the coals.”
If acting was the competition, Sam had won the round. Luckily, the attending servants and curious gentlemen now gathering in the doorway appeared to have no attention to spare from Sam and the horrendous amount of blood that covered half his front. A searing pain was already beginning to pulse around his eyes and up into his forehead.