Chapter 23

"Ithought I might find you here," a voice drifted through the smoke of the gentlemen's club, drawing William out of his brandy-soaked stupor.

He did not know what hour of day it was, nor what day, but he had almost succeeded in forgetting the things Lydia had said. He had almost convinced himself that all would be well, and his wife would eventually see reason and accept that their marriage would never be anything more than convenient. Now, Anthony had come to ruin his peace.

"Where else would I be? I am celebrating, dear brother," William replied, raising an empty glass.

Anthony dragged a chair across the hazy parlor to the table and sat down. "Alone?"

"My associate had other matters to attend to, but he shared a drink or two with me earlier," William explained. "I am to be a spice merchant—well, an investor in spice—with a small investment in the tin mines. Is that not exciting?"

He had not been entirely idle over the past few days, spending hours poring over documents and contracts with the Cruel Duke, ensuring there was no wording that could possibly be misinterpreted—one thing he could thank Lydia for. And with her dowry, and the Cruel Duke's assurances, he was set to become a reasonably wealthy man. He might have been obscenely wealthy, but after subtracting his father's debts from his predicted income, it was merely a comfortable quarterly sum.

"You caused quite an uproar at Bruxton Hall," Anthony said grimly. "No one knew where Lydia had gone. The Duke and Duchess were set to send out a search party before someone mentioned that they had seen two carriages leave. Which, by the way, left me without the means to return home. I had to rely on the generosity of Lydia's sister and her brother-in-law, which was not a pleasant experience, considering your actions."

William pulled a face, feeling somewhat guilty. He had only considered that he might be stranding his brother after the fact when nothing could be done to alter it.

"Has Lydia's sister gone to Stonebridge?" he asked.

Anthony shook his head. "No, though I believe they will be journeying there in a few days. You have Silas to thank for that—he persuaded his wife not to intervene, suggesting the two of you might need some time alone to figure out your differences." He paused. "Of course, when I realized you were not at Stonebridge, I came straight to London to knock some sense into you."

William chuckled. "I should like to see you try."

"This is not a laughing matter, William," Anthony replied coldly. "You are too old and too married to be playing these sorts of games. You are not the Great Rake anymore, and you have a lovely, devoted, charming wife waiting for you at home. And I do not mind telling you that she looks… heartbroken."

"Good," William said, almost involuntarily, as if something else had control of his tongue.

"Pardon?"

William set down his glass and leaned back in his chair. "If she is heartbroken, she will not expect anything from me. She will pursue her happiness, as we agreed, instead of waiting for me to provide it. I cannot be blamed if she has misunderstood the terms of our marriage, for I was exceptionally clear."

Indeed, he had been proud of how clear he had been, in order to avoid another Lady Emma situation. But he was beginning to wonder if he had been vaguer than he had realized.

"You can," Anthony replied. "You can because I have seen you together. I have seen you look at one another, I have seen the way you tease and tempt one another, and I have seen the attachment blossoming between you."

William flashed his brother a withering look. "You see what you want to see. I suspect my wife has the same problem, but she will find the gentleman she has dreamed of soon enough. A few more balls like the Bruxton Ball, and she will forget all thoughts of fidelity and whatnot."

"Goodness, for a clever man, you are a dolt sometimes," Anthony shot back. "She only danced with the Earl of Gorsley and had other names on her dance card because her sister and the Duchess of Bruxton practically forced her to—told her she would be deemed strange if she did not. That is what her sister told me on that… awkward carriage journey, and she has no reason to lie, considering she hates you."

William raised an eyebrow. "It does not bother me, Anthony. What you fail to understand is that I want her to enjoy the company of other gentlemen, just not in public."

It took more effort than William had expected to even say those words to his brother, though he could not fathom why. Once again, Lydia's voice came back to haunt him.

This is what you wanted.

But steadily, and without his permission, those words were becoming less of a reminder of his success and more of a taunt.

"I do not believe that for a moment," Anthony replied, turning up his nose. "If it had not bothered you, you would not have taken Lydia away from the ball. I do not care to hear about punishments and consequences either, for you could have reprimanded her afterward. You removed her from the situation because you did not like it. You cannot fool me."

William shrugged, annoyed by the itchy sensation in his chest. "Believe or disbelieve whatever you want, Anthony, but do it elsewhere. You are dampening my mood, and I have many hours of celebrating ahead of me."

"There is barely a soul here." Anthony gestured around the sparsely populated smoking room. The other rooms were not much better. Even the yawning waiters seemed to be wondering why William was there at such an hour.

"It is early. Others will come, and when they do, they can share in my good fortune," William replied.

Anthony shook his head. "I never thought a day would come where I would say this, Will, but… you are not merely afraid, you are a coward."

"I shall pretend I did not hear that," William growled in reply, for if there was one insult he would not tolerate, it was that.

Anthony sniffed. "Then, I shall repeat it so you can be certain you heard me correctly. You are a coward. You are a coward for running away from your wife, purely because she might just be someone you could be close to and grow attached to. You are a coward for not taking the time to get to know her. You are a coward for not giving her the honeymoon she deserves. You are a coward for taking the easy path of believing she is some… hussy. You are a coward, and worse, you are wrong about her."

"I would be very careful about your next words, Brother." William narrowed his eyes, delivering his coldest stare, but either Anthony had become impervious, or he had decided not to be afraid.

"Are you planning to take another lady to your bed?" Anthony asked bluntly.

William laughed tightly. "Tonight? Of course not."

"Ever again?"

"I am not a soothsayer," William replied.

He wondered absently if he could do it, were he to be propositioned… or would he see Lydia's face in his mind's eye and find it impossible.

Anthony looked angry, his expression tense. "Are you so invested in your old ways that you would throw away something that I believe, with all my heart, could be the best thing to have ever happened to you?"

William furrowed his brow. "I have little interest in my old ways, but that does not mean that?—"

"Then go home," Anthony interrupted sharply. "Go home to your wife, and for goodness' sake, be what she deserves. Stop punishing her for being someone she is not, or you will lose her."

William smirked to hide the jolt of alarm that shot through him. "Lose her? I hardly think so. What is she going to do? Ask for a divorce on the grounds that I have given her what most ladies would dream of? Risk her reputation entirely because it is not quite what she expected?"

"I suspect it will depend on how far you push her," Anthony said with a solemnity in his expression that suggested he might know more than he was letting on.

William's smile faded. "Has something been said? It was that sister of hers, was it not? She is conspiring again?"

"Nothing has been said, there is no conspiracy, but I know what I saw. Lydia is not happy, and she comes from a family of women who will not settle for unhappy," Anthony replied. "Go home. Tell your wife of your success and good news. Go home and be a husband. You do not know how lucky you are."

For a moment, William simply observed his brother, noting the sadness in the younger man's eyes. He had always assumed that Anthony was not yet interested in the idea of marriage and certainly not interested in emulating his brother's wilder youth, but he wondered if he had been so fixated on his own life that he had missed what was right in front of him. That Anthony might be lonely.

Is it really possible that I am capable of making my brother and my wife feel abandoned?

Marriage was becoming a rather eye-opening thing, that was for certain.

"Returning will only worsen her mood," he said, already sobering.

Anthony shook his head. "Then face her ill temper, for you are the one who put her in it. Do not keep running, or you will make a hypocrite of yourself." He thumped a fist onto the table, disturbing the brandy glass. "Go home. I will not say it again."

Frowning at the warps and stains on the table's surface, William raised his hand to catch the attention of the waiter. "Another brandy, if you please."

The waiter bowed his head and hurried off while Anthony's expression grew ever more exasperated. The sort of look one might have while training a dog that refused to obey.

"You cannot be serious," he muttered.

As William waited for his drink in silence, he thought back to the night of the Bruxton Ball. It was the most beautiful he had ever seen his wife look, yet he had not said a single thing to compliment her. He had not told her that she resembled some manner of celestial being, too fine and glorious to be mingling among mortal creatures.

He had not said that when she smiled at the Earl of Gorsley and had danced with him so magnificently, he had wished that it was him. Had wished that he had gone to Bruxton Hall early, accompanying her instead of playing games by arriving late.

He had not told her that, for a moment, he had been wildly, uncontrollably jealous that another man was touching his wife. That, deep down, he was jealous still.

The waiter set a fresh glass of brandy down on the table.

Mumbling a "thank you," William picked it up, downed it in one go, and with the potent liquor burning down from his throat to his stomach, he pushed back his chair and marched out of there without another word.