Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

B eckett entered Whites later the next afternoon. He stopped halfway up the stairs and took a calming breath, needing to tamper down the ire, vexation, and blasted desire that still ran through him after kissing Genevieve.

Not to mention, seeing her this afternoon had set his hackles to rise.

And he could lay all of his troubles at one man's door.

Her brother's.

His best friend.

Continuing, he spied Martin lounging on a settee, feet on the armrest, and paper over his face. No doubt the blaggard—and he was a blaggard—was sleeping off the night of excessiveness.

He stormed over to Martin and ripped the paper off his face, but if he expected Martin to startle awake and protest being assaulted, it was not to be. The fiend remained asleep, his light snore gifting those in his presence.

"Martin, wake up," he ordered, kicking the leg of the chair, but to no avail. "Martin, wake up," he said a little louder this time, and still the man slept.

"You won't wake him. He was at Vauxhall earlier tonight and only stumbled in an hour or so ago. Said he was determined to sleep off his indulgences," Lord Smythe called, laughing at Martin's excesses.

Beckett looked around and lost patience. He spied a glass of water and picked it up, splashing it over Martin's face. He slammed the crystal onto a nearby sideboard for good measure, glad to see at last some small motion that he'd woken up his friend.

"What in the blazers…" Martin mumbled, sitting up.

"We need to speak, and you need to get a hold of your senses right this moment, or I'll find another glass of water and throw it at your face a second time."

Martin blinked, confusion muddying his dark-blue eyes—eyes very similar to Genevieve's—before he frowned. "What the blazers, Tyndall. I was having a nap. You know never to wake a man when he's napping? And certainly not your best friend. What sort of unkindness is this?" he protested.

Beckett looked at him, nonplussed. "Do you have any idea what I saw this afternoon?"

"What?" Martin said, raising his arm for a footman, who quickly deposited a whisky, Martin's choice of beverage.

"Your sister, walking arm in arm with Mr. Venzellons. The American, if you recall. What brazenness does the man have escorting your sister about London as if he is her equal?"

"He's rich, is he not? That makes him equal enough."

"She's a duke's daughter, and he's the son of nobody knows who."

"He made his fortune, and from what I know of him, seems pleasant enough. If he has his sights set on Genevieve, then all the better. She needs to marry and soon. Do you know she's in her third Season? Mama and Papa are beyond exasperated about what to do, and so am I. She's pretty enough and has a very handsome dowry. You would have thought someone would have snapped her up by now."

"She's not food for the hungry to be devoured," Beckett snarled, slumping back in his chair and glaring at his friend. "Lady Genevieve ought to marry a proper Englishman of good standing and noble blood. Not some American who found gold."

"Oh yes, he mentioned to me this afternoon that he had found quite a substantial amount of it, enough to last him a lifetime."

"And if he's lying, and you give your sister away to him, and she suffers for your bad choice, what then?"

"Then I suppose she would come home…but does it matter?" Martin downed his whisky. "And anyway, what is it to you? She's not your sister."

His friend's question caught him off guard, and for several moments, he did not know how to answer. "I do not trust the man, and I have heard he speaks crassly about Lady Genevieve, wanting her for himself, to bed her. You should not want that for your sister."

"Ahh, but Tyndall, it is not my choice. My father will make that decision, and if he finds no fault with Mr. Venzellons, then nor will I."

"You are my oldest and closest friend. You must speak to Genevieve and caution her to choose carefully and not with haste. Marriage is a lifelong commitment, and I do not believe you would even enjoy seeing her unhappy and disappointed."

"Well, of course not, but if she were walking with Mr. Venzellons, what am I to do about it? She's of age, old enough to know what is good and bad and right and wrong for herself. If she wishes to accept the man's suit and eventual proposal, I shall not be the one to stop it."

Damned if Beckett would allow such a travesty. But then, what could he do about it?

He had seen the moment Genevieve spied him, and the distaste, annoyance, and loathing that settled on her pretty face let him know that she would not listen to him or take his advice.

But after their kiss, damn it all to hell, a kiss that had haunted him, he had done something so out of character that even now, he could not believe it.

He had asked Lady Charlotte, who had been walking near the Serpentine, for an outing in a boat. Only to gain more information on Lady Genevieve and her suitor. A mistake, for Charlotte, loyal to Genevieve, had not said a word and was vague and unhelpful in every way.

"I hope this overreaction to my sister and Mr. Venzellons does not indicate your feelings toward my sister have changed. I know your past, and I know you better than you believe, and you would not suit. In fact, your present lifestyle, similar to mine, would indicate you're not suitable for anyone at present."

"That is harsh." Beckett went to disagree but could not. Martin had a point. He had not been looking for a wife, but then, nor had he ever thought to discourage himself from finding one should a desirable woman pass him during the Season.

He ground his teeth, hating that Lady Genevieve had made him feel things he had not for…well, forever. He shook his head, certain it was only because he knew her so well and long that he had such a visceral reaction to her, nothing more. He certainly did not want to court her himself. Nor want her in his bed.

Although one night would be no hardship…

Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself.

"I want your word that you will not court my sister. We've been friends for many years and have been through and experienced much in our lives. I would hate for you to marry Genevieve, knowing what I do about your rakish past. You would only disappoint her, Tyndall. Possibly more so than Venzellons ever could."

Beckett digested the words, unsure he cared for any of them or how it made him look.

"No, Genevieve would be better with Venzellons if it's anyone. I think she would enjoy New York. She's always wanted to travel, and her life would start with an adventure to the Americas."

"You have my word. I will not court her. I'm merely concerned for Lady Genevieve, that is all. I shall never woo her. Do not be absurd in suggesting such an outcome. But I also cannot agree with Mr. Venzellons being suitable. He's worse than you and I, and Lady Genevieve deserves better than marrying a rogue."

"Well, that is a shame you dislike Mr. Venzellons so."

"And why is that?" Beckett asked.

"Because I invited him to Mama's home tomorrow afternoon, and he assured me he would attend. Will you still make an appearance knowing he's to call?"

Beckett sighed. "Of course. I'm not so much an ass to snub your mama's invitation." Not that it meant he had to be pleasant to the man. That could be a stretch.