His brother’s timing could not have been worse. Walking away from Libby yesterday had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. But damn it all, it was best to step away while he still could. He’d been falling for her, hard and fast, and it wasn’t until that moment that he’d realized how much.
But he had to walk away. He couldn’t allow himself to be with the very girl Lord Malcolm had tried to entice Philip to marry. Elizabeth. It never occurred to him to connect that bastard’s niece with the smart, sweet woman he had come to adore.
After Malcolm had swindled Nigel out of so much, Philip would be damned before he gave the man what he wanted all along: marriage to his niece.
And now the other player in this tragic little farce had finally shown up. Seeing him now, walking in with stubbled cheeks and a devil-may-care attitude, brought in equal parts relief and fury. As much as Philip could kill his brother right now, he was still relieved Nigel wasn’t injured, missing, or worse.
“Good morning to you, too, brother,” Nigel drawled as he unbuttoned his jacket and slid it off. As he tossed it on the table next to where Philip stood, the pungent odor of alcohol and tobacco filled the air between them.
Philip gritted his teeth with the effort of keeping his temper in check. “That’s right—morning. One should be waking, not going to sleep. And you didn’t answer the damn question.”
“Because it’s none of your damned business,” Nigel shot back as he tugged at the knot of his cravat. The thing was stained by some unknown amber substance, a disgrace to any self-respecting gentleman.
“I’m your brother and, at present, the keeper you’ve repeatedly proven you’ve needed,” he said, his staccato words spoken through clenched teeth. “If you remember, I hold the blunt that will save you from drowning in the River Tick. If you wish to continue to live in the manner to which you’re accustomed, I suggest you behave according to my rules.”
Nigel snorted, the sound harsh and angry. “How the hell could I possibly forget? You’ve lorded the fact over my head for a month now. The agreement was that I accompany you here and refrain from revealing your identity—both of which I’ve done. If you want someone to obey your every command, I suggest you hire another servant or get a bloody dog.”
His brother breezed past him and stalked to the small dining table. He selected a peach from the bowl in the center and took a large bite, not seeming to care that juice dribbled down is chin and dripped onto his stained cravat.
Philip raked his hands through his hair, biting back the desire to resort to fisticuffs with the man. “I don’t know why you are so damned determined to act like you are some sort of martyr, unfairly persecuted by your unreasonable and boorish older brother. I don’t expect anything from you that I don’t expect of myself. For the love of God, have a little respect for others.”
Narrowing his bloodshot eyes, Nigel swallowed and said, “Well, that makes sense. Why wouldn’t a duke, who is in control of a vast fortune and all the power and privileges the title brings, expect his worthless younger brother with no title and pockets to let, to live up to the same standards?”
Philip drew back, stunned by the vehemence with which his brother spoke. “There are standards of conduct no matter who you are. And might I point out, all that power and wealth you spoke of comes with tremendous responsibilities. My life isn’t some sort of stroll in the park.”
Letting out another snort, Nigel threw him a disgusted glare. “Oh yes, so difficult you could barely find the time to jaunt off to bloody Spain for a month.”
Before Philip could form a response, a commotion arose in the corridor. Metal scraped against metal before the door flew open, banging against the wall behind it. Both Philip and his brother sprang to their feet, gaping at the four men who poured into the room, shouting a flurry of Spanish words. Philip recognized the innkeeper, but the others where unknown to him.
He held up his hands trying to stop the chaos around him. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice strong enough to cut through the commotion.
The men advanced into the room, and it suddenly dawned on him that they were all armed in one capacity or another.
“Senõr Garcia, explain, please.” But the man just shook his head, gesturing to the others as they grabbed hold of Nigel roughly.
He desperately tossed about for the right words and tried again. “Explicar, por favor.”
Holding up his hands, he said the one word that Philip could understand: hermandades.
All the air seemed to whoosh form the room as Philip staggered back a step. Dear God, these men were with the municipal league.
Nigel was under arrest.
Chapter 8
Sitting on the fourth-floor balcony of Lord Winters’s rented townhouse, Libby had noticed Nigel stumbling up to the inn where he and Philip were staying and had watched as he disappeared inside. It was early enough that very few people were up and about, so she had also noticed when three very purposeful men had strode in a few minutes later.
Not that she had given them much thought. She was far too absorbed in her own heartache to give anything other than idle notice to the men. But minutes later when the trio reappeared, dragging a protesting Nigel along with them, she bolted to her feet, her heart lodging in her chest. What the devil was going on?
She ran inside, shouting for Gabriel as she thundered down the stairs. She was grateful she was already dressed, but it wouldn’t have mattered if she wasn’t. This was Philip’s brother, and he was in trouble.
By the time she rushed outside, her lungs heaving with exertion, the men had made it to the street with him and were trying to stuff him into a waiting carriage.
“Wait!” she shouted, then promptly switched to Spanish. “Detener!”
To her surprise, they actually stopped, gaping at the sight of an Englishwoman running toward them, her hair streaming down her back and her cheeks surely bright red.
It was then she saw Philip, rushing up behind them with wide, nearly panicked eyes.
“Philip, what’s happening?” she asked, panting.
He shook his head quickly. “I don’t know. I can’t understand them, and they won’t stop. Libby, it’s the hermandades.”
Her heart dropped to her knees. What would the notoriously brutal civil police want with Nigel? There was only one way to find out. Lifting her chin, she stalked over to them, holding her trepidation at bay. Searching for the right Spanish words before she spoke, she said, “Gentlemen, what business have you with my friend? What are the charges?” Though her voice shook, her gaze didn’t waver.
They exchanged glances, obviously unsure what to do with her. At last, the tallest of the three shrugged and spoke curtly in Spanish. “He is a thief, miss. He stole a precious jeweled ring.”
A thief? Nigel? It was an absolutely absurd claim. What use would he have for a ring? Turning to Philip, she translated the charge.
“It’s a lie,” Nigel shouted, struggling again. “I didn’t steal anything—I won it.”
As fast as her brain could translate, Libby conveyed Nigel’s claims of innocence to the hermandades. The words were met with out and out hostility as the men sneered back at her. “Of course he’ll not admit to it. All thieves are liars,” the tall one said, clearly in charge. The hard glint in his dark eyes chilled her from the inside out.
Again she translated, her heart going out to the look of panic in Nigel’s eyes. He shook his head, his gaze boring into Libby’s. “I won it, I swear. I beat his hand fairly.”
“What’s going on here?”
The sound of Gabriel’s booming voice made Libby nearly wilt with relief. His not inconsiderable presence helped even the odds. She quickly relayed the situation. Crossing his arms over his barrel chest, he turned to address Nigel. “Where is the ring?”
“In my inner jacket pocket, upstairs in the room. They can have the bloody thing.”
The lawmen looked to Libby, and she hastily repeated Nigel’s words. One
of them turned to the innkeeper and directed him to retrieve the jacket.
As the man hurried inside, Philip took a cautious step closer to his brother. “Nigel,” he said quietly, his eyes dark with intensity. “Are you telling the truth?”
Pain darkened Nigel’s already bleak eyes, and Libby’s heart broke for him. “Yes,” he croaked. “I took money from your satchel when you were gone, and I used it to go gambling at the hall near the pub. I swear to you, I won the ring. The man who lost it was furious, but I took it anyway and came home.”
Philip nodded once, then stepped back, keeping a wary eye on the hermandades. The innkeeper reappeared a moment later, an ornate gold ring pinched between his forefinger and thumb.
Nigel seemed to sag in relief. “Take it. Just take it,” he said, his voice cracking.
The lead lawman inspected the ring, nodded, then tucked it into his pocket. “Vamonos,” he said, tipping his head toward the carriage. The other men nodded and started to drag Nigel into the carriage.
“What are you doing?” Libby cried in Spanish, rushing forward only to be caught by Gabriel from behind.
“Careful,” he murmured, clearly mistrustful of the men.
“This man has just produced the evidence of his guilt,” the officer who had taken the ring said, his expression obstinate. “He must face his punishment.”
Libby gasped, and Philip stepped forward. “What the hell is going on? What did he say?”
She hastily repeated the words, all the while racking her brain for how she could stop the men from taking Nigel away.
Laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, Philip spun her around and looked her dead in the eye. She’d never seen him more serious or determined. “He’s not guilty, and I won’t have him treated as such. Tell them I will pay them whatever they want, but to unhand him this instant.”
But when she did as he demanded, the words had no effect whatsoever. The two men continued to pull Nigel toward the waiting carriage, while the driver sat in his box with the reins in hand.
The leader sent a condescending smirk toward Libby before saying in Spanish. “He cheated the wrong man this time.” Turning his back, he started up behind his men, obscuring Nigel from view.
Heart pounding, Libby grabbed Philip’s bare hand in her own and translated the man’s parting words. For the space of a breath, they shared a glance that was soul deep, moving past the quibbles of the day before. She could feel his dread, just as she could see the determination solidifying in his eyes. Flexing his jaw, he squeezed her hand and whispered, “Forgive me.”
Before she could grasp what on earth he meant, he broke away and turned to face the enemy, pulling himself up to his full height. Shoulders back, nostrils flared, and chin lifted he looked every bit as regal and imposing as a Roman general.
“Alto!” he demanded, his voice echoing down the street like a clap of thunder. Everyone froze—the hermandades, the innkeeper, even Libby and Gabriel. He seemed bigger than life, powerful and compelling in a way that made it impossible to look away.
Stepping forward, he pinned the lead lawman with a razor sharp glare. “By order of the Duke of Gillingham, Marquis of Cuxton, and Viscount Westbrook, I demand you release my brother, or I swear to you this incident will single-handedly jeopardize this country’s trade with England for the next fifty years.”
All at once, the world seemed to slam to a jarring halt, robbing Libby of breath and comprehension. Her head swam as she stared at Philip—her Philip—who had transformed right before her eyes. Gone was the kind, gentle, laughing man she had known, and before her stood a man of steel, radiating enough power and command to put even Wellington to shame.
Eyes wide, the hermandades shifted their attention to her, cautiously waiting for the translation. Philip turned and met her gaze, begging, commanding her to pull herself together and speak.
Slowly, as though moving underwater, she turned to the men and struggled to translate the words that her mind rebelled against. How could he have lied to her? How could he have let her fall in love with him, knowing it was all a ruse?
When she finished speaking, the men looked back and forth between them in stunned silence, clearly weighing his words. Even Nigel looked stunned, lying limply in the hermandades’s hands as he gaped at his brother.
After what seemed like hours, the men nodded to one another and shoved Nigel away, sending him stumbling to the pavement below. They quickly closed the door and rapped on the ceiling, and just like that, they were gone.
Libby stood staring after them, unable to turn and face the man who had so thoroughly made a fool of her. All this time she had been falling for a man who didn’t exist.
“Libby.” Philip’s powerful voice was reduced to a hoarse whisper.
She shook her head, valiantly fighting against the tears that threatened to humiliate her even further.
“Libby, please. Let me apologize. Let me explain.”
She held up a hand, the movement jerky. When she was sure she could speak without dissolving in tears, she turned to face him, her chin held high. “Consider our families even.”
With that, she marched past the duke, his brother, and Gabriel, past the stunned innkeeper and the handful of people who had come to stare, and all the way inside.
If she had thought her heart was broken before, she now knew what it was to be crushed.
~*~
Silence filled the warm air of the apartment, ripe with all of the unspoken words Philip couldn’t seem to find the breath to say to his brother. Nigel sat across from him at the small table, his skin ashen and his eyes hollow. His hair fell limply across his forehead as he stared at the smooth surface of the wood.
There was much to be done—Philip knew they couldn’t stay here after what had just happened—but still they sat. Too much had happened. God knows what would have happened had the hermandades succeeded in taking Nigel away. If they wanted to make a very painful point to him, they could have. If they wanted to kill him, they could have done so as well. Philip pressed his eyes closed. He couldn’t bear it if something happened his brother.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t come to my rescue again.” Only a shadow of Nigel’s former bravado darkened his voice. More than anything, Philip heard fear and dejection.
Meeting his eyes, Philip shook his head, suddenly tired. “I meant that I wouldn’t rescue you from your own mistakes.”
“And you didn’t think that was my mistake?”
“Stealing from me was a mistake. Staying out all night was a mistake. Gambling again was a mistake. But taking the spoils that you won fairly?” Philip lifted a shoulder. “Those bastards were clearly out for blood.”
Nigel shook his head, his brow gathered as though in thought. “I’m shocked you believed me.”
Blowing out a long breath, Philip ran a hand through his hair. “The truth was in your eyes. Contrary to whatever you seem to think, I am not out to get you, Nigel.”
He snorted. “Could have fooled me. I don’t know why you had to drag me here anyway. Wasn’t it enough to know that I was humiliated by the earl? Why were you so bloody determined to rub my face in it every chance you got?”
Tension draw tight Philip’s already frayed nerves. “I didn’t drag you here to rub your face in anything, Nigel. I brought you here to try to turn things around.”
“No, you wanted to come here and play your little games and force me to see how worthless I really am.”
“What?” Philip scrubbed his hands over his face, astounded at his brother’s claim. “I came here with you in the futile hope that I could stop the runaway carriage wreck that I could see was about to happen. You’re following the same path as our father, and I’m doing everything in my power to keep you from ending up just like him.”
He glared back at Nigel, breathing hard from his outburst. Anger and helplessness and love for his brother battered him from the inside out. God, he’d almost lost him, and still his brother was fighting with him.
&n
bsp; But Nigel merely watched him with shuttered eyes. “What do you care if I end up like Father? I’m sure you’d be glad to be rid of me.”
Philip shook his head, at a complete loss as to how to respond to such an outrageous claim. “Did you see what I just did for you? Does that look like something I would do if I wished to be rid of you? For Pete’s sake, Nigel, you’re my only brother. I’d do anything to keep you from a fate like that. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for weeks.”
His brother’s gaze dropped to the table again. His skin seemed even paler than when he’d come in, the bags beneath his eyes more pronounced. “Well, perhaps you should have just let them take me. I know you and Mother think I could have stopped the duel. I know you both blame me for him being dead now.”
The words were like arrows piercing Philip’s chest. God above, how could Nigel think such a thing? “That’s ridiculous! We treated you like porcelain after Father’s death. We made sure you could do no wrong.”
Something flickered in his brother’s dull eyes before he glanced down to his hands. “Nothing I did could get your attention in those days. I did more and more outrageous things, and nothing could turn your heads.”
Philip stood there, blinking, trying to comprehend what his brother was saying. “You think we were turning our backs on you?”
“How could I not? I was practically invisible. The only thing that ever raised your ire was losing all that money to Malcolm. Not that I want it anymore. You can have the title, the wealth, the good standing, Mother’s attention, and the adoration of debutantes everywhere. I’ve found my place among the gaming hells, brothels, and clubs of the ton.”
Closing his eyes against the bitterness and hurt he heard in his brother’s voice, Philip exhaled. “Nigel,” he said when he could speak again. “I don’t blame you for anything. I blame our father for ruining your innocence—I always have. We—Mother and I—didn’t know how to make up for the pain he had put you through. We chose the path of never reprimanding or disciplining you, and obviously we chose wrong.” He paused, waiting until Nigel’s reluctant eyes met his. “You’re my brother, and I love you. And whether you like it or not, I’m not going to give up on you.”
Sweet Summer Kisses Page 8
