by Erica Taylor
“Norah, get away from him,” Andrew commanded.
“He’s injured!” Norah exclaimed.
“Norah, I’m fine,” Nick insisted.
“It is his own damned fault his eye is black, and I will not have you coddle him for his own stupidity!” Andrew yelled.
“Andrew, your language!” Sarah chided.
“It was not stupidity!” Nick cried, glaring at his brother. He was still shorter than Andrew, but only just, and his shoulders were squared for a fight, his fists balled at his sides.
“Then what would you call it?” Andrew demanded. “Having a laugh? It was stupid, reckless, and irresponsible. I should let you hang for this!”
“Andrew!” Sarah cried at him in dismay, rising to her feet. “Of all the things to say!”
“Nick!” Norah cried, rounding on her twin. “What did you do?”
“Tell them,” Andrew commanded.
Nick swallowed and glanced at his younger brother before looking back at his sisters. “We, uh . . .”
“Barty thought it would be a great laugh if we pretended to be highwaymen,” Charlie interjected.
“You did what?” Susanna cried in shock.
“And we might have held up a carriage,” Nick finished.
“You could have been killed!” Sarah cried.
“We are all right,” Nick replied. “And the bloke in the carriage is fine too. We did not have any bullets in our guns. We just scared him a little is all. But the prefect knew something was afoot and was waiting for us when we returned to the dormitory. He forced the answer out of us, and the headmaster sent us here straight away.”
“He escorted you back to London,” Andrew added. “He’s suspended you for the rest of the term! I was barely able to calm the man down, the way he ranted and waved his arms about; you are lucky he did not expel you completely. I cannot believe your stupidity! What could you have been thinking? Were you even thinking at all?”
“We are fine!” Charlie repeated Nick’s assurances.
“Yes, but is the man you tried to rob fine?” Andrew demanded.
Nick and Charlie exchanged a look between them.
“He was a bit shaken up, I reckon,” Charlie admitted.
“But he was alive and swinging when we left,” Nick added. “That is how I blackened my eye.”
“Of all the irresponsible things!” Sarah shouted, rounding on her brothers, hands on her hips. It seemed for the moment Clara was forgotten as the Macalister siblings launched into an all-out shouting tirade, each yelling over the other.
“Be thankful he did not shoot you!” Susanna cried at them.
“Nick! How could you?” Norah yelled at the same time.
“You could have gotten your brother killed!” Andrew yelled at Nick.
“You’ve lost all the brains in your head!” Norah accused her twin.
“Are you both mad?” Sarah exclaimed.
“It was a mistake!” Nick cried. “I’m sorry! I forgot!”
The room went eerily silent, and all Macalister eyes bore into Nick and Charlie.
“How convenient for you to forget such a thing,” Andrew said, his voice dangerously calm. “The rest of us are, unfortunately, not so lucky. I am certain Sarah, Susanna, or Norah will never forget that night. I will not. Luke and Bennett will not. It must be a privilege to be you and not remember.”
“It was not that we forgot it happened at all,” Charlie quickly explained, “we just did not make the connection. You are right, we were not thinking.”
“That much is obvious,” Andrew snapped. “You should have a great deal of time to think at Bradstone Park. You shall have no one to think with the entire time except for each other. I also imagine it would be best for you and your thoughts to stay indoors in the evening; stay off of the horses and out of the lake.”
“You are sending us away?” Nick asked horrified. “We just got home!”
“I feel you had best leave now while your trunks are still packed,” Andrew added. “You will also have plenty of time to study for your exams, as I will have to persuade Eton to accept them. I expect perfect results.”
“You cannot do this!” Charlie cried. “You cannot banish us to the country!”
Andrew narrowed his eyes at his youngest brother. “I can, and I will. If you thought this little stunt was going to be overlooked, you were sorely mistaken. I can handle almost any sort of frivolity, any sort of carousing or acts of stupidity. But this is unforgivable.”
“Andrew, please,” Nick begged. “We’ve only just returned to London.”
“And you shall be leaving today,” Andrew replied. “Sorry to spoil your plans, but you made the mistake. Now you must live with the consequences.” Andrew turned to leave but stopped and turned to his brothers again. “And if I hear that even one toe is out of line, you might want to consider a life outside this family.”
The sound of silver clanging on porcelain caught Andrew’s attention, and his eyes landed on Clara’s, his gaze furious. Clara realized she had dropped her fork onto her plate. He held her gaze for a long moment before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
“Well,” Sarah said, obviously attempting to break the tension. She glanced at Clara and saw the fear in her eyes and forced a smile, attempting to offer her reassurance. “He might have gone a bit overboard, but his reasons are genuine.”
“Of course,” Clara said, nodding absently.
Had she been wrong about him? Had Andrew Macalister—the laughing, free, and reckless boy she had once loved as a child been completely stamped out by the Stone Duke? That could not be right, she had seen him laugh and flirt, and he’d sent her roses, for goodness’ sake. But who was this shouting at his brothers in the breakfast room? How could they be the same man?
Was he just a cold-hearted, high-handed, uncharitable man with a title? If he was, how could she possibly expect to find a happy marriage with him? It was better that she planned to leave him. She wouldn’t allow herself to have any feelings towards the exact thing she wanted to get away from, pink roses and a sweet card be damned.
Gentle reader, a report was made that the Duke of B— was seen stomping about at Gormant’s Hothouse Flowers early this morning. As it was nearly dawn, the claim cannot be substantiated, but if the Stone Duke was choosing flowers, one must then believe they were for his bride-to-be. Since the formal announcement came days ago, all of London is on alert for the sign of the couple’s eventual downfall.
Chapter Eight
Andrew tore from the house, his every limb shaking, hot rage coursing through his veins. He wove his way towards the mews, eager to put as much distance between himself and the breakfast room as possible. This was not how he wanted his morning to go. Clara was supposed to come into the breakfast room, preferably alone, and sweetly thank him for the flowers. He was then going to ask her if she rode, and then he was going to invite her for a ride around Hyde Park.
“Well done,” Andrew muttered to himself. He sought out his horse, a beautiful Hanoverian warm-blooded animal. Titan, as Andrew had christened him, nuzzled his head into Andrew’s palm, his chestnut coat fine and soft from the excellent care of his groom.
“Seems you’ve made a right mess of things,” Luke said from behind him.
Andrew nodded, not looking back at his brother. “You heard, did you?”
Luke snorted. “I think everyone in Mayfair heard.”
Turning to regard his brother, Andrew asked, “Are you aware of Nick and Charlie’s transgressions as well?”
Facing Andrew, Luke braced himself against the doorway post, one brow raised in a perfected look of detached amusement.
“It is unforgivable,” Andrew stated. “I will not tolerate such behavior out of either of them. How could they have forgotten?”
“Andrew, they were just boys out f
or a thrill. Sowing their oats and all.”
“But if those oats had cost them their lives? Or that bloke they were pretending to rob?”
Luke held his brother’s gaze. “I understand the emotional weight you have behind this, but I don’t think their lack in judgment means they don’t mourn for Father and Sam. In our own ways, we have all mourned their loss differently.”
Andrew nodded, knowing his brother was right. He felt the seriousness of the conversation fade away, felt the anger seep from his bones. It was stupid and reckless, but at least everyone was safe. He did not want to endure another tragedy.
Looking between his horse and Titan, Luke asked, “Do you think Titan can out run Ulysses?”
Andrew looked across the barn to the tall bay at the end of the row, and then back at his brother, raising a dark eyebrow in question.
“Or did you forget how to ride?” Luke taunted.
Giving into Luke’s bait, Andrew turned to the stable boy standing at the far side of the row of stalls. “Saddle him up.”
The saddle boy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly hurried to do as instructed. Andrew was not sure what made him do it. His anger at his brothers? Clara’s influence in his life? Something made him choose the reckless route this time. It might have been a bit careless, but he needed to be somewhere, anywhere else. Not where his brothers’ guilty faces were finishing breakfast, not where his sisters would look at him with pained expressions, and not where Clara would frown at him, horror and revulsion reverberating through her deep brown eyes.
He would never get the look in her eyes out of his mind. It made him sick to know that she had seen him lose his temper. What she must think of him now . . .
Sighing to himself, he mounted and led Titan out onto the street, pausing momentarily for Luke to catch up. Andrew had always felt at home on a horse. He had been born to be in the saddle. Titan had been a gift from his father a few years before his death, and Andrew had intended to take the black horse into the cavalry with him.
But that was a different life, before the night that changed his life—all of their lives.
“Ready when you are,” Luke said as they reached a long stretch of road at Hyde Park.
“You honestly think you can best me?” Andrew asked, walking Titan in a circle. “You think that your bay can outrun Titan?”
Luke bent down and patted his horse on the neck. “I think Ulysses can handle it.”
Andrew grinned confidently. “I’ll even give you a head start.”
“Why thank you, your graceness!” Luke exclaimed and dug his heels into his horse’s side. With a jump, Ulysses took off down the path, and Andrew counted to three before urging his horse after him.
There really was no benefit in giving Luke a head start, and Andrew quickly surpassed him. He was not known as the best rider in the family for nothing. Andrew even held back for the last few hundred yards to give Luke the idea that he might have a chance of winning before taking off at breakneck speed to finish strong.
Luke was laughing as he caught up to him at the end of Rotten Row. “I don’t know how you do it. That Austrian horse isn’t even bred for speed.”
“It must be the rider then,” Andrew replied audaciously.
They walked their horses back towards the house, Luke stopping to chat with a few other gentlemen and young ladies before catching up with his brother. Andrew, of course, did not converse with anyone.
“Do you wish to return?” Luke asked. “Or are you going to avoid the house longer?”
“It was your idea to have a race.”
“But you succumbed to my bait quite easily,” Luke said. “You were desperate for a reason to leave. And I don’t think that anyone with the last name of Macalister was the reason for it.”
“I needed time to let my temper cool down,” Andrew admitted.
“You are really going to marry the girl?” Luke asked. “After what her brother has done, after what her sister did to you five years ago?”
“It would be unfair of me to punish Lady Clara for the sins of her siblings,” Andrew replied. “And would you trust her safety to anyone else? You know what Morton can accomplish with just his words.”
“She was truly bleeding on the floor?” his brother asked.
“And Morton stood over her in glee,” Andrew recalled. “For nothing else, Lady Clara deserves better than what her brother and sister have provided for her. Abandoned in the wake of her own sister’s scandal, only to have her brother treat with her with such disdain. It is a marvel she’s maintained a pleasant demeanor. The same treatment would turn anyone else bitter.”
“Lady Clara is really getting to you, isn’t she?” Luke asked as they rode through the front gates of Bradstone House.
“I am certain I don’t know what you are talking about,” Andrew replied coolly, tugging off his riding gloves. Except he did know exactly what his brother was talking about, and it annoyed him that Luke had assessed his mood so accurately. Lady Clara had somehow dug her way into his senses. Dancing with her had been happiness; talking with her and discussing silly flowers had been pure contentment. And he had sent her flowers that morning. Not only sent, but personally selected the flowers from the vendor on Piccadilly.
What had he been thinking?
But after the way she had looked at him earlier, he was certain that any potential interest she had had in him was long gone.
As much as Clara wanted to deny her growing affections towards the duke, she was so utterly confused. How could his personality swing so fluidly back and forth between pleasant and cold? How was she to know which one was true, which man he was now, the cold Stone Duke or the charming Andrew?
He had berated his brothers, in front of her, with the same expression that she had seen on her own brother’s face so many times. True, Andrew hadn’t known she was in the room, and she hoped he would have behaved more gentlemanly had he known she was there. But he had been too blind with fury to take an inventory of the room before exploding with rage. And just knowing he had that level of anger and rage inside him made her a tad uneasy.
She had replayed the scene over and over in her head all day long, running over the words and the level of insult he had taken from his brothers’ actions. There had been something else, something almost painful. Underneath his tirade, he had seemed to be genuinely concerned for their safety, and that was something that Jonathan never felt for her.
Clara did not see Andrew for the remainder of the day, which she was grateful for. He had not been there to escort his sisters to the theatre, so Sarah declared they would go without him. Clara had chosen to stay in, not feeling ready to face the world again, even with the Macalister family as her champions.
Deciding she needed a book to lull her to sleep, Clara threw her legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room to the dressing table. She pulled on her thin silk dressing robe, hastily tied the sash, and quietly left the room.
Something boring to sooth my busy mind, she thought. Something to make her think of anything but him.
Without a candle to light the dark hallway, she moved slowly, careful of where she was treading. She made it down the stairs without tripping and silently padded her way through the front hall. She had counted the doors to the library on her tour of Bradstone House earlier in the day and easily found the library door now. It was slightly ajar, but as she peered in, the room appeared to be vacant. The moonlight cast eerie shadows along the carpeted floor, but it allowed enough light for her to read the titles from the spines of the books.
“Hmmm, what could we read to put us to sleep?” she murmured to herself, skimming her fingers over the spines. They were organized alphabetically by author, and reading through them, each one seemed less interesting than the next.
“Not geology . . . philosophy will just give me a headache . . . Ah, astronomy.” Pulling the thick
tome from its place on the shelf, she flipped through a few pages. Her eyes swept over the first few lines, and she understood it well enough to be completely bored by it.
“Planning on star gazing, Lady Clara?” a deep voice asked. She jumped, the book slipping from her grasp to the floor, the thud it made on impact echoing throughout the entire house. Whipping around, she saw Andrew standing in the doorway, his face illuminated by a streak of moonlight.
“I was just looking for something to help me sleep,” she replied.
“Hmmm,” he said, taking a sip of whatever was in his glass. It was a dark liquid, so she assumed it was wine.
“Good night, your grace,” she said awkwardly, half skipping to the door in escape.
“I wanted to apologize to you,” he said, taking a step into the room, securely blocking the doorway.
“Now?” she asked. “Here?”
“I was going to do it tomorrow,” Andrew explained, setting his glass down onto the table beside the door. “But now seems as good a time as any.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, your grace.”
“I am sorry you were present to witness the scene earlier today. What goes on between brothers should be dealt with in private, not the breakfast room.”
“You need not make apologies to me, your grace,” Clara said. “It is your house.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes glancing about the room expressionlessly. “It is my house.”
“And that gives you permission to act as you see fit.”
“But it was very impolite and very ungentlemanly of me to do so in your presence. My brothers were . . . out of hand.”
“For parading as highwaymen?” she asked. “Please excuse my impertinence, your grace, I can understand the issue of their judgment, but you seemed much more angered than you should have been.”
“I could not care less about their stupid stunts,” he replied. “I mean, I care about my brothers, but, as they say, boys will be boys.”
