by Jaimey Grant
“You do not drink,” Dare mused, swirling the liquid in the glass. He stared reflectively into the amber depths. “You do not smoke. You do not gamble. You do not indulge your passions. You do not use foul language.” He paused, eyes raised just above the glass but not actually fixed on anything. Then, they swiveled just a bit to meet his twin’s. “No, I am mistaken. You do use foul language. Very foul indeed.” His eyes were silently laughing.
“You’re a bloody bastard, Dare.”
At that, Dare laughed. “No, brother,” he said, facetiously taking Mile’s statement literally, “I am as legitimate as you are, I assure you.”
Miles didn’t deign to reply.
Dare released a bitter laugh. “I suppose this is the price we all pay for my sins. Astounding that I could have so much effect on the world at large, is it not?”
Again, Miles said nothing.
Dare uttered an oath that made Miles’s earlier one seem tame in comparison. His fingers tightened alarmingly around his glass, the knuckles turning white. He was tempted to dash the thing against the hearth, but refrained. Barely. He carefully set the receptacle on the desk.
In a movement as agitated as his thoughts, he pushed his hand through his hair ripping the riband out to drop forlornly to the carpet. “Why do you calmly accept things the way they are?” he raged. He fisted his hands on his hips, dark hair wildly askew. “You don’t want to marry her any more than, I’ll warrant, she wants you. And anyone with half a brain can see you want Gwen. Why the devil do you sit there on your hands?”
Miles stood up halfway through this tirade. His hands were braced on the desk as if he would leap it and go for Dare’s throat.
Somehow managing to maintain calm despite his fury, Miles explained in a clipped voice, “Do you not think one wastrel in the family is quite enough? If I do not obey Society’s strictures, our entire family will be shamed.”
“Who bloody well cares for Society, anyway!”
“I do!” Miles paused, swallowing. “Jenny and Gwen do as well.”
Dare sighed. “Miles, you don’t really care and you know it. Jenny and Gwen find the Season tedious and dull and you know that, too. How can you throw away your happiness for my miserable mistake?”
Miles slumped back into his chair. “It’s just not that simple, Dare.”
“Tell me.”
A sigh of deep weariness escaped Miles’s throat. “Do you know what it’s like,” he began softly, staring into his brother’s eyes, “to be related to you?”
“A constant trial, I’ve little doubt.”
Miles lips tipped up slightly at the corners. “True,” he murmured. “A constant trial. Always doing whatever you want; never stopping to consider the consequences; forever landing yourself in more trouble with each passing day than the one previous. And everyone looking to me to fix it. Always. And still, at eight-and-twenty years old, you manage to land yourself in the biggest pickle yet: you seduced and impregnated a duke’s daughter. For the sanity and well-being of all those involved, I beg you to not interfere.”
“I can’t just pretend like nothing happened. I can’t just pretend I never…knew her.” He hated the tone of defeat in his voice but was powerless to eliminate it. “Break the betrothal, Miles.”
Miles shook his head almost regretfully. “I cannot, Dare. It’s just not done. Do not try to convince me otherwise.”
Dare studied his twin closely. He was confused and irritated by all he’d just been told. Then there was the fact that Jenny was having his child and instead of being the father, he would only be an uncle. The mere thought was galling.
Dare escaped to his room for a precious few minutes of blessed peace. He wondered where Bri’s sharp tongue was and thanked God for its absence. She was either so livid she couldn’t control her murderous impulses or she was actually gone from home.
Throwing clothes in every conceivable direction as he went, Dare walked into the water closet off his room and turned the water on to fill the tub. He thanked God for such a convenience and Adam for being freethinking enough to have it installed despite Society’s odd feelings on bathing. Sinking down into the steaming water, he laid his head back and closed his eyes. He felt grimy and…old.
A bone-weary sigh pushed up his windpipe to escape in what a less compassionate person might call a sob. He managed to stifle the next one despite the overwhelming urge he had to break down and snivel like an infant.
It was several minutes later that Dare again opened his eyes. He realized a trifle ruefully that he must have fallen asleep. He wasn’t surprised. He’d rode like the hounds of hell had dogged his heels. It was a wonder he’d made it without suffering a severe case of madness.
He laughed painfully. Perhaps that was what ailed him now. No, he was honest enough to admit the fair Jenny was what ailed him now. He wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman. The one time he’d been with her had haunted him ever since. And now…
Now, she was having his baby. He felt a slow smile stretch across his lips. In spite of everything, he was pleased. Being with her always and being allowed to acknowledge the child as his would make his life finally worth living.
Hell, if he had all that, his life would be bloody well perfect.
Adam returned to London that very evening. He found his house in a bit of an uproar, his wife upbraiding Dare while Miles stood by, watching grimly. Three servants stood a little way off, their eyes round as saucers.
Adam gave them one meaningful look, and they swiftly departed. With the departure of the menials came an embarrassed but defiant silence on Bri’s part, a brooding one on Dare’s, and a look of absolute relief on Miles’s.
“Anyone care to explain?” he asked mildly, a sure sign he was well on his way to being upset.
Bri threw her hands up. “I give up. You deal with him.” And she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“I apologize, Adam,” Dare said quietly. “I never meant to upset her. Especially in her condition.”
Miles glared at his twin. “You should have thought of that before,” he said evenly, back in firm control of his emotions. He, too, took his leave, managing to close the door behind him with a snap rather than an all-out slam.
Adam gave Dare a long look. “Care to explain that cryptic statement?” he asked, his voice having gained the silkiness that suggested he was most displeased.
Dare just stared at him for a long moment. His face held not a hint of the emotions churning within him. He was the lowest despicable cad—and he knew it. He didn’t need his cousin telling him what he already knew.
Even knowing the reaction his confession would cause, Dare nevertheless stated, calmly and clearly, “Miles is engaged to marry Lady Genevieve Northwicke…because she is pregnant…with my child…and I could not be found to do right by her.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed to dangerous little slits. “You…did…WHAT!?” Each word was separated, drawn out, the last one ending on an explosion of sound that threatened to rock the house on its foundation.
Dare neither said nor did a thing. He just waited. He knew what was coming, physically and mentally bracing himself.
Two seconds later, Adam’s fist connected with his jaw. Dare barely moved. He favored his cousin with a blank stare, calmly pulling his handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed it to his bleeding lip.
“Have you nothing to say?” the baronet finally snapped.
“I have no defense, Adam,” was Dare’s softly spoken reply.
He wanted to hit him again. Dare could see the desire on Adam’s face and was mildly surprised when his cousin restrained himself.
“What did Con say?” The older man’s tone was back to calm, and infinitely dangerous.
“He threatened to hunt me down, of course, but refrained since Miles so gallantly offered for her.”
His tone was utterly devoid of emotion. He was shocked he could keep the pain from his words. His brother was going to marry Lady Genevieve Northwicke. The only wom
an who’d ever made him feel even remotely worthy of life. The only woman, who, after hearing his pathetic story, offered friendship and redemption for his battered heart.
The only woman he’d ever love.
And he, damned idiot that he was, ran away, scared out of his mind by the emotions she made him feel.
“She must surely hate me,” he said softly, hardly aware he’d spoken aloud.
Adam’s head snapped up. The defeated tone in his young cousin’s voice gave him pause. Was it possible… Did the clunch actually love the girl?
Taking care to modulate his tone, he asked, “Why did you run?”
Dare released a short, infinitely bitter laugh, shoving his hand through his hair. “How could I stay? She would have expected marriage and I have nothing to give her.”
“You have amassed enough wealth to get by,” Adam pointed out dryly.
“Yes, wealth,” Dare murmured. “I also bring with me a past so black, no father would dare give his daughter into my keeping. And she is the daughter of a duke.”
“Perhaps. But you never know until you ask,” he told him philosophically. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained…and all that rot.”
“‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’” Dare treated his cousin to a look of incredulous amazement. “Do you know what he said when Miles offered? He told him he wasn’t what he wanted for his daughter. Miles, the perfect, never-done-wrong son and brother, every woman’s dream husband, every father-in-law’s dream son. What do you think Denbigh would say should I approach him and say, ‘Please, sir, may I have your daughter to wife?’ He wouldn’t even deign to reply to such an outrageous request. He’d take one look at me and release the hounds.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Adam remarked casually. He moved to a chair and sat, leaning on the arm with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Denbigh would have been willing to accept you as Jenny’s husband. Con may have had a few objections but Denbigh is wiser than most fathers of the elite class.”
Dare stared blankly at Adam. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, you bloody nodcock, Denbigh would have realized you’re in love with the girl and given you his blessing.” One corner of his lips tipped up in a mocking smile. “After threatening to draw and quarter you for any future pain you may cause her.”
The younger man suddenly sat, unheeding of where he stood in the room. Thankfully, there was a sofa right behind him. He couldn’t say anything around the lump in his throat and had nothing to say to Adam’s half-hearted jest since he barely heard it anyway.
Adam sighed softly. “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”
Dare nodded once, a jerky movement that threatened to jilt his head from his shoulders. A headache blossomed behind his eyes and at the base of his neck.
Forcing his voice to work, he admitted, “I tried to convince Miles to break the betrothal. He refused.”
Raising one eyebrow, Adam asked, “Does he care so much for her then?”
“Not so much as the fact that he is Miles and will do no wrong if he can avoid it.”
Adam snorted out a laugh. “Right, of course. Miles can’t jilt a girl he’s engaged to marry. It would go against everything he’s ever believed in or held dear. Bloody boring if you ask me.”
“Yes, well, I won’t give up. If he marries Jenny, what about Gwen? I won’t marry her, settling for the mirror image of the woman I really want. And she wants Miles. She has since she first met him.”
Adam regarded his young cousin thoughtfully. “It is a problem, is it not?”
Chapter Thirteen
His trial by fire was far from over. Bri got her claws into him moments after he’d closed the door to his chamber. She forced her way in, her hands on her hips and green eyes blazing. The door was slammed firmly in her wake.
Smiling faintly, he observed, “It’s hardly proper for you to be in my bedchamber alone with me, Bri. What will the servants think?”
“Fine time to be worrying about that,” she snapped, clearly beside herself with rage. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to control her anger. After a concentrated effort, during which Dare remained wisely silent, she opened her eyes, pinioning him with a look.
“Tell me, Dare, was it worth it?”
Startled by her question, he asked, “What?”
What she uttered was a series of vulgar words that even Dare hesitated to use. His face flushed against his will even as he grinned at her.
“Do you kiss Adam with that mouth?”
He was quite sure his ears blistered after she favored him with a reply. He raised his hands in surrender. “You win, Bri. Dear God, you must have been a sailor in your checkered past.”
His comment made her smile. “I could have been, make no mistake.”
She paced over to the one chair in the chamber, seating herself with regal dignity. She took a moment to smooth the pale yellow-green muslin of her gown. Chartreuse, Dare thought in an odd non sequitur. He shook his bizarre thoughts about colors from his head, fearing he was losing his mind.
Glancing at his cousin’s wife, he inquired, “Do you mind?” She indicated she didn’t so he shrugged out of his loose jacket, tossing it halfway across the room to land on the floor under the window.
Dare, perforce, sat on the bed, swinging his feet up and crossing his ankles. He leaned against the headboard, putting his arms up behind his head. He exuded comfortable relaxation. He could almost see the envy on Bri’s face.
“Oh, to be a man and able to do whatever one damn well pleases,” she sighed, confirming his thoughts.
“I doubt Adam would appreciate you quite so well were you a man,” he commented wryly. “And isn’t it obvious that even men must deal with the consequences of their actions? I would have thought my example perfect in that regard.”
She tipped her head to the side in acknowledgment of his observation.
“I notice you’ve managed to overcome your anger… for the moment, at least,” he remarked. “Kudos to you.” He saluted her mockingly with one hand, replacing it behind his head.
His comment succeeded in raising her ire again, although, to her credit, Bri restrained the worst of it.
“You didn’t answer my question, Dare,” she reminded with dangerous softness.
“I did not,” he agreed mildly.
“Are you going to?”
He cocked his head in mock contemplation. “No, I don’t think I will. An innocent lady like yourself should not be subjected to such earthy matters as that.” His tone was very dry.
Bri snorted. “I will assume from that evasive reply that yes, she was worth all the hell we currently find ourselves in.” She shook her head in remonstration. “Selfish, selfish, Dare.”
“Am I to sit through yet another listing of my shortcomings,” he asked in all seriousness. “Because Miles has spelled them out most elaborately and I’m not averse to finding other lodgings.”
“For your health, that would not be wise,” Bri observed prosaically. “Con is sure to take the first opportunity presented to murder you despite Miles’s efforts on your behalf. You are probably safer here.”
Dare shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “If Northwicke succeeds, would it not alleviate many problems? Firmly remove me from…uh, your misery?” He chuckled.
“You do not take anything seriously, do you?”
The question sobered him instantly. “Untrue, my dear. I take Jenny very seriously.”
The countess brightened. “Indeed?” She paused for a long moment, her eyes intent on his face. “Wonderful. Simply wonderful.” She rose to her feet, apparently done haranguing him for the time being.
She moved to his side and leaned close, patting his cheek a trifle sharply. He suspected she wanted to slap him much harder but restrained her impulse.
“Remember to treat her with respect, Dare. I shouldn’t want to kill you. I rather like you. You remind me of me.” She straightened and walked to the door. As she passed through the
portal, she added, “A very mild, staid version of myself, mind you. But me, nonetheless.”
Events proceeded as planned. Jenny stayed in Town long enough to scotch the rumors being spread about her. She and Miles tried to present a happy—or at least a mildly content—front for everyone to see.
Dare, by default, was forced to go along with it. And he hated every second. A fact that, surprisingly enough, was successfully hidden beneath his usual, jocular manner.
He attended parties and routs, danced and flirted, even charmed Lady Guinevere into an occasional smile when he knew she’d have liked nothing better than to have a good cry. Dare stood off to the side—in the ballroom with which he currently graced his presence, and in the life of the person he cared for most in the world.
And it was, honestly, no less than he rightly deserved. He’d not yet had a chance to speak to Jenny privately, a situation that vexed him terribly. He needed to talk to her, find out…
But her brother was like a dog with a bone. The man was never more than a few feet or dancers away from his sister. It was something of a miracle that Dare was even allowed to associate with Gwen. One would have thought they’d guard this daughter with far more vigilance since she was still unattached. Apparently, he was viewed only as a threat to Jenny’s peace of mind.
He watched, amused, as Lady Guinevere approached him for the third time that night. If she angled for another dance and he accepted it would cause a mild scandal. It would be tantamount to a proposal. He was feeling self-destructive enough to seriously consider it.
Gwen did not coerce him into standing up with her again. Instead, she begged a favor…ostensibly on her sister’s behalf.
“Dare, would you be a dear and fetch me some champagne. All this dancing has made me so thirsty.” She fluttered her fan before her as if the cool night air wafting in through the open window behind them was not enough to refresh her.
But, when it benefited him, Dare was a gentlemen. So, bowing politely, he departed on his errand.
He had not taken two steps into the room set aside for refreshments before he realized what was going on. Jenny stood in one corner, nearly hidden behind a potted plant. Her pale blue gown stood out in marked contrast to the leaves that shielded her from view. Apparently, she’d had enough of the ball and had sought out a little peace. Gwen must have known her sister was hiding out there.
