Two Wicked Nights

by Quince, Dayna

  Chester slowed as he took the chair before his father’s desk. Was that a slight toward the sisters? He sat, watching his father.

  “Your mother has invited them to her garden party.”

  “Yes,” Chester said.

  “I hope they can comport themselves. I’d heard the one—the third one, the masculine one—she gelds their sheep herself?” His father chuckled.

  Chester’s hackles rose. “None of them are the least bit masculine.”

  His father sobered. “Gelding sheep is not a woman’s job and certainly not a task for a gently bred young woman, never mind their lack of wealth.”

  “Miss Georgette Marsden does what she has to do to help her family. She is very intelligent and has a mind for animal husbandry. All the sisters have taken on roles that support their family. They are to be lauded for their practicality, not shamed. Imagine their plight if their only skills were those acceptable for proper young ladies. They would starve.”

  His father tensed. “You are quite fond of them, I know, though your mother and I have discouraged it. Everyone has their place, Tiberius. Their situation is not our concern. The generosity of the duchess to provide this party for them is a moot cause. They are what they are and it cannot be helped.”

  Chester’s hands clenched on the arms of the chair. “That’s not very Christian of you, Father.”

  “The good lord provides as he see’s fit. There is an order to things.”

  Chester bit his tongue. This argument would never cease. His parents thought the poor deserved to be poor and their own wealth, however gained, was somehow divine.

  But Chester made his own money. His father considered investing to be a sign of weakness but to Chester it was only smart. A man born to wealth was no different from a man born to poverty. Character, integrity, honor, those are what made up a person’s worth. Wealth can be lost, but true honor cannot.

  He’d long ago recognized his parents were classist. He loved them and they loved him, but he disagreed heartily with their views. Their warm caring regard did not extend to outsiders. As their only child and heir, he bore the sole weight of their legacy and they viewed the Marsden sisters as social climbers. His mother even went so far as to suggest they might try to trap him in marriage.

  Chester’s palms grew damp. If he were to marry Anne, his father would disown him, cut him off financially and socially. That was fine with Chester. He wasn’t going to turn his back on a friend for money, but losing his father’s trust, his affection, that would hurt. His mother would be devastated as well. He’d be losing his whole family if he married Anne.

  Worse still, though she hadn’t said it outright, he’d lose Bernie too. She was already distancing herself from him. Though he’d never take the words back, Chester prayed Anne would fall for another man, or her mysterious lover would magically arrive to wed her. In his heart, he could admit he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t want to spend his life with a woman who didn’t inspire anything more than brotherly affection from him.

  He wanted more from a wife. He wanted passion. He wanted arguments and teasing and hot kisses. He wanted a woman who would try his patience and set his blood on fire.

  He wanted Bernie.

  He sucked in a breath. His father looked up from a letter. Chester coughed to clear the catch in his throat.

  “Drink, son?”

  Chester nodded, his brow prickling with sweat as he sat immobile while his revelation washed through him. He got up to pour the drinks and wiped his brow while his back was turned.

  He body felt light, his veins pulsating in his limbs as he moved. He handed his father his drink and sat, lifting his glass to his father as his father mirrored him in a silent toast, and they both sipped. It was a ritual they did.

  But tonight was different and Chester feared it would never be the same.

  He wanted Bernie. At some point he’d changed from loving her as that hellion girl who needed his steady friendship to loving her as the woman—no, the wife he wanted in his bed.

  He took another sip, his head woozy as the brandy hit his blood, the sweet cloying taste sticking to his tongue.

  Chester finished his drink and set his glass back on the side table. “I’ll leave you to your work, Father.”

  His father grunted in response, scribbling away a reply to the letter he had been reading.

  Chester climbed the stairs, holding the railing lest his feet fail him. He staggered his way to his room, his head spinning but not from the brandy or the wine he’d had at dinner. He had to think this through and make sense of it all before he saw her again. The rush of heat and desire clouded his mind when she was near.

  There were a dozens reason to deny himself this feeling, to simply refuse it and tamp it down as he suspected he’d done for years now. He was not a man who let his emotions rule him. He liked order and rules. Even as a boy, he never let his temper get the better of him. He hadn’t looked for fights as other boys did, trying to prove themselves. He didn’t chase skirts like the rogues he called friends. He’d been to many brothels but he never partook. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women, he just chose to be more circumspect. He’d seen firsthand what could befall a lad from reckless promiscuity. As beautiful as a courtesan looked, Chester could never quite forget that many men had been there before him and even the most expensive ladies of the night carried diseases. He wasn’t a virgin and he’d taken lovers from time to time, discreet widows and the like. But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he’d been celibate for sometime now. He realized, for most of that time, he’d been content to remain in Northumberland and close to Bernie and her family, helping them however he could.

  But now things were mucked up. He’d made a promise of marriage to Anne.

  He pressed his eyes closed, rubbing his face. What had he done? The whole situation was ludicrous—the baby, the party. How was he going to fix it? He’d never broken a promise before, but this… It made him feel sick. He didn’t want to marry Anne, damn it. His entire life he’d practiced controlling his impulses and now he’d gone and blurted a proposal to the wrong sister. He would have to go directly to Anne. She hadn’t wanted to agree. If he told her the truth, about his feelings for Bernie, she would understand. They could think of another way to protect the family.

  But what to do about Bernie? Did she feel anything close to what he felt? By her actions thus far it wasn’t likely. She viewed him as a nuisance brother. How could he make her see differently? All he knew how to do was act as he’d always done. He didn’t know how to breach the gap between friendship and lover. He wasn’t a practiced charmer. Much like Bernie, he prided himself on being straightforward and honest. That logic had never failed him until now.

  He’d never lied to his father, never had to. His moral compass was spinning uncontrollably and all his control unraveling. He needed to put space between himself and Bernie and organize his thoughts. His father had always said the absence of control is chaos, but chaos will always run its course and control will resume. It is simply the way of life. Much like how a storm could ravage the sky, throwing rain and debris every which way, but it always passed. Chester certainly felt like there was a storm inside him. Come morning his mind would be clearer, and he could formulate a plan that would keep Anne’s secret hidden. Somehow, when the time was right, he would tell Bernie how he felt. All he had to do was have patience.

  What more could go wrong?

  Chapter 5

  Chester and Bernie raced back to the house on horseback, Anne and Roderick following in the cart, and Chester had one cold, clearheaded memory of his own thoughts the night before.

  What more could go wrong?

  Everything.

  Anne had slipped on the slippery rocks at low tide, and Bernie had blurted the baby secret in Roderick’s hearing.

  All the time Chester imagined he’d had to sort Anne’s secret out and to tell Bernie how he felt, well, it was all bloody gone. He might very well be headed for Gretna in the nex
t hour, but only if Anne was all right. She’d fallen hard.

  He glanced at Bernie, but she wouldn’t look at him as she dismounted from her horse.

  Roderick was right behind them, and Chester lifted Anne out of the cart to carry her inside with Bernie on his heels. He deposited Anne in her room and Bernie pushed him out the door.

  Chester leaned against the door, his head light, his stomach woozy and cramping. He pushed away, walking in a daze. At the top of the stairs he sat, holding his head in his hands.

  This was a nightmare.

  His chance to speak to Bernie, to fix this mess, was falling through his fingers like sand. He could feel her slipping away, their friendship, their closeness, everything he’d taken for granted for so long. Why didn’t he realize his feelings sooner? What had made him such an oblivious dolt? He’d grown comfortable, thinking she was safe here, that nothing would ever change. How wrong he’d been. If only he could rework time as easily as he could adjust the hands of a clock.

  But it was already too late…

  Unless.

  Chester stood. What if Roderick kept Anne’s secret too? His heart pounding, Chester returned to the main hall to look for Roderick and speak to him but he was gone. An anxious footman pointed him to the kitchen where he found Roderick and Weirick in the cellar. Chester entered, nudging his way through the crowd of servants to Weirick’s side.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Roderick stood over a crate, gulping down a bottle of brown liquid.

  “I’m not sure,” Weirick said. “What the devil happened out there on the beach?”

  “I can’t say,” Chester said, hating that he was withholding something from one of his oldest friends.

  “Roderick, what the devil are you doing? You don’t want this.”

  Weirick and Chester ducked as a bottle flew over their heads and crashed against the wall.

  “Everyone out!” Weirick ordered.

  The servants backed away, all except Cryer, Roderick’s valet. Cryer closed the door.

  “Do we tackle him?” Chester asked.

  Roderick sneered, his eyes glazed. “You’re welcome to try.”

  Weirick squared off with his brother, rolling up his sleeves. “I can pound you to dust here, or I can be really cruel and tell Violet what you’re doing. I know how much you hate to disappoint her.”

  Roderick lifted another bottle to his lips. “Make all the threats you want.” He began to drink and Weirick caught Chester’s eye and nodded. It seems they would both tackle him.

  “I’ll take you both, I’ll take on the world.” He burped. “Pardon me, what was I saying?” Roderick stumbled back a step and hit the wall. “Thith ground ith dangerouthly uneven, Weirick.”

  Weirick changed his stance and relaxed. “Is it now?” He waved Chester back.

  Chester sighed with relief. Roderick slid down the wall to his haunches. He looked at the bottle in his hand and then smashed it on the ground.

  Chester winced as blood began to pour from Roderick’s hand.

  “What have I done?” Roderick said, looking at his hand and then up at Chester.

  Weirick and Chester strode forward and picked him up.

  Chester had never seen a man break as Roderick had done. He’d been doing so well in resisting the urge to drink. Was it because of Anne? They dragged him up the stairs and Roderick didn’t fight them. His head sunk into his chest and he appeared unconscious.

  “All those weeks devoted to sobering him up. Gone,” Weirick muttered. “Why?”

  Chester didn’t have a ready answer, but the only thing he knew that was different between the times they arrived at the beach and left was the knowledge of Anne’s baby. Chester’s world had been altered by it too, and now it seemed, for whatever reason, Roderick was profoundly upset by it.

  They carried him to his room and laid him on the bed. Chester tended Roderick’s cut palm while Weirick and Cryer undressed him.

  Roderick’s eyes dragged open. “You knew,” Roderick said.

  “Not now,” Chester said quietly. He threw a glance toward Weirick and the valet.

  “Is it you? No—you’d marry her, even though your father would rather stool in his pants than bring a Marsden into the family.”

  “Quiet,” Chester warned. Realization struck him like a blow to the head. Was Roderick in love with Anne? It explained so much, the change in his demeanor at the start of the party, the collapse of his self control at news of Anne’s pregnancy. The man was in love and it had destroyed him. A chill went down Chester’s spine. He’d witnessed drastic changes in Weirick too when he’d met Violet. Is that what love did?

  “It should be mine,” Roderick moaned, clutching his head.

  “How much did he drink?” Chester asked Weirick. He didn’t know how long Roderick had been in the cellar drowning his sorrow, but it couldn’t have been very much time.

  “The entire cellar,” Weirick quipped. “But really, he finished a bottle of my best rye and half of my Irish Malt before he slammed it down and cut up his hand. All in the span of fifteen minutes, I’d guess. I’ve never seen such a thing. What the devil made him do it?”

  Love.

  Chester wanted to say it. Or perhaps it was heartbreak. Two fierce emotions Chester was entirely new to, but both existed on his horizon like storm clouds.

  “Don’t ssth-peak as if I’m not here,” Roderick slurred. “It shhh-ould be my baby.”

  “Baby?” Weirick blinked at Chester. “What baby?”

  Chester sighed as he finished wrapping Roderick’s hand. There really was no keeping the secret now, not if Roderick kept blathering on. “Anne is with child. She met someone at your wedding ball, apparently.”

  “Where is the bastard now?” Weirick asked.

  “She wouldn’t give his name,” Chester replied.

  Weirick scoffed. “Anne? Annette Marsden got swept away by some rogue? No. I don’t believe it. Was she forced?”

  “Bernie said she insisted she wasn’t,” Chester answered.

  “Bollocks,” Weirick cursed. “Anne has the will of an iron door. She would never succumb to some rogue she just met. I’ve known her my entire life. She wouldn’t do that. She has more courage and heart than any of her sisters.”

  “We all have our weak moments,” Chester said. “I wouldn’t have believed it had I heard it as a rumor, but she has told me so herself. I offered for her—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Roderick muttered.

  They waited for Roderick to say more, but he slipped into unconsciousness.

  “Now is the time to purge him,” Weirick said. “It’s worse if he fights it.” The valet readied the needed supplies. Done bandaging Roderick’s hand, Chester went to answer the rapping on the door.

  There Bernie stood, her face pale, her expression guarded. His stomach instantly knotted, turbulent, swirling emotions crashed through him.

  Here came the storm.

  He’d once watched a squall come in from the sea, staying on the bluff as the winds tore at his cloak, and rain came down in horizontal sheets. He’d been mesmerized by the churning clouds, the change in the water below him. The soothing rhythmic rolling waves turned into monstrous swells of white frothing water as if possessed.

  “Anne wishes to speak to him.”

  He folded his arms. “No.”

  Bernie scoffed. “Are you trying to intimidate me? What is this?” She mimicked him folding his arms, puffing out her chest in exaggeration. He could almost smile but his heart was heavy, and he’d folded his arms to feel not larger but restrained. Wanting to keep the storm inside him from getting out, from reaching for her. But he was being dramatic, as she would say, so he dropped his arms.

  But the tension didn’t leave him.

  “He’s out of his mind. He went into the cellar and drank an enormous amount of whiskey. We’re trying to make him—er—bring it up, but he’s drunker than any man I’ve ever seen.”

  She gasped. “Because of Anne?”
/>
  “I’d say he’s in love with her,” Chester voiced his suspicion.

  “She admitted they have been secretly meeting alone.”

  “For how long?” He would have never suspected it. Did he know his friends at all? Did he know himself? The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he tried to rub the tingling sensation away.

  “Since the party began I suppose. She didn’t specify. Now he knows she’s carrying another man’s child, and he’s what—heartbroken?”

  “He’s something, and it’s terrible.”

  She hugged herself, and Chester itched to take her in his arms.

  “If he loved her he’d marry her, regardless of whose child she’s carrying,” she said, her attention downcast. “He’d take the baby for his own, not drink himself to death. What a foolish thing to do. He’s throwing a tantrum, is what he’s doing.”

  “I’d agree with you to a point, but I honestly don’t know what I would do if the woman I loved was carrying another man’s child. The idea just…hurts.”

  “You’ve never been in love so how would you know what you would or wouldn’t do?” she countered. “Have you?” Her gaze met his.

  Heat exploded over his skin. He felt as open as a book to her and he panicked. “You think you know everything about me, inside and out, don’t you?”

  She stiffened. “I’ve known you all my life. I’d know if you were in love. It’s a rather dramatic transformation from what I’ve seen.”

  “From what you’ve seen. So, you haven’t been in love either. What do you know about it?” He wanted to scoff, but it felt cruel. He supposed he could laugh and try to ease the tension, but that also felt wrong. He didn’t know what to do with himself—every thought, every movement seemed awkward.

  Color filled her cheeks. “I—I’m a woman and love involves emotions which is something we innately understand. Why are we arguing?”