Close friends though they were, Wesley addressing him by his first name in public lay claim the man was well into his cups. Suggesting Giles break the engagement had every man staring as though the cove had lost his mind.
“Gentlemen. I normally do not chime in, since I am a not a member of your close-knit group,” Roxborough interjected. “Once an agreement has been made with the girl’s father, the man would demand satisfaction if Nethersall were to cry off.”
“That settles it. You must flee. We’ll away on an adventure.”
“Don’t be a rodcock.”
Hatheridge frowned at Morgan, clearly offended. Even so, he made a princely offer. “The Lady Mistress rides anchor in the harbor. Take a month, or three to clear your head.”
The group sat in silence, waiting for Giles to reply. Even Morgan held his peace.
Finally, Viscount Roxborough spoke. “Do you need to clear your head? Do you want to stop this wedding?”
“Want?” Giles snarled. “Since when have my wants or needs mattered?”
He hated self-pity. He sounded like a bloody ass.
“It is not at all fashionable to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve, Nethersall.” Witherspoon studied him.
“What’s this?” Carstairs straightened in his chair and sniffed like a hound on the trail of his quarry.
“There’s more to this tale than just a wedding.” Witherspoon’s narrowed gaze plagued Giles.
The man sensed a skeleton in the cupboard. No one knew a thing. Except Morgan. And he bloody well wouldn’t tell a soul.
“Still, I think it’s a deuced poor reason for a bachelor to resign himself to marriage.” Obviously, Witherspoon’s words went unheeded by Hatheridge.
Roxborough recognized something amiss and saved the day. “Well now, Hatheridge. When the day comes you do change your mind, I hope I’m there to witness it.”
“I offer myself as your best man.” Morgan joined in, steering the topic away from any more discussion on Witherspoon’s comment.
“In fact, I’ll make a wager.” Sedgewick was never one to be left out when a bit of sport was to be had. And when a wager was mentioned, a gentleman’s hearing altered, taking notice quicker than a matron spreading gossip.
“A wager, you say?” Carstairs spoke louder than Morgan. Other men drifted their way.
“Within the year, our man Hatheridge, here, will succumb to the wiles of a debutante.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“I’ll take that bet,” a bystander added.
“I’ll go even further.” Morgan joined in the game. “Hatheridge will be chasing the chit, not the other way ‘round.”
“God’s blood. If I ever get that stupid, I hope someone shoots me.”
“Let’s head to White’s.” Carstairs set down his glass with a crack.
“White’s?”
“Yes. To enter this in the betting book, of course.”
“Now, see here . . .”
Witherspoon and Sedgewick grabbed Hatheridge by his arms, wrenching him from his chair. Carstairs slapped him on the back, nearly toppling him over.
“Come, my good man.” Carstairs glanced to Giles. “We’re off to White’s.”
Giles chuckled, threw back the rest of his brandy and stood with a burst of renewed energy. Word of the wager spread from one man to another. Several men hastily grabbed coats and hats and scurried for the door. Morgan helped navigate Hatheridge to the carriage.
“Wait a bloody minute. You cannot seriously be thinking of putting such a ridiculous wager in the betting book.”
Sedgewick pried Hatheridge’s fingers from the doorway of the coach and shoved him inside. “It’s not unbelievable. I’ll grant a few of our acquaintances will jump on our wagon.”
“This is absurd. Putting that rubbish in White’s is laughable. Anyone who knows me will not aid your cause. I’m a rogue, through and through.”
“Sheath the blades on your tongue,” Morgan muttered as he crawled into the coach behind Hatheridge. “This is just the distraction Giles needs.”
Chapter 23
The door to his study opened. Giles glanced up from the papers on his desk to find Cuthbert, stiff as the starch in his shirts.
“Lord Thornton is here, Your Grace.”
What the devil was he doing here?
“Send him in.” Over the past few weeks Giles had collected an incredible amount of time to lament his errors. His mind leapt about, wondering why Thornton would want to see him. Being a prominent member of Parliament, he debated pressing business in the House of Lords as well as overseeing secret matters. During Giles’ spying days, he’d not known Thornton had a hand in organizing his missions.
The last time he saw the man, he’d engaged Giles to find his nephew. Even now his blood spiked at the thrill of that dangerous escapade. What could the man want with him?
“Your Grace.” Thornton held out his hand for a hearty shake. The man commanded a room just by being in it.
“Thornton. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, yes. Glad to see you’ve taken your seat in Parliament.”
“I’m filling my father’s seat.”
“Yours now.”
“Please come in. May I offer you some refreshment?”
“No, thank you. My wife and I just finished supper.” Thornton glanced around as he took the high-back chair in front of Giles’ desk. “I knew your father. He was harsh and exacting. When he addressed the floor, his eyes flashed fire with every word he spoke. Well-respected by his colleagues. As you know, money exchanges hands for illegal business endeavors. Your father never accepted inducements to line his pockets. Expected you to take your place in Parliament.”
God save me. His father had no love for his family, nor liking for his son. Giles did not give a whit for tales of how the man was respected for his integrity.
“Are you here to discuss parliamentary business?”
“Right to the meat of the matter. To answer your question, no.” Thornton shifted in his chair. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
If he needed a smoke, this must be pressing business, indeed.
“Apologies. I should have offered . . .” When Giles made to stand, Thornton waved a hand in casual dismissal.
“No need. I brought a special blend with me.” He reached to his inside pocket and retrieved a gold case. Popping the latch, he offered a cigar to Giles.
“Ah, I remember those. I believe I will. Thank you.” He ran the cigar under his nose, inhaling the spicy tobacco.
Thornton tucked away the case and pulled a pipe from his pocket. At Giles’ raised brow, he grinned.
“Like traveling with an old friend.” He packed the tobacco, then put the pipe to his lips. The flame dipped several times before smoke swirled in the air like a dancing snake.
“This is good.” In no hurry to open the topic of his unexpected visit, Giles enjoyed the aroma of his cigar. Whatever Thornton wanted, he would divulge in good time.
“Lives up to its reputation?” Thornton tilted his head back, sending spirals of silver floating into the air.
“Yes. As good as I remember.” Giles relaxed his muscles in the comfortable leather, and enjoyed the flavor on his tongue.
“I’ve come to seek advice.”
He controlled his surprise at the very idea of Thornton seeking advice from him.
“Of course you and Whetherford were the first two I thought of when the situation was brought to me.”
“Morgan is retired. And so am I.”
“But you’d love to sink your teeth back in the game. Admit it.”
“I will admit the idea has my blood thrumming. Days of monotony makes the thrill of excitement very tempting. What is this dubious circumstance?
”
“As it turns out, there is no emergency. A case of kidnapping turned out to be a precocious daughter running away with her beau. Once the truth came to light, the father stampeded about like a wild boar. No amount of finesse would console the man. He wants to teach her a lesson. With discretion, of course.”
“Of course.” Giles gave a nod.
“He thinks the scoundrel hopes to gain access to her fortune. Poor girl. Has the harsh looks of her father, hairy brows and all. My thoughts on the matter, he should leave the chit alone.” Thornton puffed on is pipe, then held it to the side while staring at the ceiling. “Hence the need for a trusted . . . shall we say go-between.”
“I would think you would have an abundance of names.”
Thornton met his gaze. “This is a unique nature for a significant friend. He does not suffer fools, and this young man who has trifled with his daughter will suffer dire consequences if I do not intervene.”
Giles could easily read a man, but Thornton had him stumped. A private man, yet when he needed information, he gleaned particulars down to the last detail. No speculation. Only cold, hard facts. The king of discretion, mastering cloak-and-dagger operations, he held his secrets close to his chest.
“You plan to save this scoundrel?”
“My friend confided in me. I investigated. The scoundrel is no reprobate. He deserves a sporting chance.”
“Before I can recommend someone, I will need more information.”
“As you are aware, all of my informants are confidential. I guard my contacts’ secrecy.” Thornton leveled a compelling gaze. “I count you among my most trusted.”
“I’m honored.”
“I’m in need of a man with exacting morals.” Thornton’s grin depicted a hint of mystery, and held the confidence of a man in control. “I need a man with your particular skills.”
A rush went through Giles’ limbs with the speed of a lightning bolt. Excitement only danger and memories could generate. He might have dropped out of the game, but he housed a wealth of knowledge, and certain skills could be taught.
An hour later, Giles shook hands with a satisfied Thornton. Closing the door, he took two steps before it opened again.
“What did Thornton want?”
Reflexes kicked in and Giles spun. “God’s blood, Morgan. What are you doing lurking about?”
“Cuthbert told me Thornton was here and allowed me to wait in the library.”
“You were hiding in my library?” Giles taunted with a smirk.
“I don’t care to be dragged back into my former life. Kat would have my head if even a hint of risk or danger reached her ears.” Morgan studied Giles. “You’re not considering his proposal, are you? Although risking your life would be better than committing the suicide you plan for tomorrow.”
Anger surfaced, then simmered. Silence stretched between them. Giles shrugged, and strode to his desk.
“Would you not offer a gentleman a drink?” Morgan’s voice echoed off the walls.
“Assuming, by your comment, I am about to be on the receiving end of your tongue, perhaps I should just throw you out.”
“You may try,” Morgan said with a mocking grin.
Giles strode to the sideboard and gathered another glass. He splashed a measure into the crystal, and thrust it toward Morgan before adding more brandy to his own.
Drink in hand, Morgan took his usual seat, a leather chair in front of the hearth. “I thought to make one last plea for sanity.”
Giles settled in the matching chair. “So. You’ve come to declare your sanity?”
“Mine is not in question.” Morgan glowered. “However, yours is another matter entirely. How long will you continue this way?”
“By this way, if you mean wallowing in a mess of my own making, I have one more night of freedom.”
“You must call off the wedding.”
“Impossible.” Giles brought the brandy to his lips.
“You just bemoaned the word ‘freedom.’ You offered yourself to the chopping block.”
“You know I must marry.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, weary of this discussion.
“So you’ve resigned yourself to prison? Marriage does not have to be a prison.”
“No one said—”
“You speak of your last day of freedom. Call off this farce of a wedding.”
“The wedding is no charade. Nor is it the travesty you make it sound.”
“You’re the one speaking of freedom on the eve before your nuptials. What of the American girl?”
His grip tightened on his glass. “Best forgotten.”
“Can you forget her?”
Forget Alex? Never.
Anguish quivered down his spine as an image of a golden angel with captivating eyes emerged. “She is unforgettable. She knocks me to my knees. Makes me weak.”
One corner of Morgan’s mouth lifted.
“Wipe that bloody smirk off your face.”
“I know of what you speak. Kat affects me the same way. Every man who has been in love has felt the same.”
Several moments passed in silence. Giles peered into the fire, but he felt Morgan’s heated stare.
“You do not deny it.”
Deny he’d been captured by irrationality? Him—the man of reason. Deny he’d fallen into lunacy by lusting after foolish dreams? A man who did not believe in fantasy. Yet his heart ached for a girl with wheat gold hair and molasses eyes.
“Far be it from me to argue with a man who yammers the truth.”
“You admit you love this girl?” Morgan persisted.
“How else do you describe the feeling for one who constantly overpowers your thoughts? She would stare at me with a hunger no young girl should know.” He never thought he could love a woman to distraction. His soul bled for the Yankee American. “How does one repair the hole she has carved into my heart?”
“I think this discussion calls for more sustenance.” Morgan stood and strode to the sideboard. Reaching under the cabinet, he pulled a new bottle from the shelf. When he returned to the set of chairs, Giles held out his glass. “Our friendship began as mere lads, each fighting his own demons. We’ve come a long way since then, my friend.”
“Dwelling on the past makes a cold bedfellow.” Giles drained half his glass.
“Do you not remember our rally cry?” It was a statement more than a question. “Never give up. Never surrender.”
“I need no reminder. You think I have lost the passion of those days?” Wasn’t that why he rebelled in the first place? Left his home when he was just a lad? Fool, he . . . risking his life, daring the Angel of Death to take him. Oh, yes. He remembered too well.
Morgan leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “When a man makes a mistake, he must live with the consequences of his actions. We made a lot of mistakes in the past, but you are about to make a grave error now.”
Giles stared into the fiery flames in the hearth. “What’s one more over the course of many?”
“You cannot marry one woman when you are undeniably yearning for another.”
“A wife is not a partner, not even a companion. Not like a comrade or a friend who will see you through to your deepest aspirations.”
“Kat is all those things to me, and more. A companion. A confident. An ally. She is my partner in everything.”
“I need not those things,” Giles said sharply. But, oh, how he craved them. “Alex is lost to me forever. I need a woman who will not make me behave so foolishly. I simply need a vessel. One meant to deliver a healthy heir.”
Morgan raised his brow. “Your father’s words?”
Giles forced himself not to flinch. He hated the man. But somewhere along the way, he had become his si
re. “An old man with generations of wisdom between his ears.”
“And not one troy of compassion in his heart. Christ, I don’t believe this.” Morgan shoved from the chair and stomped across the carpet, then suddenly whirled around. “You ran away from your father.”
“I’m not sure ‘ran away’ is the right choice of words.”
“You hated the man. You fled the home of your birth to get away from him.”
“He is dead.” Giles shrugged. “Now I have obligations.”
Morgan stepped briskly and shook his fist. “Good God, what happened to you?”
Giles ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’m the same man. With the same thoughts and convictions. I’ve simply accepted the path before me. A marriage of alliance.”
“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Hard not to. What do you want me to do? Roar? Beat my chest? Throw a temper tantrum? I must follow the path fate has allocated.”
“Are we not in control of our own destiny? Fate.” Morgan heaved an exasperating sigh and plunged on, his voice rising. “We make our own fate. Would I have Kat if not for you? Would I have gained her if I had not fought for her?”
Had he not shouted the same sermon nearly two years ago when Morgan fell into his cups?
“You are angry and rightfully so, but you sit here like a man who is wasting away.”
“Bloody hell, Morgan. I am not a sorry sod squandering into nonentity. My lot in life is too tasking to fritter away. Cannot a man enjoy his brandy on the eve of his nuptials?”
“You’ve never been one to bow out or give up,” Morgan stated. “No need to commit lunacy and leg shackle yourself to the first conforming female. Nobility is not in the title. It is in the heart.”
A searing ache tortured that very region. Giles lived with the pain every day. Yet the longing must be denied. Of all the women he could have had or ever wanted, the only one he desired with a hunger beyond his own imagining was forbidden to him.
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