by Eva Devon
Finally, heart pounding, fury pumping through him, he strode through the already open doorway of the large, masculine study they all enjoyed at the end of the hall.
George spotted Rob and stopped, his entire being crackling with rage. His chest rose up and down. He clenched his fists, envisioning them hammering into Rob’s too handsome face. He stood like that for a long moment, merely breathing but then he roared, “You pox-ridden ass.”
Rob lifted his glass and inclined his head. “Indeed.”
With that, George darted across the room, pulled back his fist and drove it into Rob’s jaw.
Since Rob made no attempt to avoid the blow, his head shot back, his teeth cracking. George didn’t even register the hit to his knuckles. He still could scarcely believe that Rob had betrayed him so terribly.
George grabbed Rob’s broad shoulders and dragged him to his feet. “What the hell were you doing with my sister?”
“What I shouldn’t,” Rob gritted through bloody teeth.
“What you shouldn’t?” Harley repeated, the words only adding flame to the fire of his anger. How could Rob do it? It was an unwritten rule, wasn’t it? No sisters. “We’re supposed to be friends.”
Rob stood stock-still then finally said, “We are.”
Harley could scarcely believe the audacity of the reply as he growled, “We were.”
Royland, who George had not noticed in his determination to beat Rob to a pulp, stepped forward from his place by the fire and began calmly, “Harley—”
“Did you ruin her?” George demanded of Rob, ignoring the attempt to calm the situation. He knew why Royland was there. Raventon, too, who was tucked into the shadows. Rob hoped the two would prevent murder. Ha!
George shook Rob. “Because she bloody well looked like she’d been ruined when she walked into our house.”
Rob made no reply but his gaze was anguished as he replied honestly, “Yes.”
Instinct took in and George went for Rob’s throat. “You utter arse!”
As soon as George wrapped his hands about his neck, he felt Rob holding fast on George’s forearms. Resisting just enough to ensure he wouldn’t die. It was damned unsporting that Rob refused to fight back.
He wanted blood.
Lots and lots of blood.
“What the hell were you thinking?” George ground out as he tried to tighten his hands but then his eyes widened with the realization he was, indeed, attempting murder and he shoved Rob away.
Rob nearly stumbled to his knees but caught himself on the fireplace mantel and turned around. “I wasn’t. Harry has a way of stealing my reason.”
“Clearly,” George said, so full of contempt he could barely stand it. He curled his lip then stilled, his chest still pumping up and down. “Do you love her?”
“Love her?” Rob repeated.
“Good God,” Harley shouted. “I ought to pound you into the floor until you’re a wet pulp.”
He’d refrained from ruining Eglantine. Hadn’t he? He’d controlled himself when he could have pressed for more as they’d both clearly wanted. Why the hell hadn’t Rob been able to do the same? Because he was a selfish ponce. That was why.
“Please do,” Rob said, all too eager to be punished.
“No,” George bit out. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of feeling as though you’ve paid for what you’ve done. You have to marry her, you know? Bloody hell, I think half the square saw her climb down from your coach looking as if she’d rolled through the hay.”
Rob had the good grace to wince. But then some unknowable emotion danced across his face as he swallowed. “I’ll marry her, George, but. . . if there was a way I couldn’t. . .”
“Couldn’t? Couldn’t what?” George roared as Royland and Raventon watched the fight like an audience at a tennis match. “Is her portion not large enough for you, Rob?” he drawled, disgusted. “Are you that far gone?”
Rob turned white. “No. I fear I will not make her happy.”
George let out a dry, hard laugh. “You should have thought about that before you let her in your coach, shouldn’t you?”
“Let and your sister are not compatible words,” Rob pointed out.
George blew out a tired breath and plowed a hand through his hair. “You damned well better make her happy or I’m going to make your life hell.”
“It already is,” admitted Rob.
“Oh, old boy.” George leveled Rob with a death stare. “If you think you’re in hell now, just you wait.”
Royland held up his hand. “He’s going to do the right thing.”
“The right thing would have been pitching her out of the coach the moment she got in.” George narrowed his eyes. “Or did you invite her?”
Rob shook his head wildly, protesting, “No. That I didn’t do. But she felt compelled to pursue me.”
“And why is that, exactly? What inducement did you give her?” Raventon suddenly asked, with a surprising dose of skepticism.
George nodded, pleased the others were beginning to see Rob’s villainy.
Rob’s gaze darted from Raventon to Royland then back to Raventon. Rob drew in a slow breath, prevaricating.
It was all George could do not to knock his teeth in.
Finally, Rob said, “She discovered something about me and wished to confront me about it.”
“Oh?” George challenged, ready to rip him apart. “So, she sought you out during the opera, followed you to your coach, climbed in and what?”
George waited. Waited for Rob to stay on his foolish path.
“It does sound rather hard to believe, old man,” Royland said, his tiger-colored eyes doubtful.
“Did you mean to seduce her?” Raventon asked coldly. “We’ve always been honest with each other. She’s a beautiful lady.”
“Don’t you start,” George snapped, really not ready to be told by another friend that Harriet was so very appealing.
Rob’s eyes widened with panic. “She found out. . . she found out—”
“That he’s a highwayman,” Drake said from the doorway.
All three men whipped towards the towering, blond duke whose blue eyes cut like diamonds.
Royland threw back his head and laughed uproariously.
“Don’t be absurd.” Raventon scoffed. “Rob? A highwayman? The man’s as straight and true as a rod.”
Drake leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and said casually, “Shall you tell them, Rob, or should I?”
Rob’s shoulders sank then he rasped, “It’s not absurd.”
“A highwayman?” George repeated, aghast. It couldn’t be possible. How the hell could it be possible?
“The Gentleman Highwayman,” Drake said, his eyes glowing with amusement.
They all stared at Rob. Then a chorus of stunned disbelief echoed through the room.
“You?” Raventon demanded.
“Bloody hell, man,” Royland drawled.
Then it hit George. Bloody hell. If it hadn’t been for Rob. . . his sister and mother could have been attacked and killed by a truly nasty piece of work. It was hard to take in, but. . . it had to be true.
“You. . . you saved my sister and mother the other night,” he stated.
Rob gave a tight nod. “I told you they needed outriders.”
“So you did,” George said, completely dazed at the sudden turn of events. “So, to be clear, you might end up dancing the Tyburn Jig before you marry my sister?”
“Don’t get any ideas there, Harley,” Drake drawled. “Your sister would still be ruined and by a highwayman, no less.”
George groaned. This all was the very devil. “How the hell has this happened?”
George wanted to curse his friend and Harriet for being so damned curious. “No wonder she followed you. She’s been studying your exploits for the last six months. Christ, she has a box of gossips rags all featuring you.”
“She does?” Rob asked, clearly shocked to learn such a thing.
“Sh
e does,” George admitted, feeling like this had to be some sort of bizarre dream. It certainly didn’t feel like reality.
“But a highwayman?” Royland checked. “They’re a dying breed what with Peel and Fielding.”
Rob nodded. “It was a precarious business, but no better for getting ahold of ready cash quickly.”
George stopped, taking in Rob’s words. His heart sank for his friend, even though he was still furious. “It was that bad?”
Rob tensed, pain darkening his face. “Worse.”
Drake nodded. “Our friend found himself in a position with no credit, none, and more debt than Prinny and it seems he was reticent to take a bride to rectify his situation.”
“Truly?” Raventon asked, gaping.
Rob gave a gallows smile. “Let’s just say we have just enough furniture to trick guests into believing we are still solvent.”
“Good God,” George managed to say but then anger crackled through him again. “And, of course, my sister will solve all of that. Is that why—”
“No!” Rob threw up his hands in protest. “If anything, I tried to convince her I’m not what she thinks.”
“She thinks you’re a highwayman,” George accused.
“Yes.” Rob shook his head. “She also thinks I’m a good man.”
Royland gave a woebegone sigh. “Women are most confusing.”
“Not really,” Raventon countered. “They are ever the optimists. Quite nice, really.”
“Not when it means they won’t give up,” Rob disagreed, his whole face tense.
George cocked his head to the side, not believing the words he’d just heard. “Are you suggesting my sister seduced you?”
Rob’s eyes widened with alarm. “No.”
“Then what?” George challenged.
“If you must know, I think we seduced each other.” Rob met George’s gaze and swore, “It wasn’t planned.”
“Clearly, you know little of planning,” George bit out, knowing what had to be done, but hating it all the same. “Given your current state of affairs.”
Rob nodded sadly. “I’ll grant you that.”
George hated hurting Rob. They’d been friends for so long. Been through so much. But he couldn’t let this go easily. He might never be able to let it go if Rob made Harry unhappy.
“Now what?” Royland inquired, looking from man to man.
“Pistols at dawn?” Drake asked all too happily. “I’m delighted to be anyone’s second.”
“After the wedding,” George declared, giving Rob a cold smile. “I won’t have my sister’s life ruined entirely.”
Rob looked as though he might protest for one moment but then he bowed his head in acquiescence.
George covered the distance between them quickly and stared hard into Rob’s eyes. “You’re lucky I like your mother. You’re bloody lucky that the only way out of this is for you to try to make my sister happy.”
Rob’s gaze darted to Drake momentarily, but then he nodded.
George took a step back, trying to tamp down the fury still bubbling inside him. He grabbed the nearest brandy bottle then lifted it to his lips taking a deep drink.
He scowled at Rob, trying to draw upon his better sense. It was damned hard. But they’d seen too much together for George to utterly cast him out. After all, Rob still had a chance to fix this.
So, George passed the bottle. “To family, you complete arse.”
Rob took the bottle and drank.
And as George and his friends did the only thing men could do in such a situation, he was damned glad he had not succumbed to his baser instincts in regards to Eglantine. Yes, he’d just have to avoid her lest, in the deepest of ironies, Rob’s fate befell him.
Chapter 18
George had spent more time at balls, routs, card parties, and out on Hyde Park’s Rotten Row than he had in his entire life in but a few weeks.
It hadn’t been miserable. Nor had it truly been pleasant. In fact, he’d felt like he was walking along the edge of a rather high building, wondering if he’d step to safety or slip off the other side.
Thankfully, he had quite a few good friends and acquaintances he was able to see. He absolutely enjoyed the company of Madame de Coqueville and his friends at Number 79. On the other hand, the young debutants and their mama’s were a trifle more difficult to keep the mask of enjoyment up.
Still, as he navigated this strange field of letting Eglantine be, he had a feeling the tactic Yvette had suggested was working.
With each new event, he’d felt Eglantine’s eyes upon him and with each dance with some debutant, he knew with even deeper certainty that the only woman he’d ever be content with was Eglantine. She was his ideal duchess. Of that, he was ever more certain. She was sensible, intelligent, and loved life.
Pageantry and jewels did not seem to be her primary concerns, unlike most of the young ladies he’d conversed with as of late.
Any of the young ladies he’d met would likely drive him mad. For really, he was terrified that the vast array of ladies he’d recently forced himself to acquaint himself with would only be able to talk about the refurbishment of rooms that did not need refurbishing or the cut of one of their rival’s hats.
The idea of that sort of conversation stretching out for years before him was daunting. More than daunting. . . it was demoralizing.
Eglantine would be his partner in every way. Why did love have to matter so much? He still didn’t really understand it when so many of those passionate marriages had devolved into disinterest and affairs but two years later.
Whenever he was with Eglantine he felt. . . well, he felt happy. Except for when he was feeling perplexed, for she had been a great deal in Lord Haven’s company.
The rest of the men who followed her about were puppies and did not seem to sway her attention in any way.
Much to his disgruntlement, she smiled at Lord Haven and seemed very interested in the things he had to say. Haven, too, seemed to hang rapt upon Eglantine’s every word. Which gave him the sick feeling that perhaps he and Royland had been mistaken. Perhaps, she would give herself to a poetry spewing young blade.
Still, what could he do?
Not a great deal. He’d continued to be as friendly as he could with her without drawing suspicion from the ton.
It was damned difficult that a man of his sort could not be publicly friends with an unmarried young lady. He was a rake and a duke and, well, she was an innocent.
If he spent too much time with her, he’d compromise her in some way and he was damned if she’d ever be able to accuse him of forcing her into marriage. That was not the way he would do things. For that, he was certain would spell certain doom for him and Eglantine.
It was indisputable that in his heart of hearts, he’d realized that marriage to anyone but Eglantine would be an unpleasant affair.
He stared at the books in the massive library, trying to pick one which would adequately distract him from his thoughts. He was tired of nights upon the town as mad as that might seem to some.
Tonight, all he wished for was a good book, his room, and a banked fire. It was the height of pleasantness when his daily work as duke was done and he could slip into the worlds of the novels that filled his library.
Yes, this might soothe his soul a bit.
Picking a large volume, he turned in the darkened room and headed for his chamber. He took the stairs quickly, wishing to avoid his mother, and moved into the west wing.
His mother wasn’t so easy to hide his troubled state from and, in truth, he simply did not wish to discuss his predicament any longer. Talking seemed to do little.
He headed down the corridor which led to the cavernous ducal bed chamber and opened the door. But just as he was about to step inside and shut the world out for an evening, he spotted Eglantine. . .
Who was walking in less than a straight line down the corridor.
He peered at her in the darkness which was lit only by a few wall sconces. She lo
oked quite dreamy.
He smiled despite himself. How could he not? She was so damned beautiful and, at present, looked perfectly contented.
“Eglantine?” he queried softly.
She stopped, her eyes snapping wide with alarm but she kept walking towards him. “Oh dear. George?”
When she arrived before him, he dared to touch her elbow. “Whatever are you up to?”
She smiled guiltily. “I am sneaking away,” she whispered quite loudly.
“What the devil for?” It was really quite a strange reply, for she was so welcome in their household, it really was a marvel she did not have her own rooms.
She waggled her brows as if she had been being quite naughty. “I have been conversing with your sister in her bedroom.”
He leaned down and then he fought back a grin. “Have you been drinking claret?”
“I have,” she confessed happily. But then she studied him, eyes narrowed. “You’re not angry?”
“Well, I don’t know if I advise it,” he replied easily, “but I’m not about to start telling you that such behavior is improper. I’m sure you and my sister had your reasons.”
She nodded with great seriousness. “Rob.”
He groaned. “Yes. That idiot.”
Her brow furrowed. “I do hope he loves her.”
“He has not said so,” George said quietly.
Eglantine leaned in to him, until there were but a few inches between them. “The rumor is you threatened to kill him.”
Her nearness sent a jarring wave of hunger through him. How did she do that? How did she make the world around him shimmer with promise?
He cleared his throat. “I may have been colorful in my choice of words.”
“Understandable.” She bit her lower lip and glanced behind him. “Is this your room?”
Those words from Eglantine suddenly sounded shocking. Eglantine and his room in the same breath. . . it lit a banked heat in him that was inescapable. He tensed. “It is.”
Her lips twitched in amusement. “I’ve never seen a bachelor’s room.”
He grew wary. It was an odd thing for her to say. “Nor should you.”