Her eyes flitted to him, searching for something, for anything.
Forgive me, Rebecca.
Spencer opened his mouth to speak and Liam came to. ‘Leave us,’ he ordered them all.
No one needed to be asked twice. With eerie grace, calm and silence, the staff bowed and curtsied, dropped what they were doing, and slunk out.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Freddie muttered, following in their wake with haste.
Liam tried his utmost to rein in his emotions as Spencer leaned back in his chair lazily. He was walking a dangerous line, risking either more dishonour for Rebecca, or his friendship—which, no matter how much he detested Spencer at that moment, he had no wish to lose.
‘Such an exquisite find, Reid,’ he drawled. ‘A rare flower, indeed.’
‘Mind yourself,’ Liam warned.
‘Though what flower, I wonder?’ The Marquess smiled. ‘If my sister were, for instance, that perfect English rose which we all know she is,’ he said pointedly, ‘what do you suppose Mrs Hardwicke might be?’
‘Spencer...’
‘A briar rose, perhaps,’ he offered. ‘Too simple. Lady’s mantle? Very hardy... No. I know. A foxglove. Such a beautiful bloom. Delicate, perfect symmetry, enticing colours, inviting. Some even seek it for its healing properties. But beneath it all, it is poison.’
I should wring your throat, Spencer.
Instead, he grabbed his glass, nearly shattering it, and downed his wine.
‘A flower not to be trifled with,’ Liam sneered. ‘A rose, other than beauty, thorns and a sweet scent, what does it offer in its short life?’
‘Every flower has its uses. One must only know when to sample one or the other,’ Spencer advised, with less hostility, and more sincerity in his eyes. ‘Everything in its proper place. As with all things.’
Spoiling for a fight—for anything that might make him forget the despair currently residing in his chest—Liam rose and marched over to the sideboard, pouring himself more wine, and knocking it back before turning to Spencer, who was still lazily lounging in that damned chair as if nothing at all was wrong with the world.
‘Enough with the pretty words,’ Liam growled. ‘What is this? If not for the friendship we once shared I would lay you out right now!’
‘All because of a housekeeper?’ Spencer asked tauntingly.
‘She isn’t just a housekeeper!’ he shouted, tossing away the glass, which shattered against the wall into as many pieces as his own life, and took a step towards Spencer.
‘Precisely,’ Spencer snapped, all false humour and pretence gone, his eyes flashing dangerously as he rose, nearly toe to toe with Liam. ‘We’d have to be blind not to see it. I’m only looking out for you.’
‘What...?’ Liam asked meekly, his mind reeling as his anger was replaced with shock.
‘I am still your friend,’ Spencer said earnestly.
His eyes were now devoid of anything but pleading, and Liam was lost.
‘Always will be.’
‘You’re just looking out for yourself,’ Liam spat, afraid of acknowledging what Spencer was saying.
He set about pacing the room, hoping it would help dispel the feelings of helplessness and despair from rising again. Anger—anger was safe.
‘This is about you, and your mother, working towards marrying me to your sister.’
‘Goddammit, Reid!’ Spencer shouted. ‘This isn’t about me or my sister. Yes, I would be happy to see you two wed.’ He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair, and Liam stopped. ‘But this is about you. You’re burying yourself here, taking your housekeeper to bed. And don’t you dare deny it,’ he warned. ‘You are an earl! Nothing can come of whatever is between you. She knows her place, and her duty, but you refuse to see it.’
‘I am acutely aware of my duties.’
Now I sound like Rebecca...
