Alessandro flicked his nose.
The duke snorted, his eyes flying open, a scowl on his face. “I say, Rayne. That was uncalled for. I am an invalid.”
Alessandro sighed. “Your sister wants to speak with you. No pissing on the rug.”
Montrose grumbled something that sounded suspiciously likebastard Spaniardbeneath his breath. “Send her to me, then. I have grown weary of your presence.”
He sketched an ironic bow. “Likewise, Montrose.”
*
Catriona settled herselfat her brother’s side, relieved he seemed much more lucid this afternoon. His jaw was clenched and his countenance set with the grim evidence of pain, but he had calmed considerably.
“How are you, Monty?” she asked softly.
“How do I look?” her brother countered, a trace of his ordinary good humor coming to life.
She tilted her head, considering him. “Truth?”
His eyes narrowed. “Truth.”
“Awful,” she admitted. “Though much improved over the last time I saw you.”
His eyes fluttered shut and remained thus. “Apologies, Cat, for what you witnessed.”
He sounded tired, and she knew a prick of guilt at having forced him into seeing her. “You were not yourself,” she told him quietly.
His eyes opened once more. “I was myself, and that is the trouble. I am a monster, and I know it.”
“You are a good man,” she defended, much as she had to Rayne earlier. “But I am worried for you, Monty. Your…incidents are growing more frequent and drastic in nature. This time, you have suffered a broken bone. What shall it be next time?”
“It depends on whether or not I drink blue ruin,” he joked.
“Monty.”
She was decidedly not in the mood for his banter. He had given her quite a fright, and she feared for him. Feared what the devils in him would lead him to do. Feared what would become of him.
He grimaced. “A broken head if I am fortunate enough. Or perhaps amnesia. It is not fair only Torrie is allowed to forget.”
The reminder of Lord Torrington’s injuries was sobering indeed. Hattie and her mother had rushed to Hamilton House and to his bedside. Seeing her dear friend awash in tears had hurt her heart.
“You must not make light of it, Monty,” she chided. “Torrington suffered a severe head injury. The doctor is not yet certain if he will recover fully…if he will remember.”
Monty closed his eyes again. “I wish to God I did not remember.”
“Will you not confide in me, Monty?” How she wished he would unburden himself.
“There is nothing to confide,” he said grimly. “I am a scoundrel, Cat. But there may be hope for me yet. I have decided there is only one way in which I can rectify the wrongs I have done. I will marry Miss Lethbridge.”
Catriona could not have been more surprised had her brother started clucking like a chicken. She stared at him. “You? Marry Hattie?”
“Yes. Torrie is always moaning about her being a spinster, no proper lords wanting her and all that,” Monty said. “I will wed the chit. That ought to make amends for the damage I have done.”
She could not be certain if his horrible idea had been predicated by the laudanum, or if he was merely that oblivious. “There is one problem, I fear, and it is rather an insurmountable one.”
He raised an imperious brow. “Oh?”
“Hattie despised you before you decided to race Torrington whilst you were both heavily in your cups.” She paused, frowning. “Now that he has been so grievously injured on account of your foolishness—”
