That was a lie if Brandon had ever heard one. A maid scurried forward bearing towels, one of which a footman threw over Tom’s dripping shoulders.
He thanked the domestics before dismissing them, sensing his friend required privacy for the conversation that was about to ensue.
Sidmouth dried his sodden hair with the towel as footsteps faded away once again. “I owe you a debt of gratitude for giving me shelter from the storm.”
“And I owe you a sound trouncing for gadding about Town in the midst of a thunderstorm with nary an umbrella,” Brandon countered. “What the devil are you thinking, Sidmouth? And if you prattle on about that taking-a-walk nonsense, I will smite you.”
Sidmouth swayed again, unsteady on his feet. “Iwasgoing for a tidy little walk. It merely turned into a longer walk than I had supposed it would be. One involving lightning and profuse amounts of thunderclouds.”
Brandon shook his head. “To the study with you, sir. I despair. I cannot whip your arse in billiards when you arein such a state. Is this because of the lovely widow? Lady Southwick?”
Sidmouth and the widow had been lovers, but Brandon rather suspected his gentle giant of a friend—who had been brokenhearted after being thrown over by Lady Needham—was about to see that tender organ dashed once more to bits. Poor Sidmouth didn’t stand a chance, particularly since Lady Southwick ran in a fast set with Lady Grenfell. He firmly tamped down all thoughts of the flame-haired beauty—those luscious kisses they had shared, in particular.
Sidmouth was clenching his jaw, looking desperately forlorn. “Of course not. I found myself in need of diversion. That is all.”
Ah, Christ. Sidmouth had it worse than he’d realized.
“Sid,” Brandon said, using the voice he reserved for Pandy.
The fatherly one.
The one that was equal parts fond and firm.
Sidmouth finished drying his hair and glanced at the marble, which had been spread with now-dampened towels all about him, quite as if he were viewing his surroundings for the first time. “Am I that much of a ruin, old chum?”
How to answer that? Brandon didn’t know. Fortunately, the timely sound of footsteps yet again approaching in the cavernous marble entry hall saved him from having to respond. It was Shilling, his august butler, his countenance expressionless.
“Another carriage has arrived, Your Grace,” the butler announced.
More visitors? Damn it, he hoped it wasn’t Grandmother. All he needed was for her to pay him a call when he had a drunken, heartbroken friend dripping all over the marble. She’d take one sniff of the air and know Sidmouth had been imbibing.
“In this deluge?” He frowned, wondering at who would unceremoniously visit on such a day. “Is the carriage marked?”
“A footman ventured out,” Shilling intoned, “and it would appear Lady Grenfell is within. She wished to be assured of her welcome before she braved the storm. Her ladyship desired to impart that her visit is of the utmost importance.”
Lady Grenfell.
Damnation.He had hoped their paths might never cross again after the debacle of his proposal. It would seem he had been wrong. What would she be doing here, paying him a call? Surely it wasn’t that she had changed her mind, was it?
No. More than likely, her presence at his town house had something to do with the sodden Goliath before him.
He scowled. “Curse you, Sid. This has your mark upon it.”
“Do I know Lady Grenfell?” Sidmouth asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
Brandon bit back a groan. Just how drunk was the viscount?
“Your Grace?” his butler prompted. “Shall I send the carriage on its way?”
“No.” Brandon heaved an irritated sigh—he couldn’t well refuse Lady Grenfell, even if that was precisely what he wanted to do. “See her inside, Shilling. The emerald salon, I suppose. To the devil with my study. And see that tea is brought round, if you please. This afternoon is turning into quite the unexpected social gathering.”
Sidmouth cleared his throat. “Have you another engagement this afternoon, Brandon? I admit, I was not thinking when I arrived at your door, other than that my boots were quite soggy and there was the slight possibility I would be struck by lightning.”
“Good God,” Brandon muttered. “Imagine this. The Duke of Goddamn Brandon, the soul of reason. The entire world is going to the dogs.”
“That is what mygrandmèreassures me,” Sidmouth offered.
He toweled off his shoulders next, wringing the excess water in the cotton onto the towels at his feet.
