“Christ, Sid.” Brandon sighed, feeling responsible. Becoming a father had changed him irrevocably. “You are still soaked to the bone. You will catch your death.”
“Also somethingGrandmèrewould say.” Sidmouth grinned. “Why, Brandon. Your grandmotherly affection for me is quite comforting.”
Just how sotted was his friend?
Brandon scowled. “I am nothing like your dragon of a grandmother, you arse. I want what is best for you, and she wants what is best for herself.”
Which was entirely true—the Duchess of Arrington wanted her grandson to marry a woman of her choosing.
“I cannot argue the point,” Sidmouth said, his tone resigned.
“Come and get settled in the salon. We cannot very well greet Lady Grenfell in the entry hall,” he invited with great reluctance, thinking of the last time he had met the countess in his emerald salon and the ignominy with which it had ended. “Of course, I suppose we could. But it would be dreadfullyde trop.”
But Sidmouth stood there like a dolt, still dripping into the towels, staring at him instead of moving.
“Why are you looking at me as if I have just announced you must take up embroidery?” Brandon glowered at his friend. “To the salon with you, old chap.”
Thankfully, Sidmouth obeyed. They had scarcely ensconced themselves in the room when more footfalls intruded.
Shilling had returned, bringing with him the woman who had all but laughed in his face at his proposal of marriage.Lovely.The day, begun before dawn when Pandy had awakened him, was only continuing to improve, he thought, darkly amused.
“Lady Grenfell, Your Grace, Lord Sidmouth,” Shilling intoned with icy formality.
The butler took his duties quite seriously, which was ironic because Brandon—and his household—was far from serious.
“Thank you, Shilling,” he said mildly. “Just the tea, if you please.”
The butler bowed his way out of the room, forcing Brandon to acknowledge the countess whose kisses had kept him awake at night. All these years of debauchery, and it would seem that rejection was his preferred aphrodisiac. Perhaps because it was so rare that he experienced it.
He smiled as politely as he might to a maiden aunt. “Please be seated, my lady.”
Her light-blue eyes lingered on him, and for a moment, he swore he saw reflected in her gaze the heated memory of those passionate kisses before his proposal had shattered an otherwise perfect interlude. The air between them hung heavy with all that was unspoken. But then she swept past him with the regal air of a lady who knew her true worth and seated herself.
He took note that it was not on the same settee as the last time.
He and Sidmouth followed suit. Silence descended.
“To what do I owe the honor of your call, Lady Grenfell?” he asked.
A slight flush crept over her cheeks. And damn, but he couldn’t help but to admire the way that rosy hue painted her ivory, copper-flecked skin. She was astoundingly lovely, but it was her innate sensuality that drew him more than her appearance. Her unapologetic attitude toward pleasure was refreshing; he had only encountered the like in the demimonde.
Her gaze remained steadfastly upon Sidmouth, however, her countenance stern. “I was searching for Lord Sidmouth. He was not at home when I called.”
“You were looking for me?” Sidmouth sounded perplexed before alarm had him straightening in his chair, some ofthe whisky fog apparently having been lifted. “Is it Hy—Lady Southwick? What is the matter?”
“It is indeed about Lady Southwick.” The countess cast a calculating glance in Brandon’s direction. “It is, however, a matter of a more personal nature. I must speak with you alone, Lord Sidmouth.”
The daring minx. If she thought she was going to toss him out of his own bloody salon, she was decidedly wrong.
He pinned her with a narrow-eyed stare. “Alone? Whatever news you have to impart may be spoken before me. We are like brothers, are we not, Sid?”
“Yes,” Sidmouth agreed, sounding far less inebriated now that he had something to fret over. “Tell us, my lady.”
Lady Grenfell fidgeted with her skirts, wearing a sudden air of uncertainty that was unlike her. “Very well, my lord. You are going to be a father.”
Brandon nearly swallowed his tongue. Perhaps fatherhood was catching.
Sidmouth blinked, looking as if the countess had just spoken a language he couldn’t comprehend. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
