Lottie.There it was again, the reminder that King was on far too friendly terms with her. And thereshewas again, invading his thoughts, taunting him when she was nowhere near and he shouldn’t be thinking about the way she kissed or how deliciously all her soft curves had melted against him.
“She paid a call earlier, looking for Sidmouth. After he had gone, Pandy and Cat the dog swept into the room and mayhem ensued.”
King chortled some more.
Brandon glared at his friend.
“Cat the dog,” King explained. “Surely you can admit that’s quite amusing.”
At least one of them was finding the humor in the sad state of his life. “Not as amusing as the thought of upending a bottle of my finest wine over your head.”
“I know you’d never waste it. To do so would be sacrilege, particularly with the phylloxera in France.” King was smug.
And correct.
Brandon sighed. “Lady Grenfell helpfully suggested that the dog needed to be bathed before she took her leave and handed her off to me. Of course, the little beggardidneed a sound washing. She also bit my ear and licked my mouth. It took two of my most strapping footmen to wrestle her into a bath in the kitchens, but the mongrel is diabolical. She escaped and went on a tour of my town house that ended with spiriting herself beneath my bed and refusing to emerge until I offered her a pig trotter. I decided to take matters into my own hands and oversee the bath so that it could be completed without further escapes. When I emerged, I was wetter than the blasted dog, and Shilling informed me that I had a visitor. You, as it happens. Hence my present state.”
“Perhaps we should call for another bottle,” King observed.
“Not a terrible idea,” he admitted, returning to the bellpull and giving it a tug.
The glasses of wine had lessened the discomfort of sporting cold, sodden clothing. And with everything that had happened over the past few weeks, losing himself for a few moments with his old friend felt like an excellent way to spend the time until dinner.
“Now, then,” King said when additional bottles ofChateau Margauxhad been requested, “tell me why your saintedgrandmother has chosen now, of all times, to issue an ultimatum concerning your marriage.”
Brandon drained his glass. “Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that my illegitimate daughter was abandoned at her town house so that my former mistress could run away to America with her lover of the hour. Or the fact that when she arrived to give me a thorough tongue-lashing, an opera singer burst into the drawing room wearing nothing but my dressing gown.”
“Christ,” King muttered. “Discussions concerning the next meeting of the Wicked Dukes Society can wait. You’re fortunate indeed that I paid you a call, old chap.”
Brandon didn’t feel particularly fortunate as he settled in for another glass of Bordeaux in his now-damp clothes. But diverting his mind from tempting thoughts of Lady Grenfell was just the thing. He had no doubt that, as with so much of his misbegotten life, he’d regret it later.
CHAPTER 7
Her friend’s wedding day had arrived. Hyacinth and Lord Sidmouth had chosen to wed in haste in the interest of avoiding scandal and protecting their baby. But they were both blissfully happy. Indeed, Lottie had never seen her friend so content.
Lottie spent the ceremony trying not to weep at how beautiful a bride dear Hyacinth made. Nor to fear that her friend was making a dreadful mistake in marrying. Sidmouth was a good man. He loved Hyacinth. And he would be a loyal husband. Of that, Lottie had no doubt.
Not every man was cast from the same mold as Grenfell, after all.
Sometimes, she simply needed to remind herself of that fact. Repeatedly and with firm, unwavering determination. Her marriage had been dreadful. But that did not mean that all marriages would be.
By the time the wedding breakfast was at an end, she was beside herself with the need to take her friend aside for a moment of reassurance, however. For Lottie knew she was the catalyst who had catapulted Hyacinth and Sidmouth back together. If she hadn’t revealed Hyacinth was carrying his child,no doubt the viscount and her friend both would have continued to be stubborn. She wanted to know without a doubt that her friend wasn’t upset with her for her interference.
The bride and groom were preparing to say their farewells before she managed to take Hyacinth aside. “Are you sure you forgive me for telling Sidmouth?” she whispered.
Hyacinth embraced her warmly, dispelling any lingering doubts. “How could I be angry with you for making certain everything worked out the way it should have?”
Lottie returned her embrace, relief washing over her. “Oh, thank heavens, dearest. You have no idea how much I struggled over the decision. But I feared you were making a grievous mistake.”
“And naturally, you thought you would intervene.”
The cutting, masculine voice that intruded upon their private tête-à-tête was familiar. Too familiar. And although his tone was biting, the Duke of Brandon’s baritone still slid over her like a caress. He had joined them where they stood on the periphery of the immense gathering. His green stare was cold and assessing as it landed on her. Perhaps he was still nettled over her intervention with Pandy’s dog.
More than once during the course of the wedding breakfast, she had found her gaze wandering to the handsome, elegant figure he cut. And more than once, his eyes had ensnared hers, telling her that she hadn’t been alone in stealing looks. Still, nothing could come of her irritating attraction to him. The Duke of Brandon simply wasn’t the lover for her.
“My intervention was timely,” she informed him coolly. “Lord and Lady Sidmouth love each other and are destined to be together. Anyone can see that. I merely did what was in their best interest.”
“Hmm. Best interest as you deemed it,” Brandon drawled.
