A moment to think before returning home, a certain pair of green eyes that haunted the hidden corners of his mind.
The familiar hush of White’s failed to settle him. By the time he lowered himself into a corner chair with a brandy, the weight of responsibility pressed heavier than ever.
“You look terrible.”
Aaron glanced up from his brandy to find Ernest Bannerman, the Marquess of Wilstone, settling into the leather chair across from him. Afternoon light filtered through White’s tall windows, casting his friend’s fair hair in gold while leaving his expression shadowed.
“And you look insufferably pleased with yourself, as usual.” Aaron took another sip, savoring the burn.
Ernest signaled a footman. “The betting book has three new wagers about you and the mysterious Lady Louise. An Easter wedding seems to be the favorite.”
Aaron’s fingers tightened on his glass. “Anyone who writes her name in that book will answer to me.”
He hated how quickly news flew through London. If only gossips devoted themselves to missing persons with the same zeal, the city would have no unsolved crimes left.
“Such protectiveness.” Ernest accepted his drink with practiced ease. “The impenetrable Duke of Calborough, reduced to threats over a lady’s honor. How the mighty have fallen.”
“I’m ensuring an innocent woman and a child aren’t subjected to further humiliation.”
“Of course you are.” Ernest swirled his brandy, studying Aaron with uncomfortable perception. “Tell me, have you found her brother yet?”
“No.” The admission tasted bitter. “Sulton has vanished as completely as smoke. Over a week now without word.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the comfortable sounds of the club washing over them. Somewhere behind them, a group of elderly lords debated politics. The fire crackled. Life continued its orderly progression while Aaron’s carefully structured world tilted further off its axis.
“How are the sisters?” Ernest asked finally.
“Adjusting.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Aaron stood, tossing back the rest of his brandy. “They’re safe. Fed. Warm. What more is there to say?”
“What more, indeed.” Ernest swirled his glass, a knowing glint in his eye. “I remember Lady Louise, you know. From before Sulton’s troubles became the talk of every drawing room.”
Aaron paused, halfway to standing. “Do you?”
“Mmm. Two seasons ago, perhaps three. She was at the Worthington ball, wearing something green that matched her eyes.” Ernest smiled at the memory. “I asked her to dance. She refused me quite charmingly. Said her card was full, though I suspect it wasn’t.”
“Is there a point to this reminiscence?”
“The point, my friend, is that Lady Louise Burrows is uncommonly pretty. Clever, too, from what I remember. A woman like that living under your roof …” Ernest let the implication hang in the air.
“She’s my aunt’s companion. Nothing more.”
“Of course she is.” Ernest’s grin widened. “And you invited her into your home out of pure charity. No other motivation whatsoever.”
“I invited her because Bragg would have destroyed her otherwise.”
“Noble.” Ernest set down his glass. “You know, Calborough, your aunt isn’t the only one in that house who could use some female company. When was the last time you attended a ball? Paid a call on anyone who wasn’t a solicitor or a man of business?”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “I have responsibilities.”
“You have excuses.” Ernest rose, clapping him on the shoulder. “All I’m saying is that a beautiful woman has landed in your lap, so to speak. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity by being your usual glacial self.”
“Your concern for my social life is touching.”
“Someone needs to be concerned. You certainly aren’t.” Ernest reached for his hat. “Just try not to frighten the poor girl off with all that brooding. Some women find it appealing, but there are limits.”
