“There’s nothing troubling me. I simply had business in London requiring attention.”
“Codswallop.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Complete and utter codswallop.” Daniel leant forward, elbows on knees. “I’ve known you since Eton, Tobias. I recognise that particular expression—that’s the look of a man fleeing from something.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Am I? Then why do you look like you’ve lost something precious? Why are you hiding in your study rather than celebrating your return with the usual revelry?”
“Perhaps I’ve simply grown weary of revelry.”
The words emerged more honestly than intended. Daniel’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
“You? Weary of revelry? The man who once wagered five hundred pounds on which raindrop would reach the bottom of a window first? The scoundrel who charmed his way out of three separate engagements in a single Season?”
“People change.”
“Not that much. Not that quickly.” Daniel took a measured sip. “Unless something—or someone—gave them reason to change.”
Tobias set down his glass with elaborate care. “If you’ve come merely to interrogate me?—”
“I’ve come because I’m concerned. And because the betting books at White’s are already filling with speculation about your sudden departure from Kent. They’re saying you’ve quarrelled with your brother’s widow. That she’s driven you out of your own home. That you’re fleeing scandal.”
“What manner of scandal?” The question emerged sharper than intended.
“Oh, the usual speculation when a widower and widow share a household. You know how society loves to imagine impropriety.” Daniel’s voice held warning now. “Particularly when the widow is reportedly quite beautiful, and the brother-in-law has your reputation.”
Tobias’s hands clenched around his glass hard enough to threaten fracture. “Lady Amelia’s reputation is beyond reproach. Anyone suggesting otherwise?—”
“Peace.” Daniel raised both hands. “I’m merely reporting what’s being whispered. I don’t believe it for a moment. But you should be aware that your absence is causing talk.”
“Then perhaps I should not have left.”
The admission escaped before he could prevent it. Daniel’s expression gentled.
“Ah. So that’s the way of it.”
“There is no ‘way.’ I left to give her breathing room. To allow her to mourn properly without my presence complicating matters.”
“And you’re absolutely certain it’sherpeace of mind you’re concerned about? Not your own?”
Tobias surged to his feet, pacing to the window. Mayfair spread below him—elegant townhouses and manicured squares, the world he had inhabited before duty dragged him into responsibility.
Before Amelia had looked at him with those eyes that saw past every careful defence.
“She deserves better,” he said quietly. “Better than being saddled with her rake of a brother-in-law. Better than the scandal our association would inevitably cause. When her mourning ends, she’ll need to re-enter society, find a proper husband?—”
“And you’ll help her do so? Play matchmaker whilst your heart tears itself to pieces?”
“Myhearthas nothing to do with it. I’m being practical. Responsible.”
“Tobias.” Daniel’s voice held unusual seriousness. “I watched you for years avoid anything resembling real feeling. Saw you cultivate that charming rake persona like armour againstgenuine connection. And now you’re telling me you feel nothing for this woman?”
“I feel protective. Responsible. As any gentleman should toward his brother’s widow.”
“Protective men don’t look like they’re being flayed alive when discussing her future happiness.”
