“Certainly, so long as you have no aspirations in that regard.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I most definitely do not. You, Jacob Barrington, would make a very uncomfortable husband.”
He gave her a glittering smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“But it truly is a shame that the best lovers make the worst husbands.”
“I’m flattered you consider me your best lover.”
“One of,” she emphasised, rubbing at the smudges of dirt on her gloves. “And that is hardly the point.”
Jacob stifled a sigh. Now there was no prospect of gratification, he found her presence wearying. “It is to me. But, Clarissa, I amone ofthe best lovers you’ve ever had only because you require nothing else from me.”
“How flattering,” she said dryly, but there was no offence in her voice. Jacob knew as well as she did that he was not the only man to warm her bed. “I do believe you’re drunk.”
“I’m always drunk.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”
He smiled, though he did not feel like it. “So, my dear, I can forget.”
* * *
Once Jacob finally returned home, he arranged for the curricle and bill to be delivered to Cecil’s house and promptly went to sleep. When he woke, it was to a summons. Cecil enjoyed summoning him. It was his prerogative as the older brother turned marquess; he could require Jacob’s presence at any time he chose, and he seemed to take great pleasure in doing so. Mostly, it was so he could lecture Jacob about his lifestyle choices and threaten to cut off his allowance.
In their twenty-six years of being brothers, little had changed except Cecil had grown ever more pompous. He had been just nineteen when their father died, but he had taken up the mantle with a characteristic seriousness. They were born and bred to be opposites: where Jacob was wild, Cecil was restrained; where Jacob was impetuous, Cecil was measured; where Jacob was irresponsible, Cecil took his duties extremely seriously.
One of those duties, of course, was disapproving of everything Jacob did. An easy feat, given Jacob did everything in his power to tarnish the Barrington name. He was known as the black sheep of the family; he was the embarrassment that had to be covered up. He prided himself on excess.
Thus, sensible Cecil had a bee in his bonnet about Jacob finding a vocation.
Jacob had no intention of going into the army or politics or training as a lawyer. And there was nothing that would suit him less than taking up a living, preaching to his parish about the evils of licentious living.
Although, he allowed, he was an expert on the subject.
Therefore, once receiving his brother’s summons, he chose to delay until after his leisurely day, which culminated at the new gaming hell that had opened on St James’s Street. As a result, he was somewhat inebriated by the time he finally made his way to Cecil’s house. Or, rather, the Sunderland London house, the one Cecil had inherited when he had become marquess and wasted no time appropriating for himself.
Smythe, the austere butler, answered the door. “I’m here to see my brother,” Jacob said with a swagger he knew the butler hated.
Smythe looked down his nose. “I’m afraid his lordship isn’t here.”
“Not receiving me, is he? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Ignoring Smythe’s protestations, he forced himself inside, glad of the warming effects of the brandy as he looked around the large, arching space. His family’s London home was not a place he had often visited, even as a child, but there were memories etched here just as clearly as the scars on his back.
He strode through to Cecil’s study, which was, for once, empty. No fire burned in the grate. Jacob frowned.
“As I informed you, sir, Lord Sunderland is not at home,” Smythe said, taking great pleasure in the words. “He asked you to come by this morning.”
“I was busy then.”
“He is busy now.”
“Sensible Cecil going out? It must be an occasion indeed.”
“I believe it is a notable occasion, sir, yes,” Smythe said.
Jacob spun on the slightly worn carpet to face the butler. “Well? Where is it? And don’t tell me you don’t know, Smythe, because I shall call you out for being a liar.”
Smythe hesitated. Obviously he knew exactly where Cecil had gone; equally obviously, he was reluctant to tell Jacob lest Jacob do something foolish.
