CHAPTER 5
The sound of hoofbeats approaching through the early morning mist interrupted Everett’s grim solitude. He slowed his mount and turned to discover the interloper who approached.
King cantered toward him, looking dashing astride a dappled mare. In typical Kingham fashion, he wore a brilliant scarlet coat instead of customary country tweed, along with fawn riding breeches and smart riding boots that were so well shined that they nearly reflected the surrounding landscape.
He reined in when they were abreast. “Good morning to you, old chum.”
“There is nothing particularly good about this morning,” Everett grumbled.
He’d risen that morning to a cockstand and an empty bed. Thoughts of Sybil had been plaguing him from the moment his eyes had opened and had yet to cease. It seemed that despite his attempt to purge her from his blood the night before, bedding her once hadn’t cured what ailed him.
She had been a virgin.
He hadn’t been certain what to expect, but he knew without a doubt now. The primitive part of him was damned glad hehad been her first lover in the physical sense of the word. But the knowledge was a tepid comfort, knowing where her true passions lay.
“Is there not?” King gave him a sly grin. “The sun has risen. The day is a temperate one. It’s not raining.”
“There’s a fog,” Everett pointed out.
“The fog is lifting. Besides, I enjoy its mystery.”
“How nice for you.”
He was still rather vexed with his friend for paying so damned much attention to Sybil at dinner, and King’s irritating good cheer was rendered all the more nettlesome because of it.
“Itisnice, isn’t it?”
“Why are you in such a damned cheerful mood?” he growled.
King beamed. “Because I understand felicitations are in order. I had no notion you were a married man until I enjoyed dinner with your beautiful duchess last night.”
Bloody hell.
“Watch your tongue where my wife is concerned.” Everett shot his friend a glare. “And if you don’t mind, I would prefer not to speak of the matter any further. I do so hate to be bilious before breakfast.”
“Oh, but I would dearly love to discuss your nuptials,” King countered, a dog with a bone. “In particular, I thought we might examine just how you managed to keep such a secret from us all these last few months.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” he muttered, huffing a sigh as he turned his gaze to the rolling field beyond, obscured by the thick fog that had blanketed the park some time in the night.
But that was a lie, and he knew it. For he had quite intentionally kept Sybil to himself. Partly because he was embarrassed at being cozened by her and hadn’t been willing to endure the mockery his friends would no doubt throw his way upon the discovery of his own stupidity.
He ought to have known better than to allow himself to be taken in by a pretty face. He certainly should have been intelligent enough to simply ignore his mother’s ceaseless prodding about performing his duty and producing an heir.Mamanhad been berating him endlessly for years now. Finally, he’d had enough and decided to vanquish her concern.
Only to fail quite disastrously.
“I do believe that refraining from telling any of us about your wife’s existence would be the very definition of a secret,” King countered.
And he was not wrong, blast him.
Which only served to heighten Everett’s irritation.
“Mamanwas forever admonishing me over my lack of an heir,” he explained. “I merely grew tired of her tedious sermons. Wedding someone—anyone—seemed an excellent method of making my problem disappear.”
“What of the vows we made when we founded the Wicked Dukes Society? With your marriage, along with Camden’s and Brandon’s and Whitby and Richford sniffing skirts, I begin to despair that I shall be the only one amongst us still standing and sane soon.”
“I don’t know that I would ever characterize you as sane.” Everett sighed. “But we were thoroughly in our cups when we made those vows and under the influence of one of your dubious potions.”
“There is nothing at all dubious about my potions,” King protested, sounding insulted.
