“It would seem I’m the one who should be asking that question,” she said softly. “I heard raised voices, and then it sounded as if someone was stomping down the stairs.”
Damn it. He ought to have known that there were never any secrets in a household. But he wasn’t ready to be examined by Verity’s clever, probing mind just yet. Everything was too new, too raw, like a wound freshly opened.
He swallowed another mouthful of whisky. “Tell me something, sister. Were you responsible for King’s invitation to dinner this evening?”
Her brows drew together, and she folded her arms in a defensive posture. “Is that the reason for your ire? Pray don’t tell me that your manly jealousy caused you to suspect that Sybil harbors some sort oftendrefor the duke.”
“I’m not in the mood for your sharp tongue this evening,” he warned her darkly. “And I can assure you that none of mymanly jealousy,as you phrase it, is misplaced.”
Verity cocked her head, considering him. “What has happened between you and Sybil?”
“I don’t want to speak about that now. What I do want to know, however, is just why Kingham has been sniffing about like a stag in rut.”
He was being crude and he knew it, but he was in a vile mood. He hadn’t sought his sister’s companionship. But he damn well did need to know what she was about where his old friend was concerned. Kingham was a dedicated sybarite. His reputation was quite possibly the worst of anyone in their set.
It stood to reason that Verity wouldn’t be devoted to her first love for the remainder of her life, that she would want to find a husband and have children one day soon. And Everett’s duty was to protect her.
“You are being perfectly dreadful,” Verity pronounced. “And you haven’t even poured me a whisky.”
He sighed and splashed some amber liquid into a tumbler. Perhaps it wasn’t done to share whisky and confidences with one’s unwed sister after midnight, but he didn’t give a damn.
“Here you are. Bribery becomes you, sister.”
Verity accepted his peace offering. “If I have to listen to you grumbling for half the night, then it’s only reasonable to expect recompense.”
“Ever the soul of reason. Sit with me?”
He gestured to the pair of chairs flanking the hearth and waited for Verity to precede him. They sat, the fire crackling the only sound between them as they sipped at their whisky.
“You needn’t worry where Kingham and I are concerned, brother,” Verity said at last. “I know he’s a wicked rake, but I have a mind and heart of my own, and they both belong to Leo just as they always have.”
“That doesn’t explain why he has paid so many calls of late,” he pointed out solemnly.
King had been pleasant and charming at dinner, making all the ladies laugh with his dry wit and flair for the dramatic.Everett hadn’t spied any longing glances exchanged between the two of them, and he had made certain there was no opportunity for them to be alone. But still, Sybil’s query troubled him. Perhaps she had seen something he had not.
“I suspect His Grace is lonely,” Verity said. “He has no one after all.”
“He has a dog,” Everett pointed out.
King had been something of a lone wolf for as long as they had been chums. His mother had died when he’d been a lad, and his father had gone to his reward when they’d been at Eton.
“Spy died a fortnight ago,” Verity said.
“Bloody hell. He didn’t say a word.”
King had been in love with his old hound, who had been nearly blind and largely deaf in his later years. He’d had the dog since he was a young man. Pity lanced Everett. His friend would not have taken the loss well, he was sure.
“I don’t suppose he likes to speak of it,” Verity told him. “The poor old fellow was a dear heart.”
“He was a pleasant hound,” Everett agreed before his sister’s words settled in. “How would you know?”
“Kingham and I went on a drive. He brought Spy along so that he could take the air. He couldn’t see or hear much, but his little nose was twitching. I do think he enjoyed that ride.”
Everett didn’t like the notion that Verity had spent enough time in King’s company to have met his beloved hound and to know more about his friend than he did. It was all too cozy. But he felt like a bear for arguing about it now that his sister had just announced Spy had died.
“I don’t know what to make of this,” he confessed instead. “None of it sits well with me.”
“You needn’t make anything of it. King and I are friends, and that is all.”
