“You haven’t been about, Callum,” she retorted. “If you hadn’t spent so much time half drowned in whisky and lightskirts you might have noticed. You’re drunk now. Don’t try to deny it.”
Oh, he was drunk. Definitely. He could call it his armor to defend against his brother’s nonsense, but it was becoming clear that he’d missed some fairly significant happenings. His heart abruptly twisted. Had he been too slow, too dismissive of what he perceived as nonsense? Had he waited too long? “It’s true, isnae?” he prompted, bile rising in his throat with the words he didn’t want to speak. “Ye’ve done it. They didnae try to force ye, because ye agreed to marry him. Ian, fer God’s sake.” He swallowed, willing the words away and not succeeding. “Why?”
Her shoulders lifted a little. “The silly things I did back when we were children embarrass me now.Youembarrass me now. I was eight years old when I climbed that tree. I am not eight any longer.” She eyed him. “And you’re not ten.” Rebecca took a breath. “You’re not respectable, either, and you don’t want to be. Your brother is. And I’ve known him forever, and he and my father have similar business interests. It makes sense.”
“Aye, Ian’s respectable,” he agreed, still trying to grasp all of the nonsense that had come flying at him tonight. He half expected Ian to be foolish about this new opportunity; his brother practically lived in Dunncraigh’s pocket these days. Clan politics, business, all fascinated Lord Geiry—and thanks to Becca’s fathera fleet of ships and a new, thriving business came with her, or would eventually.
But Rebecca climbed trees and liked to learn the lyrics of bawdy tavern songs. Ian would bore her to death inside a month. Everyone could see that. Everyone could see thathewould have been a much better choice for Becca. At the least he wouldn’t tangle her into business with the clan Maxwell chief.
But she’d known about the dock and the fleet even though he hadn’t had a whiff of the goings-on, and she’d agreed to all of it. He stirred that around in his head for a bit. That was why she hadn’t wanted him to make fun of Ian earlier. Because she’d agreed to be his wife. Shewantedto be Lady Geiry.
Well, he hadn’t agreed to any of it. He wasn’t some cotter cowering in fear and hoping his lord and master hadn’t decided to replace him with sheep. And the first one to say he was too young to understand was going to get punched in the head. Becca was two years younger than he was, for Lucifer’s sake. And until—unless—she and damned Ian had a son, he remained the bloody Geiry heir.
The idea of Ian and Becca having children together made him abruptly want to be ill all over again, which sensation made him wish he’d stayed at the Seven Fathoms tonight. By tomorrow, though, all of this might well be beyond repair. “When did he ask ye?” he forced out. “Or romantic that he is, did Ian send ye a note saying how mutually beneficial a union between ye and him could be, especially with Dunncraigh taking an interest?”
“Callum, don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?” he countered, moving between her and the door when she glanced in that direction. She didn’t get to flee until he’d had his say, until he’d madesense of all this. “Be annoyed that the lot of ye decided on our entire lives and didnae bother to mention it to me?”
“Perhaps if you possessed the ability to hold your tongue and listen without insulting everyone with whom you disagree, your brother might have made the effort to include you in the decision,” she retorted, her words clipped and blue eyes narrowed.
That snapped his mouth shut. “But they did includeye,” he countered, stalking closer again. “Ye truly had nae an objection to any of this?”
“Your brother is a kind, honorable man. To what would I object?”
He poked a finger into her shoulder. “‘Kind and honorable,’” he repeated, sneering the words. “He’s to be yer husband, Becca. Cannae ye say he’s passionate? That he adores ye, and ye, him? All ye can say is that he doesnae kick dogs?”
“That is not—”
“Do ye reckon he’ll take ye dancing? Or go with ye to look for shells by the seashore? Or teach ye how to drink whisky? Ye should be marrying me, not that musty old stuffed shirt.” As he spoke, he realized that while she hadn’t considered who would be her perfect match, he’d figured it all out.
He and Becca got on well, and she was a damned sight better at conversation than Una down at the tavern. He couldn’t speak to her other parts, but if they were akin to what hecouldsee, he would be more than satisfied. And she had given him a look, from time to time, that made him think she wouldn’t object if he kissed her. Now he wished he hadn’t resisted the temptation.
“Ye ken ye dunnae wanthim,” he pursued, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “Marryme,Becca.”
She blinked. “Marryyou?”
“Aye. We’ll go on a grand adventure, never lay our heads in the same place twice. We’ll—”
“And why would I want that?” she countered, pushing his hands away. The fair cast of her skin lost all its color. “Aside from the fact that you never thought of marrying me until this minute, you couldn’t afford to take me any farther than Glasgow. Why would I choose a drunk… boy who has no future but what his older brother deigns to give him? Do you truly think looking for shells and fleeing from place to place ahead of creditors is a solid foundation for a marriage? And that is beside the fact that you’ve done nothing but insult the man to whom you owe every ounce of your future. You’ve also insulted me, and the duke, and everyone else here tonight who’s decided on a course different than the one you prefer. You’re a loud child, Callum, and I see nothing at all marriageable in that.”
If he looked down at himself, he was fairly certain he’d find his skin flayed off. It felt that way, anyway. “So I’m nae a catch?” he bit back. “Because I’m nae a firstborn earl? Because I ken how to have a wee bit of fun? If all ye require is money and a title, and a husband so dull I’m near to being convinced he’s nae laid with a lass ever, then by God ye’ve chosen well. If ye feel the need for some excitement, for the touch of a real man, I reckon ye know where to find me. Choose quickly, though; after he’s had ye, I’m nae certain whether I’ll still want ye or nae.”
“Callum!”
Hiding his abrupt flinch, Callum turned to face his brother’s bellow—only to be knocked back onto his arse by a hard fist to his jaw. Of course the earl would have a key to the morning room.Damnation. Moving withless grace than usual, he scrambled to his feet. “Ian, ye ken—”
“Nae another word,” the earl growled, and hit him again.
This time Callum moved away from his brother as he stumbled upright. He and Ian had tussled before, but not for years, and not… not like this. “Bastard,” he grumbled, tasting blood.
His brother’s face had gone white, his jaw clenched so hard Callum could practically hear it creaking. “I’ve excused yer damned drinking and whoring and wagering and yer absences because I reckoned ye a lad who needs to dance with his demons before he sets them aside. This… This is…”
“Unforgivable,” the Duke of Dunncraigh supplied, entering the room behind Ian. “Trying to steal another man’s wife. Yer own brother’s wife. That’s nae a man to have beneath yer roof, Geiry.”
Ian clenched his fist, then opened his fingers again as Callum braced for another blow. “I cannae believe ye would… But there ye stand, and I heard every damned word of it.” He gestured sharply at Rebecca, his hand shaking. “She called ye a drunk boy. That’s too kind, by far.” He drew in a hard breath. “I want ye gone. Oot of my house, and oot of our lives. Ye’re nae my brother, because a brother wouldnae do what ye just tried to do to me.”
A block of solid ice dropped onto Callum, cold and hard and suffocating. The foggy sense of nightmare broke into crystal-clear shards as his brother spoke. He felt frozen, and stunned. And empty. And he had no argument, drunk or sober, because he knew damned well he’d said all those things. “Ian,” he rasped anyway, spitting blood. They didn’t understand. Aye, he’d steppedtoo far, but so had Dunncraigh with all his sudden interest in docks and shipping. The duke had merely intruded more subtly, and with money in his hands. And Rebecca… It was all too sudden. Too swift. “Dunnae make—”
