Heathcliff didn’t see them quit the room.
He didn’t hear Lucas’s chuckle.
He simply put the puzzle pieces together.
Lady Liliah—Miss Miranda. His mind worked at lightning speed, making sense of all the questions that had been unanswered. It was so obvious, yet he hadn’t seen it till now. The sister who was supposedly in America, who was not actually abroad but much closer. Under his roof, in his employ, for heaven’s sake.
A duke’s daughter.
Parading as a governess.
Why in hell—then his eyes snapped up to meet his friend’s.
“You!” he roared.
Lucas tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. “Your response is not equal to the knowledge. Interesting.”
Heathcliff narrowed his eyes at his friend as Lucas helped himself to the sideboard and poured a liberal helping of brandy into two snifters, then offered one to Heathcliff.
He wanted to ignore the offering, but he also needed to calm the hell down.
Lucas was right.
His response wasn’t equal to the knowledge.
And whenever that happened in the club, it only meant one thing.
Guilt.
And Heathcliff was guilty as sin.
“Care to explain yourself?” Lucas asked, taking a slow sip of brandy, as if the world hadn’t just shifted.
“No.” Heathcliff downed his drink and set the glass on the desk, re-crossing his arms like a petulant child. He uncrossed them and glared.
“Fascinating.” Lucas remarked, and took another slow sip, as if doing his damnedest to annoy the hell out his friend.
It was working.
Heathcliff stalked over to the sideboard and poured himself another helping of brandy, then took a long sip.
“So, how much have you compromised the girl?” Lucas asked, just as Heathcliff was swallowing.
He choked on the brandy, sending the burning liquid up his nose and down his throat at the same time, leaving a fiery trail everywhere it touched.
He coughed, set the glass down, and tried to master his reactions, failing with each cough.
“Interesting,” Lucas remarked, again.
Heathcliff glared at his friend as his eyes watered, “Don’t say that damn word again,” he choked out, then coughed a few more times for good measure.
“Fascinating,” Lucas replied, grinning wildly.
“I hate you,” Heathcliff remarked, but without heat as he stood up and glared at his friend. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lucas hitched a shoulder and took a small sip. “It was safer, for you and for her. Those bloody investigators were like dogs with a bone.”
“Not good enough. I need a better reason. Those investigators were a joke.”
