“You don’t like her.”
“I like her plenty.”
“Does this have something to do with your sisters and your mother then? You feel you’re too busy spreading yourself around to everyone else. How can you know what’s inside your heart if you can’t even find it?”
Preposterous. Romantic drivel.
“Precisely,” Chase agreed.
Silence ensued but for the ticking of a clock in the corner.
Blackheart steepled his fingers, resting his forearms on the desk. “My brother serves in the Army.” He smiled faintly. “Was promoted to major last year.”
“I’m well acquainted with Lord Lucas.” Chase wondered where the hell Blackheart was going with this.
“He lost six men under his command in an ambush last fall. When I heard the news, I feared it would tear him apart. Worried like hell when he didn’t show up at Crescent Park. But then I tracked the blighter down. He was working on a broken-down estate in the middle of nowhere, assisting one of the widows, and he was not torn apart after all. In fact, he was determined, calm—stronger than I’d ever seen him.”
“I’ve never seen him any other way.”
“Yes, well. You aren’t his older brother. The thing is, he found his strength because of a woman. Theright woman.” Blackheart pinned his ebony gaze on Chase. "Because theloveof the right woman can make you stronger.”
Did Bethany make him stronger? He couldn’t help but recall the peace and calm she’d brought to the meal with his mother the night before. And how he’d felt after discussing his sisters with her. Was it possible her love wasn’t just another burden?
Blast and damn. He hated when Blackheart made sense.
“So why are you still a bachelor?” Chase taunted, annoyed at receiving such sound advice.
Blackheart merely raised his brows and then rose, not even having to take two steps in order to push the door open. “Did you wish to meet with Greystone, or do you have something more important to attend to, perhaps?”
Chase had hurt Bethany this morning. To protect her as much as himself.
He’d thought he’d made the right decision. At the time. Now… he wasn’t as certain.
Chase exhaled. His wife needed to be his priority today. “Who needs a marquess when one receives such sage advice from his butler?”
“Who indeed?” Blackheart bowed with a smirk.
Damned duke. He was enjoying this far more than he had a right to. The realization had him feeling more confident that come June, it would be Westerley and Greys running through the park.
He’d just turned for the front door when a laconic voice stopped him from behind.
“Chase, old boy. I thought I heard the door earlier. Mr. Cockfield here, it seems, didn’t see fit to announce you.” Greys frowned at Blackheart, who didn’t look at all bothered by the insult, and then gestured for Chase to precede him upstairs. “Mantis, the Spencers, and I were just about to open a bottle. We’ve been discussing rain, or our lack thereof. You’re just in time to get in on this particular wager.”
Reeling from Blackheart’s advice and the doubt it ignited, Chase was only too happy to delay his return to Byrde House, if only for half an hour or so. He had an equally acceptable excuse if a wager was involved.
“What are you drinking?” He ignored Blackheart’s disapproving stare and climbed the steps behind the well-dressed marquess.
“American whiskey generously provided by Lady Westerley’s father.”
The mention of Westerley’s name sent unease sliding down his neck.
All the more reason to indulge in a dram or two of liquid courage.
His mouth watered at the prospect. Although he’d never admit it to any of his fellow countrymen, he far preferred Charley Jackson’s whiskey to the much dryer versions he stored in his own cellars.
He’d have one drink, weigh in on the bet, and then make for home.
“Just received a new shipment of cigars, too,” Greys added.
