And perhaps one cheroot.
Bethany was likely still abed. He had managed to keep her up most of the night.
“Say, what time do you have?”Chase squinted at the timepiece attached to his pocket. Which hand was which…?
“Quarter to two.”
Chase placed his whiskey on the table beside the settee where he lounged, legs sprawled, arms wide. These fellows could be pains in the arse at times, but they understood him… for the most part.
“Blackheart told you all that, eh?” Stone asked from where he lounged at the opposite end of the divan, all but mirroring Chase’s position.
“Didn’t thinkHis Gracecared about such matters.” Mantis sat on one of the comfortable tall-backed chairs, one leg hooked over an armrest. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised. He concerns himself with everything else.”
“I’ve discovered his secret.” Greys exhaled a stream of smoke out of the side of his mouth and carefully placed his cheroot on the edge of a small gold plate. “He doesn’t sleep.”
“Everyone sleeps,” Stone contradicted.
But Greys shook his head. “I’ve clocked him four nights running. He functions on an average of three and one-half hours of sleep a night.”
The five of them fell silent and contemplated this information. If Greys said it, it was likely true. The marquess wasn’t one to fabricate or exaggerate.
“Makes sense, I suppose.” Chase leaned forward. “Before he had to quit school, I recall him pacing the dormitory at all hours of the night.
“Lord Lucas is in love, eh? Who do you think she is?” Stone mused.
“He didn’t say. My guess is he met her while informing one of the widows.”
“One of those casualties was Tempest’s younger brother, Arthur Gilcrest. Hell of a tragedy.” Mantis shook his head. “None of the bodies could be recovered. His mother’s in a state.”
Mothers were always in a state. Chase downed his remaining whiskey. How would his own mother cope in the event of his demise? The thought didn’t bear imagining.
“Gilcrest hadn’t been married even a year,” Stone offered. “Ran off to Gretna with that Barrington chit. I imagine her father will have no choice but to take her back now that he’s gone. She’s with child.”
“Tempest will do right by his brother’s widow. The child could end up his own heir,” Chase added thoughtfully. Tempest wasn’t the most affable of fellows, but he wasn’t one to shirk his responsibilities.
“You three gossip more than a bunch of hens,” Greys scoffed.
But Chase couldn’t help but imagine Gilcrest’s poor wife. God, life could be cruel. All the more reason a gentleman needed to provide for the women in his life, while he yet lived but also after he was gone.
“Speaking of hens.” Stone shot Chase a level stare. “What are you going to do about yours?”
Chase leaned forward and rubbed his thighs. “Blackheart hasn’t failed me yet.” Guilt soured the smoke in his mouth as he recalled the words he’d pummeled her with on his way out. He’d told her to keep her love to herself. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t hurt her and then done just that.
Was it possible he could endure love without it becoming a burden?
He’d damn sure had no trouble “enduring” it so far.
In fact, he’d barely been gone a few hours and already inexplicably craved her company.
“Do you love her?”
Chase stared across at Mantis—scarred, gruff, and the least romantic of them all. “I don’t know. How does anyone know? What the hell kind of question is that anyway?”
“You could always ask Westerley.” Stone tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “He and his countess are cutting short their distillery tour.”
Chase knew this already, having sent for the earl himself. He touched the bruise around his eye where it had only just begun to heal.
“Perhaps Westerley will be so kind as to slug you in the other one,” Peter offered helpfully.
