His laugh was ugly, broken by a hiccup.
Gideon stiffened, rage simmering beneath his carefully schooled face.
“You are drunk,” he said sharply.
“Drunk, yes! But you are a fool, and I will be sober tomorrow,” Everdon laughed uproariously. “I, on the other hand, am not a fool. Nor will I be taken for one. Not anymore.”
Jeremy’s voice dropped, hoarse but insistent.
“You think none of us see it? You think your mask is flawless? I know you, Aaron. Or whatever your name is! I know what you were. You wear another man’s title like… like a stolen coat. Admit it!”
Gideon’s hands clenched into fists. “You know nothing. You are just a drunk who is about to lose his chance at a good marriage because of his love of carousing.”
Jeremy waved a hand dismissively. “Her father listened to the wrong people. I can do nothing about it. But I have done something about you.”
The steward appeared at Gideon’s elbow, having followed up the stairs at a more sedate pace. His face was discreet and long-suffering.
“If I may, Your Grace,” he murmured, “His Lordship is in no state for sense tonight. He dreams aloud, nothing more. Pay it no heed.”
Gideon put up a hand, silencing the man. Rage built inside him like a volcano.
“Tell me what you mean,” he demanded of Jeremy.
“I have written a letter,” Jeremy muttered, lifting the glass and spilling it on himself.
At precisely that moment, the steward presented a silver tray.
“Your Grace. This was delivered to me just after you arrived. It is markedUrgent.”
Gideon snatched it without looking and dismissed the man with a sharp gesture, slamming the door behind him.
“Written a letter? Is this it, you drunken oaf!”
Jeremy tried to focus on the letter that Gideon was brandishing. He blinked and shook his head.
“No, mine was posted earlier this afternoon.” He hiccuped. “To your wife.”
Gideon dropped the letter and strode across the room, seizing the man by the lapels and hauling him boldly from his chair.
“Aaron! Jeremy! What goes on here!” Benedict Langdon’s voice came from the door.
The Earl of Daleshire stood there aghast.
“Are you both drunk?”
“I am not!” Gideon snarled.
“I am… rather,” Jeremy crowed.
Gideon hurled him to the ground in disgust.
He has written to Catherine. Damn him! He has taken matters into his own hands just when…
When what, he wondered? When Gideon had decided to tell the truth?No. When Gideon had succeeded in winning Catherine’s trust?Possibly. What was in the letter? He could guess.
Benedict checked the passageway outside for eavesdroppers, then strode in, snatching up the letter that Gideon had dropped.
“You bloody fool. You should know better than to antagonize him. You know his temper. What have you been doing?”
