“What are you doing with all of that? I thought you handed most everything over to Augie.”
“I did. But the ball was Juliet’s idea. He didn’t want to deal with the nonsense of it, so I agreed to manage that piece.”
“Why did you?”
“We had just lost the babe. Jules wasn’t feeling herself. And… she gave up a great deal to be with me. She asks for so few of the luxuries of her former life. Someday you’ll understand. When the woman you love asks you for something within your power to give… There’s nothing to say but yes.”
“It seems unlike her, as well.”
He sighed, then dragged a hand through his hair while he strode to his desk and settled there. I took the chair opposite it, rather than one by the fire. Those were special.
“She’s a lady. They like to wear fussy gowns and dance on occasion. Or so I’m told.”
I hummed and stretched my feet up atop the desk before me in the way Michael loathed. He glared at the intrusion but bit back the complaints.
“You can go play, if you wish. I saw Lord Haxburg down there. He’s abysmal at hazard. You can take him for a tidy sum.”
“I think I’ll stay here for a bit, if it’s not an intrusion.”
“You’re always welcome,” he replied. The way he said it, so matter of fact, I could believe it—this Tom, the one who adored actresses and opera singers, and slung his dirty booted feet across the desk, he was always welcome.
But the Tom I wished to be… Would he always be welcome? If anyone were capable of it… it would be Michael.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Hugh and I were at White’s the other day.”
His gaze shot up, brow furrowed. “The brothel?”
“The club,” I replied incredulously. “There’s a brothel called White’s?”
I received a chuckle for my naivete. “It looks better on the ledgers. Easier to cover one’s tracks.”
That was… rather ingenious. “Well, we were at the club. I loathe it.”
“Why did you go with Hugh then?”
“It was something to do… And I was looking for someone.” My breath caught, though I’d given him nothing.
“Oh?”
“A gentleman. I thought I might try to strike up a friendship.” Deep in my chest, my heart froze.
“A friendship? With whom?” Michael set aside the quill and stood to attend to the drink cart. He raised an empty glass with a questioning brow. At my nod, he poured two.
When he set one before me, he knocked my feet off the desk with a sharp hand. The gesture shocked my lungs back to working.
I swallowed against my dry mouth. “Rosehill.” I tried for simple, unaffected. But there was something strained in the word.
Michael straightened before me and froze there for a beat. A second. Before moving back to his chair with his drink.
“A friendship. With Rosehill.”
“Yes,” I choked out.
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, before he took a careful sip of his drink. Michael was always comfortable in his skin, always. But this effort was studied.
“Rosehill is a good man,” he said carefully. At my nod of agreement, he continued. “I wasn’t happy with the way he handled Juliet’s request to end their engagement. But I understand his reasons and I cannot fault him for them.”
“You do?”
