“But where’s the fun in that, eh?” Then Archer turned to Dominic. “So tell us, is she at least pretty, this chit Prinny wants you to marry?”
“Wants? What exactly have you heard?”
“It’s swirling around town that you’re going to marry Whitworth’s sister,” Archer said. “He’s been crowing about it, you know, claiming the Regent himself got you off his back so he won’t have to fight any more ridiculous duels with you. Is he really that chummy with Prinny?”
“I doubt he even knows George. But our Prince found out the last duel wasn’t the first. And now he’s going to strip me of everything if I don’t ally with the Whitworths in marriage to end my vendetta.”
“What the deuce did Whitworth do to warrant more’n one duel?” Benton demanded, angry on Dominic’s behalf.
“I would as soon not display my rage in this fine establishment,” Dominic replied. “Leave it go.”
“Really?” Archer complained. “You still won’t fess up? We need to get him foxed, Benton.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. He probably could tell them what Robert had done, they were his closest friends, after all. But his mother would never forgive him if it somehow got out. He wouldn’t forgive himself, for that matter.
So he changed the subject by asking Benton, “If you’ve been celebrating, does that mean your lady has said yes?”
Benton beamed. “We’re to be married next month. You’re both invited, of course.”
“Then congratulations are indeed in order. But you do give new meaning to the wordperseverance.Did it really take two years to win her?”
Benton grinned. “No, she was in love with me within a month. It took two years to win over her father!”
They laughed. Dominic ordered another round. But when Archer started to nod off, Dominic told Benton, “It looks like he really did keep vigil all night. Get him home. I’ll see you both later this week.”
Leaving his friends, Dominic took a hack to Bond Street to find Brooke a brush and comb set, something beautiful and special, a token of thanks for making this trip with him with few objections. He’d expected more. Any other lady he knew would have been railing at him most of the way. But not Brooke. The woman defied description. She’d faced his animosity with smiles and a stubborn resolve. She was too logical, too pragmatic—too accepting. And too hopeful? Did she really want this marriage? Or was she just more afraid of what would happen if she refused it? Maybe a little of both.
He thought about everything that had happened since she’d arrived at his door and was surprised he had so many memories of her already—and that he recalled every one, even smiled at a few. She was amazing, bold, intelligent, beautiful. And fearless, or mostly so. The woman had met a wolf in the wild and hadn’t run from it! Or perhaps she just hid her fears well? She did have a temper, not a harsh one, not one that lasted long. An interesting temper.
She was also sensual and bold for a virgin, yet she’d been just that. And she wanted him. That thought was never far away. She’d wanted him.
He found her the brush set in one of the first shops he passed, then recalled that she was having a birthday around the day they were to marry. He stopped in a few more shops that offered mostly jewelry, but nothing caught his eye until he saw the gold-etched cameo surrounded by tiny light green peridots that nearly matched the color of her eyes. He bought it, only to find out it was actually a locket. Presenting her with an empty locket seemed like only half a gift, so he went in search of an art gallery and found one after he crossed into Old Bond Street.
Shopping done, he headed north again, keeping an eye out for a hack to get him home sooner. So he wasn’t looking at the line of shops he passed and didn’t see the man who’d just stepped out of one of them. He didn’t hear the hail, either. But he definitely couldn’t miss Robert Whitworth suddenly stepping in front of him, blocking his way. Or the similarities between the two siblings, which were made more remarkable with the man standing this close to him—the same light green eyes, the same black hair.
“Well, well, my soon-to-be brother-in-law,” Robert said with a sneer.
“Still gadding about London ruining virgins, Whitworth? That is your forte, isn’t it? I’m surprised someone else hasn’t disposed of you for me by now.”
“And I’m surprised my dear sister hasn’t poisoned you yet. She promised she would—oh, I understand now, she’s waiting until after the wedding, I suppose.”
It felt like a physical blow to his gut. Dominic didn’t breathe for a moment. But it was obvious that Robert was just spewing venom to goad him. “She’s nothing like you,” he said contemptuously.
Robert laughed derisively. “She charmed you, did she? You actually fell for that? She did turn out prettier and more clever than I expected.”
The urge was there, powerful, immediate, to kill the man with his bare hands despite there being several dozen pedestrians to witness it. But sanity prevailed, just barely. Dominic still landed a solid punch to Robert’s cheek that made him stumble backward several feet.
The surprised look Dominic saw on his enemy’s face wasn’t appeasing in the least. But it quickly turned murderous until Dominic took a step toward him. Robert moved back even more. He wasn’t a fighter, he was a coward, a seducer of innocents, an immoral blackguard of the worst sort.
“We aren’t related yet, Whitworth,” Dominic spat out. “When we are, you can expect a lot more of that.”
Chapter Forty-One
“YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND,miss, that Lady Anna has quite a temper and often says things she doesn’t mean,” Mr. Hibbitt said as he collected Brooke’s empty lunch plate from the kitchen worktable. “Why, just last month our lady got so annoyed at the staff that she fired all of us, then spent two days tracking us down to rehire us and warned us never to take her mass firings seriously again.”
Brooke laughed, realizing the cook was trying to cheer her up. The short, corpulent fellow was quite different from the Rothdale cook, whom she hadn’t fully won over yet. This one was quite talkative. But the remark also made her guess that the whole staff must already have heard about her unpleasant first visit to Lady Anna’s room. She had heard some of them whispering while she was making the broth for Anna. When Mary, Anna’s personal maid, had come in to fetch her lady’s lunch tray and Brooke had added the bowl of broth to it, Mary had insisted that Brooke taste the broth first.
Brooke had been shocked, but she’d kept her tone neutral when she’d replied, “I’ve already had a bowl. So has the kitchen staff, since it needs to be made fresh daily and will otherwise go to waste. Made with strained garlic and a few other beneficial vegetables, it’s believed to aid in repairing tissue damage in the lungs, but it is still quite tasty if you’re partial to garlic. And you must see that your lady drinks every drop of it, or Lord Wolfe will be informed that you are hindering his mother’s recovery.”
