Well, he’d bloody well asked for it, hadn’t he? He couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and play ignorant when those two younger brothers had remembered him and brought his past into it. Even George had defended him in her moment of disbelief. But no, he had to let the skeletons out of the closet for a clean breast of it.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if there weren’t so many of them. Hell and fire,fiveof the bloody Yanks! Where were Artie and Henry’s wits to have failed to mention that? Where were his, for that matter, in abandoning his original plan to confront George alone? Connie had warned him, indeed he had. And Connie was going to gloat to England and back over this, might even mention it to Anthony just to rub it in further, and then James would never hear the end of it.
And what the devil had he thought to accomplish in coming to their bloody party anyway, aside from embarrassing the darling girl as she deserved? It was the party, or the idea of it, and George flitting around enjoying herself with a dozen beaus surrounding her, that made James lose his wits. And damned if he hadn’t found her so well protected by those idiots she was related to that no one could get near her, not even him.
Their voices were buzzing around him, coming from different directions, some far away, some close, just above him in fact. He imagined one of them was watching for signs of his coming awake, and he thought briefly of changing places with the chap. He’d gone easy on them for Georgie’s sake, and look what it had gotten him, when he could just as easily have taken each of them out within a matter of seconds while they were still being fair-minded about it. On second thought, perhaps he wasn’t quite up to making the effort just now, after they’d tried pounding him through the bloody floor. He’d do better to concentrate on what they were saying, but that effort was almost as difficult through the haze of pain clamoring for attention.
“I’m not believing it, Thomas, until I hear it from Georgie.”
“She tried to clobber him herself, you know.”
“I was here, Boyd.” The only voice that was easy to listen to, and it was so soothing. “I was the one who stopped her. But it makes no difference. I tell you she—”
“But she was still pining over Malcolm!”
“Drew, you ass, how many times do you have to be told, that was pure stubbornness on her part.”
“Why the hell don’t you stay out of this entirely, Warren! The only thing that comes out of your mouth these days is rubbish anyway.”
A brief scuffle, and then, “For God’s sake, you two, haven’t you garnered enough bruises for one day?”
“Well, I’ve had enough of his damned bitterness dropping in my corner, Clinton, I really have. The Englishman could take lessons from him.”
“I’d say that was the other way around, but that’s neither here nor there. Kindly shut up, Warren, if you can’t contribute anything constructive. And stop being so blasted touchy, Drew. You’re not helping matters any.”
“Well, I don’t believe it anymore than Boyd does.” James was beginning to distinguish voices, and this one from the hot-tempered Warren grated along points already throbbing. “The blockhead doubts it, too, so—”
More scuffling ended that revelation. James sincerely hoped they killed each other—after he found out what they were so doubting of. He was about to sit up and ask when they crashed into his feet, jarring his whole body. His groan was telling enough.
“How are you feeling, Malory?” he was asked by a surprisingly amused voice. “Fit enough for a wedding?”
James cracked his eyelids open to see the baby-faced Boyd grinning down at him. With all the contempt he was capable of, he said, “My own brothers have done a better job on me than you puling pups.”
“Then maybe we should give it another go-round,” said the one whose name ought to be cut in half. War suited him so much better.
“Sitdown, Warren!”
The order came from Thomas, surprising them all, except James, who had no idea this Anderson brother rarely raised his voice. And he really couldn’t have cared less just then. Determinedly, he concentrated everything he had on sitting up without flinching.
And then it hit him, “What the bloody hell d’you mean, wedding?”
“Yours, Englishman, and Georgie’s. You compromised her, you’ll marry her, or we’ll very cheerfully kill you.”
“Then smile away, dear boy, and pull the trigger. I won’t be forced—”
“Isn’t that what you came here for, Malory?” Thomas asked enigmatically.
James glowered at him, while the brothers all reacted in different degrees of amazement.
“Have you gone crazy, Thomas?”
“Well, that explains everything, doesn’t it?” This, sarcastically.
“Where are you getting these ridiculous notions from, first about Georgie, now this?”
“Would you like to explain that, Tom?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Thomas replied, watching James. “The English mind is too complicated by half.”
