“True, but my dear wife wouldn’t put any unsavory deed beyond my capabilities. And I resent being put in a position of having to explain that I’ve done nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have to do that. A little trust wouldn’t be amiss.”
James sighed. “Tony, lad, you’ve a lot to learn about new brides.”
“You’ve had one, have you, which makes you an expert?” Anthony sneered.
“Of course not,” James retorted. “But common sense would tell you it’s got to be a very delicate time for a woman. She’s feeling her way, adjusting. She’s devilish insecure, nervous. Trust? Hah! First impressions are more likely to be the lasting ones. Stands to reason, don’t it?”
“It stands to reason you don’t know what the deuce you’re talking about. When’s the last time you even bumped elbows with a lady of quality? Captain Hawke’s tastes lean toward a different sort entirely.”
“Notentirely, lad. Leading a band of brigands does have its drawbacks, mainly in the lower class of establishments one is limited to frequenting. And acquired habits are hard to break. But my tastes, as you put it, are no different from yours. Duchess or whore, as long as she’s comely and willing, she’lldo. And it hasn’t beenthatmany years that I can’t remember the idiosyncrasies of the duchess. Besides, they’re all the same in one respect, dear boy. Jealousy turns them into shrews.”
“Jealousy?” Anthony said blankly.
“Well, good God, man, isn’t that the problem?”
“I hadn’t thought…well, now that you mention it, that could be why she’s so unreasonable. She’s so bloody angry, she won’t even talk about it.”
“So Knighton was right.” James’ chuckle turned into an outright laugh. “Where’s your finesse gone, dear boy? You’ve had enough practice in these matters to know how to get around—”
“Look who’s talking,” Anthony cut in irritably. “The same man who got his shin kicked the other night. Where was the Hawke’s finesse—”
“Blister it, Tony,” James growled. “If you keep bandying that name about, I’m going to end up with a rope around my neck yet. Hawke’s dead. Kindly remember that.”
Anthony’s mood improved, now that his brother’s had taken a turn for the worse. “Relax, old man. These chaps wouldn’t know a hawk from a Hawke. But point taken. Since you’ve gone to the trouble of killing him off, we may as well let him rest in peace. But you never said, you know. What happened to the rest of your brigands?”
“Some went their own way. Some formed an attachment for theMaiden Anne, even though she’s changed her colors. They’re landlocked only till we sail.”
“And when, pray tell, will that be?”
“Relax, old man.” James tossed the phrase back at him. “I’m having too much fun watching you make a mess of your life to leave just yet.”
Chapter Thirty
It was five o’clock in the afternoon when George Amherst assisted the two Malory brothers out of the carriage in front of the brownstone-faced house on Piccadilly, and they did need assistance. George was smiling and had been ever since he came upon the two in White’s and smoothed over the disturbance they’d caused. He couldn’t help it. He’d never seen Anthony so foxed he didn’t know if he was coming or going. And James, well, it was utterly comical to see this intimidating Malory laughing his head off over Anthony’s condition when his own was anything but sober.
“She’s not going to like this,” James was saying as he hooked an arm around Anthony’s shoulders, nearly unbalancing them both.
“Who?” Anthony demanded belligerently.
“Your wife.”
“Wife?”
George grabbed Anthony as the brothers began to sway and steered them to the door. “Splendid!” He chuckled. “You nearly get yourself kicked out of White’s for decking Billings when all he did was offer felicitations on your marriage, and here you can’t remember you’ve got a wife.”
George was still getting used to the idea himself. He had been rendered speechless when Anthony had come by his house yesterday morning to tell him personally, before he read about it in the papers.
“One laugh, George…one little chuckleand I’ll rearrange your nose for you,” Anthony had told him with appalling sincerity. “I was out of my mind. That’s the only excuse for it. So no congratulations, if you please. Condolences are more in order.”
Then he had refused to say another word about it, not who she was or why he’d married her, nor a hint about why he was already regretting it. But George wasn’t so sure he was actually regretting it, not when Anthony had dragged him off on a search for this cousin of hers who was some sort of danger to her. The desire to protect her was obvious. The desire not to talk about her was equally as obvious. Most obvious was Anthony’s anger, simmering just below the surface all day. George was bloody well relieved they hadn’t found the chap Anthony was looking for. He would have hated to see the result if they had.
But a chance remark from James as George was hustling them out of White’s put some perspective on the thing. “You’ve just found a temper to match your own, Tony. Can’t say as it’s a bad thing in a wife. It’ll keep you on your toes, if nothing else.” And he had laughed, even when Anthony snarled back, “When you get one of your own, brother, I hope she’s as sweet as that little viper who kicked you instead of thanking you for your help the other night.”
The door opened just as George was about to pound on it. A wooden-faced Dobson stood there, but the butler’s expression relaxed into aggrieved surprise as James abandoned Anthony for a steadier handhold—Dobson.
“Where’s Willis, dear fellow? I’m going to need help with my boots, I think.”
That wasn’t all he would need help with, George thought, grinning, as the skinny Dobson, sayingnothing, tried to get the much larger man to the stairs. George was having trouble holding Anthony up as well.
