“It is.”
Chapter 25
Emory pulledout a dark wooden chair and settled at the round, scarred wooden table. He wanted to get good and bloody drunk.
What the blazes had he done wrong?
Yesterday had been perfect. He’d gone where no visitor had ever been allowed, saw Violet’s conservatory, walked her gardens, then thoroughly kissed her within the dangers of her gazebo. It wasn’t so dangerous in the middle of winter but could be lethal in the heat of the summer with the blossoms in bloom and honeybees making a nuisance.
He shivered. He’d never been fond of any insect, bees, and especially spiders, yet Violet had a passion for them.
More passion than she had for him.
He raised his arm and called out to the barmaid for an ale. Perhaps he should consider something stronger, though he doubted they carried brandy at this tavern, not like Boodles. Where the gentleman’s club was refined with a calm, respectable atmosphere, the interior of Crawley’s Tavern was boisterous, its floors and tables roughed from use over the years. At least here he’d be left alone, whereas if he were in London, any friend or acquaintance might come upon him and wish to join him, and Emory would be forced to endure polite conversation.
He shook his head. Conversation, yes. Polite, not always. At least not the type carried on over a tea when one was supposed to be courting someone.
Had he offended Violet somehow?
He knew something was wrong after they’d kissed, but he had hoped that it was simply shock, then pleasure. However, her behavior since deemed that she considered their encounter the opposite, or she would have allowed a stroll out of sight of a chaperone. Instead, he was forced to endure a polite tea.
Boisterous laughter drew Emory from his thoughts, and he glanced about. The place was full, more so than he’d seen it to date. This was a Sunday night. Is this where the residents came after attending services in the morning, as a means to balance out their lives. Saint in the morning, sinner at night?
Emory shook the thought from his brain and was happy to have found an unoccupied table where he might brood and get drunk.
He’d kissed her and quite thoroughly, and the memory was branded in his brain. That kiss had been so perfect and so filled with passion that he had no wish to kiss any other woman, ever.
He wanted only Violet’s kisses, and she preferred him never to kiss her again.
Bloody hell.
The barmaid set the ale on the table before Emory and he took a deep drink.
“Why are you here drinking all alone?” his brother asked as he stopped at the table.
“Why does any gentleman drink alone?”
Liam chuckled and pulled up a chair and settled into it.
Apparently his educated, physician of a brother didn’t understand the wordalone.
“Usually, the cause is a woman. Is yourcourtshipnot going well?”
“It’s over.” Emory slammed the ale down, sloshing some of the contents onto the table.
“I thought you had one more day.”
“As did I, until her brother, Epworth, warned me away.”
Liam frowned. “Did something happen that would cause him to do so?”
“Nothing happened today,” he grumbled. Especially compared to yesterday. “I called on her and instead of walking the gardens, as I had planned, we remained in, and took tea.”
“That is usually how courtships proceed,” Liam reminded him.
“Ours has been anything but a normal courtship,” Emory reminded him.
“So, what happened that has put you in such a dark mood, besides Epworth.”
