Tilly, in her fully revealed self, was irresistible.
There.
There was the difference between who he was now and the man he once was.
His former self wouldn’t consider Tilly fully revealed to him yet, for he hadn’t tupped her.
Perhaps he had grown beyond that person, the wastrel rake.
Which wasn’t to say he didn’t want to tup her.
But he didn’t only want to tup her, which he supposed was growth.
He rounded the corner from Bennet Street and onto St. James’s. White’s stood a block ahead across the street. It was there that Rhys would attempt to set in motion tonight’s second noble deed.
It was strange, but his way of thinking about Papa’s signet ring had shifted. While he was as determined as he’d ever been to return the ring to where it belonged, the urgency had diminished—for one reason alone.
The ring was in Tilly’s trustworthy hands.
Truly, the woman might’ve become an obsession.
He took the short set of stairs up to White’s front door two at a time, both a spring to his step and a tetchy energy shimmering through him. A year, it had been, since he’d walked through this door.
The doorman nodded as he stood aside, recognizing Rhys on sight. “Lord Rhys, it is a pleasure to see you.”
Rhys gave a nod and smile of greeting as he stepped into the entrance hall, where he declined to hand over his hat and coat to a footman. He shouldn’t be here long, if all went to plan.
He made an immediate left into the morning room with its famous bow window that overlooked St. James’s Street. This was where the dandies liked to congregate during the day to watch and comment on the promenade of other dandies on the sidewalk. Of course, at a quarter past ten in the evening, the dandies all had to make do with each other inside the club, as the street outside had gone dark. Copious amounts of wine, whisky, brandy, and port helped them make do with circumstances.
Rhys scanned the room for his quarry—and encountered no luck.
He would have to venture deeper into the club.
His bad luck continued when a voice rang out, “Lord Rhys!”
A dozen soused smiles turned his way and eager hands waved him inside the room.
He’d known this would happen. That he would be invited for a night’s carousing.
And he’d known he would have to resist.
With a smile of apology, he spread his hands wide and backed away. “Apologies, gentlemen, but I have business to attend this evening.”
“Business?” came a shout, followed by an immediate roar of laughter. “What’s that?”
But it was all at Rhys’s back, for he was on the move, heading straight for the billiard room. Maybe he would encounter some luck in finding the man he sought there.
His string of rotten luck persisted, however, for instead of the man he sought, he found an altogether different man bent over his billiards cue—a man Rhys was most definitely not seeking.
His hope that he hadn’t been spotted was dashed when a firm, “Rhys!” met his retreating back. He stopped dead in his tracks, closed his eyes for a second and groaned.
He had no choice but to double back.
The man had straightened to his familiar height of six feet plus a few inches—precisely the same height as Rhys, in fact—and was regarding Rhys with the lift of a single black eyebrow.
“Brother,” said Rhys in greeting to his older brother, Lord Jasper Osborne.
Not the heir, but the spare.
