“Don’t be insolent,” Emerson snapped. “Get this to Lady Stanford immediately.”
“Tonight?” Amir said, surprised.
He stopped. Should he? Yes. “Immediately.”
Amir took the note with a raised brow. “I thought she was attending a dinner at the duke of Ryleigh’s residence.”
“She’ll be home eventually, won’t she?”
“You appear agitated,miku im.”
“Take it. Tonight.” Then he added, “Please.”
Amir inclined his head, grinning, and departed.
Emerson groaned. He had no call to take his frustration out on his friend. A friend that had saved his life on more than one occasion. Of course, Emerson had returned the favor. His thoughts moved from Amir to that cryptic message in Ryleigh’s desk.The age of intended victims has raised. Their purpose, however, remains the same. Time grows short.
He had to warn Lady Stanford that her brother was up to his noble neck in something dire. How deep was the question. The duke was powerful, and that did not bode well. For anyone.
Benjamin strolled in. “You’re still up?”
Emerson didn’t bother explaining his earlier exploits. “You’re in early.” Emerson bit back another more sardonic remark regarding Ben’s so-called friends. “I’m having a brandy. May I pour you one?”
“I suppose.” His sulking tone set Emerson’s teeth on edge. He poured out glasses for each of them and handed one off.
“Where are your friends?”
“The country.”
“You weren’t invited?”
“I chose not to go.”
“Why is that? I thought you were joined at the hip.”
“Don’t be crass.” Ben threw back the contents of his glass, slammed it on a table, and stormed from the room.
Wincing, Emerson held up his own to toast the empty room. “Cheers to you too, brother.” He really should curb his sarcasm until Ben got to know him better. At the least, allow Ben to work through his resentment toward him.
~~~
Ben stalked up the stairs of the old and lavish house. Why couldn’t Emerson ever,everbe wrong? He stormed down a wide corridor into the “suite” of rooms he’d been assigned.Assigned!The word sickened him. Made him feel like a lad of ten and still attended Eton.
He went to a plush chair in front of the fire and plopped down. The heat from the embers in the hearth licked his face. Ben leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and pressed his fingertips into his temples. The problem was that Ben’s so-called “friends” raised the hair at the back of his neck. At school, Gorman, Lampert, and Stockton had harassed him mercilessly. As an heir to viscountcy through indirect blood, Collier had joined the fray once they’d left Cambridge.
Being perilously close to inheriting an earldom had changed their attitude toward Ben entirely. In the beginning, Ben had been secretly flattered by the attention, since over the course of years he’d been endlessly tormented by pranks that had exposed his aversion to the sight of blood.
Recently, their attention—or perhapsintentions—had begun to leave a bad taste in his mouth. And as much as the desire to be an earl clawed through him, the acceptance, the ability to rub elbows with those he’d been shunned by, Ben couldn’t help wondering about Oscar.
The last time Ben and Emerson had seen their cousin, they’d been fishing on Hallandale lands. Back when Oscar and Ben were so reed thin, even at the age of sixteen, a strong wind could have knocked them over. Not Emerson. He’d been, and still was, as stout and mean as a seasoned bull always on the lookout for trouble. Quick reflexes with never much to say. Watchful. Always in control, while Ben was impulsive, hated the sight of blood, and still too thin.
He hated himself.
He hated Papa for treating him like a child. No, he’d treated Ben as if he hadn’t had a brain or was an invalid. From the moment Emerson had moved in with them at the age of twelve—and Ben seven—it had been clear from the onset that their father had preferred Emerson.
In an instant, Papa had had all the time in the world for Emerson. Had taken him everywhere to meet the tenants and work the fields. The few times Ben had been along, he’d been relegated to the kitchens with the farmers’ wives and the younger children.
It was this stupid anemia that made him appear so pale. He hated that too.
