“Speak with her. Alone. Admit you have feelings for her. I can’t believe it won’t matter to her.”
“Damn it, Lucy, I all but—”
Lucy whirled on him, her green skirts twirling about her ankles. “All but what? Have you admitted you care for her?”
“No.” He cursed under his breath.
Lucy shrugged one shoulder. “Can you stay away from her, then, Berkeley?”
“Yes,” Christian ground out through clenched teeth.
Maddeningly, Lucy studied her fingernails nonchalantly. “Very well, Viscount. Prove it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dinner had been served and consumed with gusto. Afterward, all of the guests had retreated to the drawing rooms and study to drink and play games. The sky was dark and the air cool when Christian went for another walk in the gardens. Thankfully, he was alone this time. But he was cursing himself unmercifully. It had taken him less than four hours. Less than four pathetic hours to admit that Lucy, that infernal meddler, had won. She was right. He couldn’t stay away from Sarah. He hadn’t seen her at dinner, but he had to speak to her. Alone.
A torchlight came bobbing toward him, and he soon recognized the form of Lord Owen Monroe heading his way. “Berkeley, there you are. I’ve been scouring the house for you.”
“If Lucy sent you, I don’t want—”
“Lucy? Why would Lucy send me?”
Christian’s eyes narrowed on Monroe. “Why did you come?”
“My, you’re suspicious tonight. I thought we patched things up between us back in Bath. Not to mention the shopping. Why, I’ve showed you how to tie a mathematical knot better than my valet. Doesn’t that deserve some loyalty?”
Christian expelled his breath. He scrubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “We did patch things up. My apologies, Monroe. I’m just a bit… on edge this evening.”
“Perfect, because it sounds as if you could use a drink, and that’s precisely why I came looking for you. I want to talk to you if you have a moment. Care for a drink?”
“No.” Christian usually wasn’t so blunt, but tonight all he wanted to do was find Sarah and—
“Yes, you do. Come on. We’ll go to the library. It’s nearly empty. We can toss Jane Upton out.”
Berkeley shook his head at Monroe’s audacity. Something told him he wasn’t going to win an argument with the man tonight. Besides, Christian couldn’t exactly hunt down Lady Sarah and charge into her bedchamber. No matter how much he’d like to. “Very well. Lead the way.”
Less than a quarter hour later, Christian was sitting in the otherwise empty library with a glass of port in his hand, watching as Monroe lit a cheroot.
“Father’s got some of the best wine in the country,” Owen said, leaning back against the large leather chair in which he sat. He slung a long leg over the arm of the chair. Monroe was anything but proper.
“It was good of your parents to agree to have the wedding here,” Christian said.
Monroe sucked on the end of the cheroot. “It was all Cass’s doing. She adores Daphne. Nearly as much as she adores Daphne’s brother, her husband.” He chuckled.
“Cass is one of the kindest people I ever met,” Christian replied. He spent a few silent moments contemplating the wine in his glass before he finally said, “Forgive my bluntness, but what did you want to speak with me about?”
Monroe took a long pull from his cheroot and blew the smoke into the air, making perfect rings. He remained splayed in a haphazard fashion across the chair. “I apologized for punching you when we were in Bath last autumn, Berkeley, but I wanted to tell you something else.”
Christian nodded. “Which is?”
“That I owe you a great deal.”
The hint of a smile touched Christian’s lips. “You owe me nothing.”
“On the contrary, I owe you everything—my happiness, at least. If you hadn’t been willing to pretend you were interested in Alex to make me jealous, I might never have come to my senses and declared myself. I was a damned fool.”
Christian took a long sip of port. Monroe was right. His father did have some damn fine wine. “As I said, you owe me nothing. It was all Lucy’s idea.”
