James knocked back the last of his brandy and set the empty glass on top of the newspaper that had been lying on his desk for the past week. The headline still mocked him –Another one of Mrs. Lawson’s lovers revealed– but he got some satisfaction from all the ring stains he’d left on the paper since he’d started using it as a coaster.
Damn Cloverfield.
When James first learned of the lies the bastard had spewed toTheMayfair Chronicle, he’d been ready to march on over to Cloverfield House and knock the sod’s block off. Thank God Michael had managed to talk him out of it, though the quarrel that ensued had not been helpful. Now Michael was gone – off to spend some time away from his grouchy father. James knew it was probably for the best. Michael had a new job he needed to concentrate on, but James still missed him. He missedher.
Huffing a breath, he scrubbed his palm across his jaw and felt the bristles. It was past time for a shave and a bath, not to mention a change of clothes. He could probably do with a haircut too, but he just couldn’t seem to make the effort.
Wearily, he glanced at the papers and files comprising the brief he’d accepted after returning to Town. It pertained to the theft of some silverware from Sir Walter Bannon’s household, for which the housekeeper had been arrested. A solicitor friend of James’s had brought the case to him after James had mentioned a keen desire to bury himself in work.
Since Cloverfield’s statement however, Sir Bannon had requested a new barrister. James was supposed to return the files he’d been given no later than this afternoon. Which was just as well really. Reading statements and compiling evidence against a woman whose guilt would be hard to prove held little appeal. He’d much rather spend his energy on an entirely different project.
A knock at the front door caught his attention. He muttered a curse and thought of telling Atkins not to answer. But it was too late. Voices already sounded and then Atkins entered his study. “Mr. Grier and Mr. West are here to see you, sir. Should I show them in?”
James gave his butler a weary nod. Not because he felt like the company but because he knew his friends would not let up until they’d seen him. Best get it over with then. “Please do.”
“Are you aware you’ve got pipes strewn about your hallway?” Grayson asked once he and Colin had finished greeting James.
“They’re not strewn about,” James said. “They’re neatly stacked.”
Colin frowned while giving James an uncomfortable head to toe perusal. “You look like a heathen.”
“I’ve not been out in a while,” James said. He’d not really thought much of his rolled up shirt sleeves, the lack of cravat, or the fact that he wore no shoes, until this very moment. “Thought I might as well be comfortable.”
Colin snorted and went to pour himself a brandy. He offered one to Grayson as well, who refused. “The scandal surrounding you and Mrs. Lawson will pass, old chap. These things always do.”
“What prompted Cloverfield to make such an outrageous statement anyway?” Colin asked. “I mean, we both know how much you loathe the woman, so the duke must truly have it in for you if he’s prepared to make such incredulous claims.”
James snatched up his glass and went to refill it. He took a fortifying sip and savored the burn as the spicy liquid slid down his throat. “I do not loathe her. In fact, it will likely shock you to know that I’ve…”
“What?” Grayson asked when James hesitated.
How to answer without implying more than what was proper? James shifted his gaze from one friend to the other. “Mrs. Lawson’s daughter eloped with Michael while I was off visiting Clarington House. We tracked them down together, during which she and I became…friends.”
Silence. Thick and suffocating. And then, “You tupped her, didn’t you?”
“Damnit, Grayson,” James growled.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” Colin said. He held up his hands and backed up a step. “She’s definitely the tupping sort, but—”
“Say one more thing against her and I’ll strike that grin off your face,” James growled.
“Oh God,” Grayson groaned. He added a dramatic sigh and eye-roll. “He’s in love.”
“Huh.” Colin tilted his head and studied James as if he were some rare artifact that defied the laws of nature. “Well, I suppose that explains all those pipes in the hallway. From what I hear, people do the strangest things when they fancy themselves in love.”
“I don’t fancy myself being anything,” James said. He took a deep breath and expelled it. “Truth is, I completely misjudged her and now…” He shook his head.
“Now what?” Colin pressed.
“Shush. Let him speak,” Grayson said.
James sank into a nearby chair and considered his friends – men he’d known most of his life. He’d fought by their side, shared the death of a brother-in-arms with them, bared his soul to them during his troubles with Clara. No one knew or understood him better than they did, not even Michael. “I’m smitten with her. Completely enamored. Ironically, she’s still emotionally attached to Mr. Hewitt.”
“You’re certain of this?” Grayson asked with clear disbelief.
“She told me she loves him,” James said and promptly took another sip of his brandy to wash down the bitter taste those words left in his mouth. He knew there was a distinction between loving someone and being in love with them, as Michael had put it, though it hardly mattered which sentiment she harbored for Mr. Hewitt when she’d not shown James either emotion.
“Odd, in light of the lengths he went to in order to rid himself of her,” Colin murmured. He frowned. “One would think a woman would hate a man for airing her personal indiscretions in public.”
