Gavin rolled his eyes heavenward. “Lord, I’m begging you. Have I not been punished enough in this life? Did you need to surround me with madmen and madwomen, too?”
She kicked him in the shins with her slipper-shod foot, a gesture that was at odds with the genteel ladylike vision she presented—a pale-ivory muslin gown to her favored breeches, her hair styled in elegant perfection, jewels at her throat.
“Whilst you’ve got the Lord’s ear, mayhap you should ask him why you’re being such an idiot,” Gen told him.
“I’mbeing an idiot? You’re the one who had your own brother get soused and then had him tied to a goddamn drawing room chair.”
Her brows rose. “Oh, Gav. I’d not be using the Lord’s name in vain if I were you. You were just having a dialogue with him. And who says I’m the one who had you get soused? I did not join you and our other brothers last night.”
“But if you know of it, and if I woke to find myself tied to one of your damned drawing room chairs, then you are indeed a part of this nonsensical plan.”
When he managed to find his way out of this bloody drawing room, he was going to box his sister’s ears. Or insist she name her firstborn son after him. Now that he thought upon it, the latter held some merit. Fancy that, a future duke named after an East End bastard prizefighter.
“How is keeping you from getting yourself killed a nonsensical plan?” she asked calmly.
“You should trust me to take action on my own instead of abducting me and hiding me in a drawing room. From the moment I returned to the bloody family flock and learned the truth of what had happened, I have been thinking of nothing other than what I can do to end this before anyone else is hurt.”
That was not entirely true. He had also been thinking of Caro.
Endlessly.
But he was not about to admit that to his sister now.
Gen frowned at him. “Your solution is to dangle yourself as a lure to that murderous bastard?”
“If Jones wants me dead, let him have a chance at it,” he said calmly. “Far better me than anyone else.”
“No.” Gen shook her head vehemently. “We are not allowing you to put yourself in danger again.”
“Who the devil iswe?” he demanded.
“Your family who loves you,” was her stubborn reply.
“Gen, you’ve got to let me go,” he said, trying for reason.
“No, I do not. We have all decided this is the best course. You will remain here until you are no longer a threat to yourself.”
“Tied to a bleeding chair?” he shouted. “Genevieve Winter, I demand you cease this nonsense!”
“I am no longer Genevieve Winter,” she reminded him calmly, “and I am not going to listen to you, either. We almost lost you once, Gav, and we’re not about to lose you again.”
With that pronouncement, Gen turned on her heel and began making her exit, enough airs on display to rival a queen. She stopped at the threshold, glancing back at him. “I’ll send a footman along soon.”
Damn it to hell.
“I’m not going to piss in a chamber pot with the help of one of your servants, Gen.”
She ignored him and slipped from the room.
“Gen!” he hollered after her. “Gen, curse your hide, come back here!”
But his cries went unheeded.
If he wanted to get himself out of this latest scrape, he was going to have to bloody well take action.
* * *
Gavin had been tiedto the damned chair for what seemed like an eternity.
