“Well enough.”
“And have you yet won over a new posse of admirers in Scotland since leaving your London ones behind?”
This was a particular favorite topic of his. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do not be so callous—you should not resent the attention I receive simply because people find you intolerable.”
An unpleasant smile lifted one corner of his well-shaped lips, and he began to circle her. “I’ve a list of dozens of admirers who would say otherwise.”
“Fortune-hunters willing to overlook a vile disposition for a bit of coin,” she bit out.
“And you are claiming you are any different? Any better than they are?” He scoffed. “Do not claim that you would be willing to settle for the right title, for the right amount of pin money in your purse each month.”
“I would not.”
“Somehow, I do not believe that. In fact, I have the distinct impression that you would do just about anything, so long as the man gave you his undivided attention. You always did so love being the center of the world.”
Tears of anger stung her eyes. “You are disgustingly condescending,” Clara snarled. “And I demand you stop treating me and speaking to me as if I were a child—you and Dori are guilty of it. I am not stupid. I am not vapid. People generally consider me to be adelight. So why in the world must you treat me so poorly? Can you see that I have grown up? As such, I deserve the respect I am due.” Clara was proud that her voice did not waver even once.
Brinley’s lips tilted in a frigid smile that did nothing to defrost his eyes. “You are correct,” he whispered harshly, raking her with his gaze. “You are no girl at all, but a woman, grown. How foolish of me.” Suddenly, he closed the remaining space between them and captured her lips with such possessive swiftness that she was given no time to think or react. The kiss was all lips and tongue and teeth…and surprisingly, mind-meltingly good. She’d never been kissed like that before, with such forceful desire, such passion. It was all she could do not to catch fire and dissolve into ash right then and there.
When he did finally wrench himself away, Clara blinked up at him a moment before she slapped the satisfied look right off his face.
“What was that?” he demanded, wincing and holding his cheek.
“I should ask you the same thing!” she answered, pressing her fingertips to her lips as her brain fought to catch up to the events that had transpired so suddenly.
Had that really just happened?
Brinley seemed not the least bit contrite; in fact, he almost seemed as confused as she—as if he’d wound up at a destination he’d never intended.
She’d tasted the spirits on his tongue, and Clara wondered if the drink was to blame. Still, the impulse had to have been there in the first place for the inebriation to make it a reality, wouldn’t it?
Clara gripped the back of a nearby chair to steady her knees; Brinley cleared his throat and stepped away, turning from her and picking up his glass once more.
“Do not tell your brother about that. He’ll likely call me out, and I’ve neither the head nor the skill for duels.” He poured another generous splash of spirits into his glass.
“That is it? That is all you are going to say about what you just did?”
Brinley cocked a brow. “Contrary to what you’re thinking in that naïve skull of yours, I did not come here to accost you. Sometimes, lapses in judgment happen.” He sipped his drink, eyeing her over the rim.
“Then why did you come? You are no friend of Amelia’s, and I certainly would not count you as one of mine.”
“You wound me,” he mocked. “In addition to this being a natural byway on my way to a meeting, I am also brimming with morbid curiosity. I’d half expected the castle to be burned to the ground before my arrival. Seeing your brother in such relatively good health tells me his seduction of his formerobject d’amouris likely going quite well.”
Clara was stunned not only by what he’d said, but the nonchalance with which he’d said it. “Wh—What did you say?”
“I seem to have said too much, damn this drink,” he said, none-too-contritely.
“What did you say?” she demanded again, insisting he focus. She clutched his arm through his coat. He stared at her fingers, but she couldn’t discern if he was confused by the contact or annoyed by the fact that she was wrinkling the fabric. “What is Dorian doing?” she pressed. “You cannot be insinuating that this entire trip was some disgusting scheme?” All the scenes from the past few weeks passed through her memory—all the meals, rides, laughter, all the time spent with Archie; had it all been a farce? She’d never have believed her brother could be capable of such deception.
“Little Clara,” Brinley began, more pitying than condescending, which was a change. “Did you truly believe they’d reconciled?”
“But, Dorian is not like that. He wouldn’t—”
“You did not see the worst of it,” he cut her off. “You were too young to truly notice, thank God. He nearly drank himself to death. Nothing I could do or say helped. I saved him several times from the gutter, lying ill and disoriented. Hegave up. If you think a man such as he could forget what she’d done—how she’d broken him and then spat upon the detritus when she went and accepted another offer of marriage so soon… He didn’t leave the whorehouse, he chose to live in a drink- and sex-fueled haze, rather than face a world in which she bore another man’s child.”
Clara considered his crass words, a nauseous lump settling deep in the pit of her stomach. She remembered Dorian had been heartbroken and that he’d disappeared for long periods of time, but he’d spared her the true extent of his grief. Could it have really driven him to do something so cruel as to seek revenge upon Amelia by tricking her into believing he wished toreconcile? That did not sound at all like the brother she knew…but what if it really was his nature? She shook her head in denial.
“Believe you me,” Brinley said, removing himself from her fingers and finishing his drink, “it is the truth. I did not care for the plan, but if it brings him closure and he feels the reparations for what happened, who are we to be able to dissuade him? Grief can drive a man to do terrible things; it clouds his judgement; it makes normally level-headed men irrational.” He offered her a sad smile at her horrified expression and said, “Sweet Clara. Youdidsay you no longer wished to be treated like a child.”
