“Have our guest escorted into my study, Higgins,” he said tightly.
The valet frowned. “But Your Grace, the Royal Gala–”
“I should only be a minute or two. If I’m in there any longer, kindly find a pistol and shoot me with it.” He paused. “Actually, don’t do that. Don’t want to ruin the jacket. Shoot the other fellow instead. Just in the leg or the arm. But not an artery, Higgins. We don’t him to bleed out on the carpet. Can you imagine the stain?”
“I can assure you that I have excellent aim, Your Grace.”
Sterling sighed. “Of course you do, Higgins.”
“I can always have him sent away,” the valet offered. “You are due to be at Miss Stanhope’s residence in less than half an hour.”
“A minute, Higgins,” he said grimly. “That’s all I will need.”
It was what happenedafterthat minute was over that worried him the most. Undoubtedly, this was going to be the most significant test of his soberness yet. And on tonight, of all nights. When he’d nothing to do but, oh, he didn’t know…escort his fiancée and her fire-breathing grandmother to the biggest social event he’d attended in over a year. Where every eye and monocle in England was going to be trained on him, wondering if he reallywascapable of murder…or if his becoming engaged to a quiet, perfectly mannered (except for the squirrel) wallflower was a sign that the rumors of his misdeeds and poor behavior had been greatly exaggerated.
No pressure.
No pressure at all.
With Kincaid away and Rosemary providing a lovely distraction, he’d almost let himself forget why he’d needed to repair his reputation in the first place. But now that Parliament was in session, time was of the essence. If felony charges were brought against him for Eloise’s murder, he’d be marched in front of the House of Lords. And wouldn’tthatbe a spectacle.
Given the lack of a body, or any true confirmation that Eloise was even dead, a guilty verdict would be exceedingly hard to come by. But he didn’t want to allow his future to be decided by his peers, of all people. God knew they needed a committee just to figure out what wig to put on. Which was why he needed to convince the lot of them that he was a glowing paragon of virtue. Next best thing to a saint, really.
Short of wearing a halo atop his head, he needed to put on the performance of a lifetime at the Royal Gala. No debauchery. No fornication. No drinking. All of his favorite pastimes were, well, things of the past.
Coincidentally, that was precisely where his guest had come to visit him from.
“Lord Fieldstone,” he drawled as he strolled into his study and closed the door behind him with a nudge of his heel. “What brings you to darken my door?”
In the six years since Fieldstone had shaken Sterling awake on that tragic morning, the two men, once best mates, had adhered to an unspoken agreement of avoidance.
There was no anger between them.
No grudge.
Rather, they’d stayed apart because neither had wanted to be reminded of what they’d both tried so damned hard to forget.
The smell of smoke in the air.
The sight of blood, red and wet.
The taste of desperation and fear.
When his throat tightened, Sterling blindly swiped a crystal decanter off a nearby shelf. His entire arm trembling, he poured water into a glass and drank it straight to the bottom, then made himself meet Fieldstone’s somewhat baffled gaze.
“Spirits don’t seem to agree with me anymore. Or maybe they agreed with me too much.” His mouth bent in a wry grin. “Either way, I’ve given them up.”
“I wanted to come and offer my congratulations on your engagement.” Despite the levity of his words, Fieldstone’s countenance was somber, his brown eyes serious. “Miss Stanhope is an unusual choice for a bride. But I can see that her company must suit you, as you haven’t looked in such good health since…” Averting his gaze, he trailed off.
In the tense silence that followed, Sterling refilled his glass with more water. “Since Sebastian died, you mean.” To his surprise, that particular knife didn’t cut nearly as deep as he’d been expecting. “It’s all right. You can say it. You were there, the same as I.”
“To this day, I wish that we’d gotten there soon enough to stop it.”
“So do I,” he said simply. “But that’s not how it works, is it?”
Fieldstone furrowed his brow.
“What?”
