Page 92 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Yes. And when I find him, I’m going to kill the bastard.”

“Naturally,” Marcus murmured with a sigh, and stood up. “I believe this conversation requires something stronger than tea.” He went to a small table and opened the door of the cabinet beneath it. He returned carrying a bottle.

“Why is there a bottle of brandy hidden in a cabinet in the drawing room?” Sloane asked.

“Well, it’s a bit of a nuisance, you see, having to pick that lock on your liquor cabinet every time. More convenient in here.”

“I don’t know why I bother.”

“Frankly, my boy, neither do I.” Marcus poured a generous dollop of brandy into each of their cups, then took a sip. “Ah, much better. Now...who is it you’re going to murder?”

“The man who’s been threatening Annabeth.”

“I see. That’s good.”

Sloane shrugged. “Or I’ll just turn him over to Asquith, which is probably worse than death, anyway.”

“But rather more humane than giving him to Lady Lockwood.”

Sloane smiled faintly. “Yes. Death by Petunia. What a fate.”

“But I fail to see what chasing him has to do with this ‘clean cut’ from Annabeth,” Marcus said after a moment. “I was under the impression that the two of you were together again. Wedding bells and all that.”

“Your impression was wrong,” Sloane said flatly.

Marcus heaved a sigh. “What excuse did you find this time?”

“Excuse?” Sloane’s eyebrows soared and he leaned forward combatively. “You think I don’t want to marry her? That I wouldn’t give anything to marry her?”

“Well, yes, since you aren’t—speaks for itself, really.”

Sloane made a noise of disgust and surged to his feet, beginning to pace. “I can’t marry Annabeth. It’s obvious to everyone but you and her.”

“So the lady didn’t reject your proposal.”

“No. I didn’t propose.”

“Mmm. That might be your problem right there.”

“Oh, stop making jests.”

“One rather has to when someone is doing something as idiotic as you are.”

“I’m the only sensible one in this. Annabeth says she doesn’t care about scandal, doesn’t care about her name or the ton or anything else.”

“Neither do you,” Marcus pointed out.

“Yes, but she hasn’t experienced it yet—she thinks it will be fine. She tells me I’m just scared. Scared, mind you. She says she won’t miss the parties. Her family will stick by her. Her grandmother will weather the storm.”

“She’s right about that. Lady Lockwood’s more likely to create a storm than be blown over by it. The thing is, don’t you think Annabeth should decide what she wants or doesn’t want?”

“Of course she should. But I don’t want her to wake up in two years and realize what a mistake she’s made. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t understand the sort of life I lead, the kind of man I am now. I bribe officials. I pay constables and magistrates to turn a blind eye. I may not be doing the crimes that occur in and around my taverns, but we all know those crimes go on there. I am disreputable. And I have enemies. They can attack her through me.”

“I can see your point.” Marcus nodded. “Too bad there isn’t someone around clever enough to change things.”

Sloane stopped his pacing to glare at his father. “It’s too dangerous. Something could happen to her.”

“Something can always happen to people. Annabeth could get run over by a carriage tomorrow, whether you stay or go. Love is a risk. Marriage is a risk. You’re just too frightened to take it. Annabeth is right.”