Chapter Twenty-Three
Wylder
One more whisky wouldn’t hurt.
That’s what Wylder told himself as he downed the dregs remaining in the glass and poured another.
The library was quiet, other than the sounds of the decanter clinking against the edge of the crystal tumbler. Closing his eyes, he swallowed the liquor and took a deep breath. The liquid burned his chest but that was inconsequential to the ache suffusing his entire body.
He’d been drinking since leaving Emily’s room an hour before, and he would likely keep drinking for a good time to come. Maybe even until morning.
Goddamn it, I’ve made a mess of things.
The soft click of the door opening alerted Wylder that he was no longer alone.
Squinting at the intruder, he relaxed upon seeing it was Lucien but then Simon was right behind the man.
Wylder tensed again, wondering if perhaps someone had seen him storming out of Emily’s rooms. How the hell would he explain his presence there?
“You left in the middle of the game and disappeared,” Simon accused, stepping to the fireplace and leaning an arm against the carved marble mantel.
“My head wasn’t in it,” Wylder grumbled, his shoulders drooping with unspoken relief. If Simon had any inkling that he’d spent time with Emily, he’d already be facing the round end of a pair of dueling pistols.
Lucien picked up a tumbler from the sidebar. Taking the decanter from Wylder, the earl poured himself a healthy dash of whisky and took a sip.
“Drinking will not help, my friend,” he murmured, green eyes narrowing with speculation as he stared at Wylder.
“It certainly won’t hurt,” Wylder snapped back.
“What the devil has you all in a tangle?” Simon asked, his expression puzzled. “You’ve been behaving strangely since the day you arrived here.”
Wylder debated even answering Simon’s question. Everything was wrong, but there was no way in hell he could, or even should, explain it to his friends.
“I worry this plan you have developed to regain my fortune will collapse,” he finally managed.
“I worry that my father will succeed in losing our estates and I will be left penniless. He won’t even need to follow through on his recurring threat to disown me if I do not marry because there will be nothing left to inherit. ”
Simon snorted in disbelief. “Impossible. It’s a solidly developed plan, and it will not fail, Wylder. But something else is worrying you, I think.”
“There is the pressure to hunt for a bride. It is stomach-turning.” Wylder took a gulp of whisky. “And it is just one of many things on my mind recently.”
Simon waved a hand in dismissal. “But that is nothing but a charade. No sense in turning yourself inside out over something that will never take place. I’ve concluded that I, too, must play the damned game.
” His smile was faint as his stare returned to the fire.
Contemplating the flickering flames, he said nonchalantly, “Why do you think I’ve been dancing attendance with Penelope True?
She’s a mousy little thing, but whenever I engage the girl in one-sided conversations, my mother’s eyes light up as though she’s anticipating the arrival of her first grandchild. ”
“Have you actually looked at Miss True? She’s quite lovely.” Lucien plopped into a chair opposite Wylder, his gaze steady as he regarded Simon.
“Beauty hardly matters if the girl is as dull as a coal shuttle,” Simon replied loftily, although a muscle in his jaw ticked as if he were internally protesting his own callous statement.
“Are you implying you are simply playing with Miss True?” Wylder’s heart unexpectedly stirred with pity for Emily’s best friend. He glared at Simon. “I’ve never known you to be intentionally cruel, Simon. From what I see, she is a sweet thing and undeserving of such actions.”
Simon frowned. “If she is so compelling, you should pursue her, Wylder. Come to think of it, I’ve not witnessed you hunting a bride since you made the arrangement with your father and came to me for help. If it is all for show, shouldn’t you at the very least make the effort?”
Lucien sighed and sipped his whisky. “If either one of you could possibly imagine the joys of marriage to the right woman, you would not waste time snapping at each other. And if my opinion still matters with either of you, I agree with Wylder on this, Simon. She’s a close friend of your own sister.
Perhaps you should not use the convenience of that acquaintance so casually. ”
Simon’s laugh was harsh as he shook his head in disbelief.
“What the devil is the matter with you both? We are the Rakehells of Mayfair, or have you forgotten that small detail? We are unapologetic. Headstrong. And spectacularly selfish in pursuing our desires and interests. We gamble too much. Practice what polite society deems depraved, and seek out women to engage with for that singular purpose. Lucien, I’ll forgive your show of unabashed sentiment.
After all, you are newlywed and still caught up in the rosy glow of that particular brand of bliss.
And Charlotte is a beautiful wife… obviously, she accepts you as you are, since you’ve not sought the services of previous lovers.
For God’s sake, man. You’ve not once visited The Scarlett Petticoat since finding her in the wilds of the English countryside.
” Simon’s hard, green gaze narrowed on Wylder, who steeled himself for the derision.
Damn it to hell, if Simon did not curb his own tongue Wylder was bound to do it for him.
He held his temper for the moment, realizing it was prudent to remain silent.
“But you, Wylder.” Simon’s head cocked as he studied his friend.
“You’ve become a mystery to me, and I don’t understand the shift.
You and I are in similar positions. Our fathers have pushed us to marry, but neither one of us wants that noose around our necks.
So, we must appease them without the commitment.
” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
“You and I have always desired the same things and the freedom to do them. Lately, you have not shown the same enthusiasm, and I find myself wondering if your goals have changed. I suspect you’ve not taken a woman to your bed in weeks, and it’s a fact you declined the use of the whores at The Grinning Cockrel that night in London. Why is that?”
“My intimate relations are hardly your business, Simon.” Wylder stood up from his chair, bowing slightly at the waist to his friends. “I will bid you both good night.”
“Why don’t you admit that something has changed, Wylder?” Simon demanded, pushing off from his stance by the fireplace. “You’ve changed. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with him,” Lucien abruptly interjected, coming to stand between the two men. “Let it go, Simon.”
“It’s bad enough that we’ve lost you, Lucien,” Simon slowly drawled. “But if Wylder defects, then the Rakehells are done.”
“Would that be such a terrible thing?” Wylder muttered, frustrated by Simon’s dogged pursuit of the subject.
“The only woman I’ve noticed you paying any mind to is my sister.”
The room became deadly silent as Wylder’s gaze met Simon’s. He wasn’t sure if the other man could see the truth in his eyes, but Wylder purposefully kept his expression blank. Tension stretched and vibrated until Wylder’s sharp exhale shattered it into a million pieces.
“You know how I feel about Emily. But our friendship prevents me from courting her, and you know that, too.”
Simon’s eyes flared with immediate heat. He stared at Wylder, studying him intently, obviously searching for a flicker of guilt. Suspicion rolled off him in waves. It was so strong that even Lucien seemed taken aback. Frowning, he moved so that he firmly placed himself between the two men.
“Have you touched her?” Simon hissed. “Bloody hell, Wylder. She’s my damned sister. How many times must I remind you of that?”
“I realize that.” Wylder was determined not to incriminate himself or Emily.
Although she had insisted their unorthodox affair was at its end, he wasn’t sure if even she believed it.
He calmly returned Simon’s glare, willing his emotions to subside before he crumbled and shouted his love for Emily Blackthorne to the very rooftops.
And he did love her. With every breath of his soul and beat of his heart, he loved her.
But do you love her enough?
Wylder ruthlessly shut down his internal dialogue before it could go any further.
“Simon… the hour grows late, and obviously we’ve had our share of spirits this evening. Let us put this aside for now, and you can speak of it when you each have clearer heads,” Lucien quietly urged, using the subtle force of a hand on Simon’s shoulder to force more space between the two men.
Simon moved back, surprisingly conceding to Lucien’s suggestion. But still, his blue eyes narrowed on Wylder, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rough with conviction.
“If you have compromised her, Wylder, I swear I will follow through on my promise I made years ago. I will demand satisfaction in the only acceptable manner available for gentlemen like us.”