Chapter 16
This was just one reason why Hart had never owned a home. The people who wanted to visit were all better off not having an address for him.
“You may tell the duke that I will see him in the drawing room.” He reached out and caught William’s arm as he turned away. “Wait. It wouldn’t do for him to discover Miss St. Briac here. Find something to keep him occupied until I can see her safely away.”
William nodded, and for a moment his clear gray eyes seemed to penetrate Hart’s conscience. “Why not send the young lady out the garden door? I shall bring the phaeton round to the mews and drive her home while you converse with His Grace.”
I deserve to burn in hell, Hart thought. “Yes, yes. Thank you, William.”
The last thing he wanted to do was meet with his damned brother, who was the unknowing cause of all his problems. Reentering the darkened library, Hart told himself it would be better if he had never met Emeline.
His life had been unmanageable since the day Justin St. Briac brought him to the little house on Chesterfield Street.
Emeline was coming toward him, her gown set to rights and her hat neatly replaced atop her ebony curls. She had the bearing of a queen. “I must go, Hart.”
She hates me, he thought with acid satisfaction. It’s better that way. “I’ll take you through the garden and—”
“I know, I heard.” She was arranging the little cape across her slim shoulders. “Don’t worry, I understand completely.”
“No, you do not. The truth is that William saved you from utter ruin. I tried to tell you that you should not be here, alone with me, but you refused to listen.”
Even as he spoke, Hart heard his brother’s voice outside on Wigmore Street.
“I find this conversation quite tiresome,” Emeline said with admirable control, adding as she started toward the door, “Perhaps when next we meet, you will be saner.”
He wanted to shake her, but there was no time. “Curse it, Emeline, this is who I am.”
She turned back and gave him a keen look. “Is it?”
Unable to reply, Hart lightly took her arm and led her through to the drawing room, which opened onto the back garden.
The elegant room held only two pieces of furniture: a newly acquired settee upholstered in royal blue velvet and Hart’s cherished square piano, shrouded in a holland cover against the far wall.
It was the first possession he had acquired when he left Oxford and came into some funds of his own, and it had just arrived from storage that morning.
As they passed, Emeline looked toward the covered piano, but before she could speak, Monte appeared at the French doors, barking as if he hadn’t seen them for years.
“Ah, there is your devoted friend,” Hart said.
He opened the glass door, but Monte bustled over to him first, rising up on his stubby back legs. “No, I didn’t forget about you,” he told the dog with mock severity. “Come in.”
He was saved from any further conversation with Emeline by the sight of William, who waved from the far side of the garden, near the mews.
“I shall be on my way then,” she said in her usual forthright manner, and reached out to shake his hand. “It was a lovely afternoon. Thank you so much.”
Hart had time only to utter a parting word or two before she started off, briskly crossing the neat garden. He thought he saw her give William a friendly smile, as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened so short a time ago.
There was nothing for it now but to go and find his brother.
“I hope you realize that this is all your fault,” Hart admonished Monte as they walked together toward the front of the house. “If your behavior at the Pulteney had not been so disreputable, none of this would be happening!”
The dog jumped up and yipped, as if receiving words of high praise.
“Ah, there you are,” Austell exclaimed as the pair entered the stair hall. “I hope you don’t mind. Your man asked me to wait on that bench by the door, but I heard your voice and felt certain you wouldn’t mind if I came forward.”
As they met in the center of the empty hall, Hart noted that his brother was clad in a moss green frock coat with a velvet collar, and his black silk cravat was set off by a large pearl stickpin.
However, in spite of his expensive attire, Austell appeared thinner and more worn than just a few days ago.
Hart extended his hand. “Are you well?”
“Haven’t been quite myself, but no doubt it will pass. By Jove, I’d rather talk about this house! Could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw your phaeton outside. Now that Lady Valencia means to wed that wealthy cit, has she offered this house to you?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.” Gesturing toward Monte, who was exploring the perimeter of the room, he added, “I happen to have this dog, and the dog needs a garden.”
“But how absurd!” Laughing, Austell seemed to relax.
He looked all around the stair hall, up the steps, then into the shadowed library.
“You have avoided owning a home in London for more than a decade! Do you expect me to believe that you will finally put down roots because of a dog?” Raising his monocle, he surveyed Monte.
“Why the devil do you have this mongrel to begin with, Jasper? He don’t look like much. ”
“You’re quite right. He lacks breeding, good looks, and manners.” Hart shrugged. “But I promised a friend he would not be put back out on the street.”
“Promised a friend?” Austell echoed in disbelief. “Who the deuce could that be?”
“Never mind.” Hart waved this away. “More to the point, I have just taken possession of this residence. It is empty; clearly not yet fit for guests—especially not dukes. I suggest that, unless you have a matter of importance to discuss with me, we both go on our way and meet again at a later date.”
Austell was not so easily fobbed off. Looking around again, he marveled, “Nothing at all in the place? Not even a spot of brandy to quench a fellow’s thirst?”
Forcing back a sigh, Hart gestured toward the broad stone stairs leading to the upper stories. “If you aren’t too exalted to take a seat on those steps, I’ll bring you a brandy.”
With that, he went into the library, trying not to look at the place where he had ravished Emeline a short while ago. Still, her faint scent assailed him, and he couldn’t suppress the memory of her in his arms, hungrily kissing him back, opening her thighs to welcome his touch…
Groaning, he grabbed the bottle and glass from the empty bookshelf and returned to his brother. “I do happen to have this brandy.” Hart proffered the bottle. “And one glass.”
“Capital,” Austell approved, accepting the glass and taking several swallows.
Hart resisted the temptation to drink from the bottle. Instead he sat down beside his brother and looked over at him. “Was there something you wished to discuss with me?”
“Now that you mention it, I wanted to ask you about the excavation at Amity Park. Word has it that fellow Cartwright has found all manner of Viking treasures and that you were at the unveiling party! And they say you’ve been sighted in the Reading Room at the British Museum. What’s it all about?”
“I’ve developed an interest in archaeology,” Hart replied in an offhand tone. “So many intriguing discoveries are being made all over the world.”
At this, Austell became animated. “I might have known you would be up to the mark on the latest craze, brother. You always have had the most obscure interests!”
“Thank you,” Hart replied dryly. Across the stair hall, Monte was lying on his side, sound asleep on the stone floor.
“The on dit is that Melford has discovered some valuable treasures. Have you seen them? I wonder what he will get for them! I heard that there are collectors on the Continent willing to pay huge sums for such antiquities.”
Hart decided to cut to the heart of the matter. “Do you ask because you are still on the brink of ruin? I had hoped that situation might be sorting itself out.”
“I…do hope that is the case, but I fear otherwise.” Growing even paler, Austell drank down the brandy.
“I hope you know, you can trust me with the truth,” Hart said quietly. “We are brothers.”
Sudden tears shone in Austell’s brown eyes. “In spite of everything…I suppose that is still true.”
“Most certainly.” Unwelcome feelings stirred inside Hart as he patted his brother’s arm. “Kindly enlighten me.”
“It is that fellow St. Briac.” Austell put a hand on his own chest as he drew a breath.
“You will recall that I invested in his steamship enterprise, but I never told you I also had to borrow from him to raise the blunt for a proper stake. I know that must sound mad to you, but I was certain my share would quickly be returned many times over.”
Hart wondered what rumors had reached Austell’s ears. St. Briac had promised not to break the bad news to the duke as long as Hart helped him with Emeline, but perhaps the Frenchman couldn’t be trusted after all! Calmly, he replied, “Have you heard otherwise?”
“Not precisely. But yesterday, when I encountered St. Briac at White’s and asked whether I have yet seen a profit, he put me off.
Made an appointment for me to come to his offices next week.
” Austell looked as if he might be sick.
“What if there has a been a change in the company’s fortunes and my debt has increased, instead of the other way round?
He’ll expect me to mortgage one of my properties!
And Margaret… I vow, if she learns how I have mucked it up, she’ll never allow me in her bed again—and then I shall never have an heir! ”
With forced calm, Hart said, “You are too far out in front.”
“I haven’t slept in three days,” confessed his brother.
He wanted to simply give Austell the funds to set things right, but he well knew that would only add to his brother’s mental suffering. After a moment, he offered in a neutral tone, “If I can help in any way, do not hesitate to ask.”