Scandal Amidst the Stacks (Dashing Rogues and Ruined Librarians #2)

Chapter One

Manchester Square

Marylebone, London

“Are you going to come over here and converse like a civilized person or are you going to continue to stand at the window, wishing your life away?”

Major Cornelius Montgomery grunted in response to his best friend’s complaint.

Johnathan Wilmington had always been the voice of reason between the two of them.

His hands were clasped behind his back as he, indeed, stood at the window of his drawing room, watching the light snow drift lazily down.

Though it was pretty to witness and it covered everything with a pristine blanket that blotted out the ugliness, it made daily life that much more difficult. “That depends.”

“On what?” The Earl of Birchfield had been his best friend since schooldays. Even when Cornelius had gone away to fight in the war against Napoleon in the theatres of India, and Johnathan’s military ambitions had taken him to Portugal, they’d remained in touch through letters.

“Whether you insist on drinking tea instead of brandy.” Now that he had returned from the battlefields with lasting scars, all he wanted was to be back among his men, fighting for a common cause, knowing that he’d at least done something of value at the end of the day.

But instead, he was in London, still trying to figure out how to live his life as a civilian instead of a military man.

Yes, he’d been able to rent a moderately sized townhouse in a decent section of Town—the only drawback being that it was quite near to the Seymour Street mews—but it suited his needs.

Occasionally, he took public speaking engagements to supplement the income from his pension, but none of it kept his attention or fulfilled him.

After a year and a half, the only thing he’d perfected was how to be a rake and entice various beautiful women into his bed.

And then never talk with them again.

Because I’m a damned prick.

The earl chuckled. “Tea or brandy, or brandy in the tea, it matters not.” He shook his head, and the candlelight gleamed off the strands of blond mixed in with the brown of his hair. “I merely came for the conversation. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

“Yes, well, since I’m not one for the Christmastide holidays, I kept to myself during those weeks, but then I found that hibernation is quite dull.

” He moved to the sideboard, plucked up a bottle of brandy and two cut-crystal glasses, and then brought them over to the furniture grouping where his best friend sat. “I also don’t care for my own company.”

“You are a miserable sot, aren’t you?” The earl took a glass from him and held it while Cornelius poured a generous measure of liquor into the vessel. “It’s a wonder any woman can stomach you, regardless.”

“My social skills are quite charming, thank you very much, and when I read women poetry, they swoon,” he said as he sank into a chair near the fireplace where cheerful flames danced behind an ornamental grate.

“Additionally, I only last month bought a closed carriage. Secondhand, but I still own it.” That made a difference.

Many military men didn’t have the means, and living in London was damned expensive.

“Also, my talent in carnal affairs is better than most.”

“Then what is the issue?” One of the earl’s eyebrows rose. “Besides sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.” Much. “I suppose you could say I’m suffering ennui regarding my life.

Everything has grown stale.” He shrugged then took a sip of the brandy.

As it burned all the way down his throat, he relished the odd pain.

“When I was in the military, I knew exactly where I was going and what I’d be doing every moment of the day.

Now? The days are endless. Full of… nothing of consequence. ”

“That’s understandable. I feel like that as well, and yes, I also miss my days in the military.

” He blew out a breath. “You and I are different, though, because I have the responsibilities to the title and to parliament.” Birchfield frowned into the depths of his glass.

“However, I should probably remind you that you aren’t getting any younger. Just turned forty, didn’t you?”

“Yes, with you coming up right behind me on that age.” After tossing back the remainder of his brandy, Cornelius swallowed then winced. “What are you driving at?”

“Well, Valentine’s Day is swiftly approaching, and that means there will be a plethora of romance-themed events over the next week or so where many eligible ladies are attending.

It would behoove the both of us to make plans to attend at least some of them.

” He heaved out a sigh. “My mother is constantly badgering me about my unmatched state and reminds me every week that I need an heir for the title.”

“Bah.” He shook his head. “Love. Something that was invented for fairy stories and to give women hope.”

“Because their reality is so horrid?” the earl asked in a soft voice.

“That is the way of things, I suppose.”

Birchfield frowned. “You truly don’t value women beyond what they can do for you in the bedroom?”

“Of course I do; I just don’t want to marry one of them regardless of what my own mother wishes.

” His father had expired while Cornelius had been on the march years ago, while his mother continued bravely on.

She resided in their family cottage in Berkshire, where she’d moved when his parents had married.

It was where she’d kept house and bore her two children.

Though his younger brother had died of a fever as a youth, she kept on as the typical Englishwoman with her head held high.

“I know Mama wants grandchildren, but I’m not convinced being domesticated is my path. ”

“Why? It is one does with one’s life.”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I fear I’ve been alone for far too long. I enjoy things just so.” With a warm and willing companion in his bed occasionally. A man had needs, after all.

“There is that, and no doubt being in the military has rattled your brain. Women aren’t keen to marry a broken man.”

“I hadn’t considered that, but yes, this is so.” Cornelius snorted. “What is your excuse?”

A bit of ruddy color rose up the earl’s neck. “Don’t be an arse, Major. I simply don’t wish to marry at this time.”

“Why? It’s not as if you’re a rake like me. Do you have a current mistress?”

“On and off. At Mrs. Simpkins’s whim, as it were. She is pouting just now because I wouldn’t buy her an emerald parure last week, and I said she won’t have it unless she does something to earn it.”

“Ah, now who is the arse?” Cornelius’s eyebrows rose in challenge.

“I deserve that.” Birchfield finished his brandy then exchanged the crystal tumbler for a porcelain cup of tea from the service on the low table nearby.

“However, I am not interested in marrying. Not because my mistress is so good, and not because I go from flower to flower as you do, but I came home from the war a changed man. Your mental state isn’t the only one a bit off, you see.

” He peered into his teacup. “My perspective has changed in many ways, and now my thinking is coming around to the fact that the English aristocracy is a joke and is rampantly unfair to everyone who isn’t titled. I want to change that.”

“Impressive.” And it took him by surprise. “I respect you for that, but you’re facing hills all the way up.”

“I know. I’m willing to put in the time and the fight in parliament to pass bills that will help… everyone.”

“If anyone can make a dent in the stodgy fixtures in the Lords, it’s you.

We’ll go out and celebrate.” While the earl had been sent to Portugal, Cornelius had gone to India.

His path had been slightly easier, but that didn’t mean he’d not been affected.

War was war, and it was hell on everyone.

“I believe I once told you that titled men think they’re better and they’re lazier than men who must hold a position for a living. ”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” The earl snorted in apparent amusement. “You think I’m lazy and entitled?”

“I do not. At least not any longer.” Sobering, he glanced at the window where the snow still drifted down. “You’ve changed. You’re more pensive, introspective, quiet. You don’t flaunt your title or your wealth and keep to yourself.”

Cornelius had a feeling he’d changed as well and just didn’t wish to admit it.

Birchfield nodded. “Is that a bad thing?”

“That depends.” He shrugged. “Are you suffering? Hurting silently?”

“Oh, Cornelius. It’s a day-to-day struggle, I think.” The earl frowned and shadows haunted his eyes. “Why aren’t you? I’ve found it is difficult to forget the horrors one has seen while in the service of the Crown.”

“I never said I wasn’t. I just bear that weight differently.

” Perhaps therein lay the problem. Is that why he insisted on playing the rake all the time when he derived no satisfaction in it, these days?

Is that why he was alone at such an advanced age, because he preferred his own company… and that of his demons?

A companionable silence descended on the room, broken only by the snap and hiss of the logs in the fire or the occasional clack of snowflakes against the window.

Eventually, Birchfield stirred, for they’d both been staring into the flames. “Would you like to talk about the things that changed you or still haunt you?”

“I do not.” For he feared that once those gates opened, the flood that would follow might prove messy and horrifying. “At least not right now. Do you?”

“No. It’s still too close to the surface. I haven’t properly sorted it all for my own liking.”

Cornelius nodded. “Fair enough.” Though eventually he hoped that something might prove a catalyst that would help to rid himself of the traumatic memories.

The earl frowned. “Why don’t you wish to marry, Major?”