Chapter 13
UNANNOUNCED VISITOR
The morning light streamed through the windows, making the dust floating in the air flicker like gold.
But Brandon had no intention of going poetic this morning.
He was still processing the information that Marigold had given him about Johnny’s gang.
His coffee had gone cold about an hour ago, and he had not touched it.
He pretended for a while now that his mind was occupied regarding the gangs, the docks, and the men he was looking for. He also pretended that all his attention was on his wall, yet his eyes and mind kept drifting to the couch.
“Hell!” he hissed under his breath.
Because that’s precisely where he felt he was ever since Marigold’s sounds echoed in this study. Brandon ran his hand over his face and then went to the window. This was not supposed to happen. This was a simple transaction, and somehow, he managed to botch it.
Why did it have to be that brave, brilliant, beautiful human who held all this information? Anyone else, any other lady of the ton, would be more interested in gowns and jewels and hairstyles than of a patch of land to work with her hands and wouldn’t have stirred the same reaction in him.
“Focus!” he chastised himself.
Just as he was about to throw himself back into the research, he heard an unusual sound. A giggle. His staff rarely indulged in such frivolity. They were too proper and too intimidated by him. And yet someone was laughing. More precisely, it sounded like a chorus of feminine giggles.
Brandon threw his pen on the table. There was only one person in the whole world who could have such an effect in his own household. He opened the door and made his way to the drawing room.
“And I said to him that proper is a matter of perspective.” A warm and teasing manly voice was heard from the drawing room out the hallway.
Brandon’s jaw tightened. He knew that voice.
Though it had changed a lot over the past ten years, he had been hearing that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.
But even if he didn’t recognize the words, the way the maid went out of the drawing room, giggling with her cheeks blushing, would have betrayed the identity of the mystery man. Brandon knew exactly who it was. Owen.
He strode towards the drawing room, his footsteps heavy on the marble floor. The giggles had stopped, but there was a bout of laughter that reached his ears. He almost stopped in his tracks because mingling with that familiar male voice was Marigold’s chiming voice.
He calculated how Duncan would react if Brandon killed the Ring of their organization as he entered the room.
Owen was relaxed, lounging on the arm of a couch in a very ungentlemanly position, one ankle crossed over his knee.
He had the decency to have his cravat in place and his coat still buttoned, but the posture was utterly irreverent.
“I am sure you’re jesting with me, Your Grace,” Marigold toldOwen, still laughing. “One cannot possibly possess such arrogant mischief at such a young age.”
Brandon felt the blood boiling inside him.
Sure, Marigold sometimes laughed around him, but it was a more polite, restrained laughter.
But this? This was her real laughter, head thrown back, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.
She had abandoned the botany book that was open in her lap, and she was looking at Owen as if he were the most entertaining person she had ever met.
“You know, Your Grace,” Owen leaned forward, “there are a few things I regret in my life, and one of them is not going through with the goat plan.”
“Well, from my part, I am glad you didn’t for the sake of the Crown and country.” Marigold dissolved into gurgling mirth.
Brandon just stood there at the doorway, still unnoticed, watching his bride having the time of her life with his oldest friend, who was so charming and easy. Everything that he wasn’t.
Something hot unfurled in his chest and tightened it as his hands curled into fists. He couldn’t recognize the feeling. It was the first time he had such a reaction to his friend being his usual charming self.
“Owen.” Brandon’s voice fell like thunder in the merry room.
The Duke of Reads turned to him with a wide grin, boyish and totally unrepentant. Marigold was more surprised to see him, but her smile didn’t fade.
“Brandon, how nice of you to join us!” Owen exclaimed.
“What are you doing?”
“I am merely correcting a wrong.” Owen smiled, perhaps not realizing how close to death he was right at that moment.
“And may I inquire what wrong would you be correcting?”
“My best friend got married. I was the only one invited from your part of the family, and you didn’t even have the decency to introduce your wife to me properly.”
Brandon tightened his jaw and looked at Owen with a warning look.
Most of the men of the ton who met Brandon were scared of him, and none of them had seen exactly what he would do when angry.
Owen had firsthand knowledge of how cruel and brutal Brandon could be, and yet he was defying him in his own household in front of his wife.
“Perhaps you didn’t realize that was the exact purpose of my not introducing you to her.”
“Nonsense,” Owen said, clearly testing the limits of Brandon’s patience. “I am a pure delight.”
“I can attest to that,” Marigold added. “Although I would have preferred it if you didn’t flirt with our staff.”
“I assure you, Your Grace,” Owen turned to her with that side smile of his, “that was just teasing. You would have known if I flirted.”
“Owen!” Brandon growled.
“Yes?”
“My study. Now.”
“I just got here. Didn’t even have my tea,” Owen challenged him. “Plus, I find it very rude to leave your lovely wife here alone.”
Marigold smiled at that comment. Brandon wanted to break Owen’s teeth, and then he could test if he would be so eloquent without them.
“And if I may be so frank, I quite prefer Her Grace’s company rather than yours.”
Marigold laughed again. Brandon regarded her with an incredulous look. She was supposed to be scandalized, flustered, or at least uncomfortable and perhaps aware that her husband was angry.
“You honor me, Your Grace,” Marigold said with glee.
“If I may say so, it’s getting a little bit tiring with all of these ‘Your Graces.’ It would be much easier if you simply addressed me as Owen, and I took the liberty of calling you Marigold.”
“Absolutely not!” Brandon snarled at his friend.
“Your Grace,” Marigold turned to him, still smiling, “I believe you are getting quite ridiculous.”
“I am what?” Brandon inquired so as to make sure that he was addressed this way by his own wife in his own house.
“Owen is your friend—from what I can tell, your only one. He came to visit. He was keeping me company. It’s not entirely his fault that he is, in fact, charming.”
“I believe I heard enough. Owen. Study. Now.”
Owen got up with a little suppressed laughter as Brandon glared at him. He bowed to Marigold and was ready to take her hand to kiss, a signature move that Brandon had seen him deploy on almost all women he met.
“Do not even dare!” Brandon openly threatened.
Both he and Marigold seemed unbothered by the murderous tone in his voice. Owen took his bow and smiled a dazzling smile at Marigold that she returned tenfold.
“I see that His Grace insists on you retiring from this room and joining him,” Marigold said. “But you will stay for dinner. It would simply be a shame for you to come all this way and not share a meal with us.”
“I assure you, Your Grace,” Brandon hissed at her through tight teeth, “it would not be a great loss.”
Owen completely ignored him, bowed again extravagantly, and grinned.
“I would be delighted, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Brandon turned his back and made his way to his study without waiting to see if Owen was following him. In fact, he hoped that Owen didn’t follow him since that would give him a good excuse to pulp his stupid face.
“So…” Owen said as soon as he entered the study.
“So what?”
“That was quite interesting and educational.”
Brandon poured himself some whiskey and drank to calm his nerves. He was surprised to see that he had trouble controlling the tempest in his chest.
“I am glad I can still amuse you.”
“It was, in fact, very entertaining. It was the most fascinating thing I have seen in months.”
“Your attention span is not one for the books.”
Owen sat down on the armchair that was his usual refuge, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward.
“I like her.”
Brandon’s fingers tightened around the glass. One more word and the crystal would crack. On Owen’s head, preferably.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“And why wouldn’t I?” Owen seemed to have woken up with some kind of death wish. “She’s as clever as she is warm. She is fearless without losing her feminine charm.”
“She is also my wife.”
“I am aware. I was at the wedding, remember? The one with no champagne and no music?”
“Since you are aware, you will know to keep your distance from her.”
Owen studied him for one long moment, and his face faded into something more perceptive.
His mischievous grin was still there, but he was regarding Brandon as if he had just figured something out.
Many thought of Owen as a rake and nothing more, but Owen hid much more under his dashing, endearing persona.
“Well, I live to see the day!” Owen exclaimed.
“I am glad you managed to see the light on the last day of your life,” Brandon threatened.
“You are jealous,” Owen said, and it was not a question.
“I am not!” Brandon protested and poured more whiskey.
“And yet you are. You’re jealous of me,” Owen observed. “Is it because I made your wife laugh?”
“I am not jealous. I am merely protecting my good name and Marigold’s. It’s disrespectful for you to be alone with her, let alone making her laugh.”
“We were in the privacy of your own residence, so her reputation and yours are still intact. Unless you are wound up for reasons that have nothing to do with your reputation.”
Brandon did not respond simply because it was difficult to lie to the man whom he had known since he was thirteen years old. He emptied his glass and left it on the desk, regarding the wall.
“She has provided some very useful information.”
“And this is where you will try to convince me that you see Marigold as a transaction, as an informant. Definitely not as a wife.”
“She is an informant, and we do have an understanding and an agreement in place. It just so happens that she is also my wife. A detail that you would very well do to remember.”
Owen leaned back in his chair, but his eyes never left Brandon’s.
“We have known each other for so many years, and I have never, ever seen you this possessive over anything.”
“Choose your words wisely. I am not possessive of Marigold, I am protective.”
“I agree you are, and it seems that you are doing that job very well. But would it hurt you to admit that you are also possessive of her?”
“No, but it might as well hurt you if you keep nagging me over this.”
Owen raised his hands in surrender, and then he hit them on his knees as he got up to stand right next to Brandon, looking at the wall.
“This was not here before.”
“Like I said. She provided vital and important information. She knows exactly where the current lair of Johnny’s operation is, as well as the heart that pumps blood into his gang,” Brandon pointed at the new pins Marigold had indicated.
Brandon proceeded to explain all the things that Marigold had revealed to him, information he never had, unveiling things obscure in the dark streets of London. For so long, he had tried to unearth these, and Marigold just provided them easily.
“And you say these are all first-hand accounts?” Owen asked in doubt.
Brandon nodded, not wanting to go into details on how Marigold came upon this information. But saying it out loud to someone else, realizing its true value and weight and what it actually cost her, punched holes into his sanity.
“To be honest, I came here worried about the poor lady getting married to a brute like you,” Owen scoffed.
“Watch it!”
“But now I see it,” Owen didn’t pay him any mind. “She’s not just any lady. This one is a daring blade. No wonder you’re so terrified of losing her. She’s one of a kind.”
“I’m not terrified of losing her. I demand respect. She is my wife. You will not be alone with her.”
Owen looked at him, a thoughtful expression shedding all provocative behavior. He then looked back at the map.
“I hope you realize the true treasure that is your wife, Brandon. Do not ruin it. Now, let’s work. I would hate to be late for dinner and disappoint the Duchess.”
Brandon was left there, looking blankly at the map, the work of his life. And he realized that perhaps Owen was right. This mission had just gotten even more important. Now, he had something to lose.