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man’s reputation in Society.
    The ride to Roe’s townhome gave Justin enough time to consider the current situation. What he needed to decide was to what lengths he would go to deter Clarissa’s intent to marry Wilbanks. Distracting her with kisses might only take him so far. It would seem that no matter what the plan it would require him to return once again to proper Society. Ever since Vivian had seen to it that he’d been invited to some parties a couple months before, the invitations continued to arrive. He politely sent declines, but perhaps now he should accept a few.
    He glanced up at the townhome before him. Five stories of brown bricks and white arched windows. Justin owned a similar one now, but this one definitely came with memories.
    He remembered being a boy in their father’s house. They’d had a ball once when Justin and Roe had been home from school for some reason or another. The duke had coldly instructed Justin to stay upstairs out of sight, since he was not truly a member of their family. The duchess had been mortified, gone to Justin’s defense, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. Justin had spent the evening hiding at the top of the stairs, listening to the music and the party guests laugh. He’d even seen a couple sneak into the darkened spot behind the stairs for some heated kissing.
    Normally, he wouldn’t bother to meet his brother here. He didn’t care for the Chanceworth townhome. But, today, they had nothing set up and he needed to speak with him. He knocked and was admitted into the duke’s study to wait for his brother. Justin stood in the room glancing around at all the antiquities their father had collected. The man had been particularly fond of Chinese abacuses, and so there were at least fifteen of them in all different styles and mediums.
    The first time Justin had stood in this room he’d been a boy of only twelve, and his mother, or at least the woman who’d raised him, had fallen ill and brought him to live with his father. That had been the same day he’d found out that Eloise Rodale, the woman with whom he’d lived with until that moment, was not his real mother. She’d certainly treated him as a mother would treat a son, loving, yet stern when she’d needed to be.
    His father hadn’t been too keen on the bastard son showing up on his doorstep. The duke had been completely prepared to turn the boy out on his own, but the duchess had come in, heard the commotion and come to Justin’s aid. She’d demanded her husband claim him in some capacity and Justin had been welcomed into the home, educated alongside their son, the heir, Monroe. It had taken the death of their father for Roe to be willing to accept him, and Justin couldn’t say he blamed him. He’d been so damned angry with their father, he hadn’t been worth being around when they were younger. It was one of the reasons he’d spent so much time at the Kincaid family’s home, to be around what he’d deemed a happy family.
    Roe stepped into the room. “Damnation, Rodale, how many times must I tell you not to come this bloody early in the morning?”
    Roe was disheveled. There was no other word to describe him. His shirt was undone, he wore no waistcoat, and he hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. Red lines cobwebbed across his eyes indicating he’d once again had an extremely late night.
    Justin chuckled. “Dear brother, it is nearly noon, that hardly constitutes as being bloody early. Perhaps if you would go to sleep before sunrise you might be more amenable to the daylight hours.”
    Roe tossed himself down on the sofa and glared at his brother. “Yes, but it is in those late hours that the best players come out. I cannot abide to play Vingt-et-un with those who aren’t skilled, you know that.”
    Justin sat in the wing-backed chair adjacent to the sofa. “Yes, I do know that. Did you win?”
    He stacked his bare feet on the occasional table in front of the sofa. “Of course, I always win,” Roe