don't even like each other. What would be the point?"
He turned onto his side and scrutinized her. His face was an expressionless mask, and she peered into his blue, blue eyes, trying to read his mind.
"We could grow to like each other."
He scoffed. "I doubt it. We've had twelve years. It hasn't happened yet."
"I was engaged to your brother the whole time!"
"Yes, you were." He toyed with a lock of her hair. "Why are you really here, Caro? Tell me."
"I don't know."
'Then lie to me. Make something up."
She struggled with what to say, how to explain, but the words wouldn't come. For a fleeting instant, many months prior, he'd seemed to understand her, had been the only person who ever had.
"I'm so lonely," she eventually replied, humiliated by a flood of tears. "I'm so lonely, and I'm so alone, and I—"
As if he couldn't bear to hear the rest, he kissed her.
His mouth bit into hers, as his fingers wound through her hair. He fought with the strands as if he might yank them from her head. He was angry—either with himself or with her, she couldn't decide.
Finally, as if he'd figured out what he needed, or had reached the end of the road, he gentled and drew away.
"I don't want you to leave," he admitted. "I want you to stay. I want you to stay for as long as you can." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm very sure." "I can tarry till dawn." "I'd like that."
"So would I."
He rolled over and pulled her with him so that she was draped across his torso. He grabbed for the laces on her corset, and they began again.
Chapter Four
Do you ever think about our brother?"
"Which one?"
"Which one do you think?" Jack said. "The
exalted Viscount Wakefield."
"Sometimes," Ian admitted.
"Will I ever get to meet him?"
"Why would you want to?"
"Just curious. I'm told I resemble him."
"You're an exact copy—though you've managed to control your baser impulses as Wakefield never could."
Jack smiled, glad his history was obscure. Ian had minimal clues about how Jack had survived his youth, but only those tidbits Jack had felt like sharing.
"Wakefield was a scapegrace?"
"And a cad. And a sluggard, but he thrived on his low reputation. He enjoyed aggravating people, and he misbehaved on purpose. It drove our father to distraction."
"Would Wakefield like me?"
Jack hated the plaintive tone underlying his question. He'd never had a family, so he was desperately pleased that he was with Ian. Ian had offered him shelter from the rough streets of London, but Jack couldn't move beyond his wish to become acquainted with his other brother.
The notion of having another sibling, of his being nearby and easily encountered, disturbed Jack's usually placid demeanor. He wanted to look Wakefield in the eye, to take his measure. He wanted Wakefield to know he existed.
"Why would Wakefield like you?" Ian asked, trying to appear stern but failing. "You're a pain in the ass."
"You're too kind."
"Aren't I, though?"
Ian was over by the fire, brooding and staring into the flames, and Jack watched him, wondering what had happened. The past few days, he'd seemed bothered, quieter and more pensive, as if he was weighed down by a heavy burden.
They were brothers, but hardly more than strangers. As Ian occupied himself with women, drink, and wagering, they stumbled along, with Jack doing his best to provide friendship and counsel on the lighter issues of life. But he wouldn't dream of giving advice on an important problem, nor was he certain advice would be appreciated.
Suddenly, Ian spun and started for the door. "I'm going out."
"Now? But it's almost midnight, and it's raining cats and dogs."
"I just need to ... to..."
"You don't have to explain. If you want to go, go." "Rebecca is here. She's upstairs, having a bath. She's waiting for me to join her." "You don't care to?"
"I guess I don't."
The news was odd. Rebecca was a great beauty, and even though she was a crazed witch, Jack couldn't conceive of any man shunning the chance to bed
He turned onto his side and scrutinized her. His face was an expressionless mask, and she peered into his blue, blue eyes, trying to read his mind.
"We could grow to like each other."
He scoffed. "I doubt it. We've had twelve years. It hasn't happened yet."
"I was engaged to your brother the whole time!"
"Yes, you were." He toyed with a lock of her hair. "Why are you really here, Caro? Tell me."
"I don't know."
'Then lie to me. Make something up."
She struggled with what to say, how to explain, but the words wouldn't come. For a fleeting instant, many months prior, he'd seemed to understand her, had been the only person who ever had.
"I'm so lonely," she eventually replied, humiliated by a flood of tears. "I'm so lonely, and I'm so alone, and I—"
As if he couldn't bear to hear the rest, he kissed her.
His mouth bit into hers, as his fingers wound through her hair. He fought with the strands as if he might yank them from her head. He was angry—either with himself or with her, she couldn't decide.
Finally, as if he'd figured out what he needed, or had reached the end of the road, he gentled and drew away.
"I don't want you to leave," he admitted. "I want you to stay. I want you to stay for as long as you can." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm very sure." "I can tarry till dawn." "I'd like that."
"So would I."
He rolled over and pulled her with him so that she was draped across his torso. He grabbed for the laces on her corset, and they began again.
Chapter Four
Do you ever think about our brother?"
"Which one?"
"Which one do you think?" Jack said. "The
exalted Viscount Wakefield."
"Sometimes," Ian admitted.
"Will I ever get to meet him?"
"Why would you want to?"
"Just curious. I'm told I resemble him."
"You're an exact copy—though you've managed to control your baser impulses as Wakefield never could."
Jack smiled, glad his history was obscure. Ian had minimal clues about how Jack had survived his youth, but only those tidbits Jack had felt like sharing.
"Wakefield was a scapegrace?"
"And a cad. And a sluggard, but he thrived on his low reputation. He enjoyed aggravating people, and he misbehaved on purpose. It drove our father to distraction."
"Would Wakefield like me?"
Jack hated the plaintive tone underlying his question. He'd never had a family, so he was desperately pleased that he was with Ian. Ian had offered him shelter from the rough streets of London, but Jack couldn't move beyond his wish to become acquainted with his other brother.
The notion of having another sibling, of his being nearby and easily encountered, disturbed Jack's usually placid demeanor. He wanted to look Wakefield in the eye, to take his measure. He wanted Wakefield to know he existed.
"Why would Wakefield like you?" Ian asked, trying to appear stern but failing. "You're a pain in the ass."
"You're too kind."
"Aren't I, though?"
Ian was over by the fire, brooding and staring into the flames, and Jack watched him, wondering what had happened. The past few days, he'd seemed bothered, quieter and more pensive, as if he was weighed down by a heavy burden.
They were brothers, but hardly more than strangers. As Ian occupied himself with women, drink, and wagering, they stumbled along, with Jack doing his best to provide friendship and counsel on the lighter issues of life. But he wouldn't dream of giving advice on an important problem, nor was he certain advice would be appreciated.
Suddenly, Ian spun and started for the door. "I'm going out."
"Now? But it's almost midnight, and it's raining cats and dogs."
"I just need to ... to..."
"You don't have to explain. If you want to go, go." "Rebecca is here. She's upstairs, having a bath. She's waiting for me to join her." "You don't care to?"
"I guess I don't."
The news was odd. Rebecca was a great beauty, and even though she was a crazed witch, Jack couldn't conceive of any man shunning the chance to bed
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