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commentaries only made him hit his chest in pride, because he was golden. Hell, he was getting something not even three million could buy: Clementine.
    Unseeing, Derek gripped the window frame, white-knuckled, as a cold breeze picked up strands of unbound shoulder-length hair and whipped it around his face. Swirls of heavy snowflakes stung his skin, fluttering the gold and crimson brocaded curtains that had decorated the window long before he was born.
    Unbuttoning his evening coat, Derek latched the window shut. He pulled out a black ribbon from his inner pocket, then raked back and tied his hair tightly, adjusting his queue. Striding back over to the writing desk, he sat and eyed the pile of eight financial ledgers sitting crookedly atop each other. If he paid his brother's debt in full using whatever money he had, he wouldn’t be able to pay the gamekeeper or the land agent who were both awaiting funds.
    He'd done a piss-awful attempt of teaching Andrew about cause and effect. After their father died, he tried to be everything to his brother. Only it made Derek realize he’d taken his father’s noblesse oblige too far.
    He pushed all of the ledgers aside.
    Seeing his square tin of ginger hard candies, he grabbed it and opened it. Empty. He’d already eaten them all and knew full well there was nothing left in the confectionary box where he usually stored extra. He groaned, tossing it back onto the desk and rose to his feet. He’d have to ride out to Stanwick’s confectionary shop again and deal with all the women there. Women who didn’t know how to keep their eyes and giggles to themselves. There was nothing wrong with a grown man liking candy.
    The sound of running steps from down the corridor made him lift his head.
    The door of the study rattled. “Derek?” Andrew called out. The door rattled again. “For God’s sake, why is the door locked? What are you doing in there? Flogging the bishop ?”
    Derek glanced back at the locked door outlined by candlelight and rolled his eyes. As if he had time to masturbate anymore. Stripping off his evening coat, he flung it onto the chair and stalked over to the paneled door. Turning the key, he unlatched the bolt and yanked the door open, doing his best not to start yelling.
    Andrew snapped out a letter with the wax seal facing up. “It’s from Miss Grey. For it to have arrived at this time of night and by courier, no less, means it must be of unmitigated importance.” Andrew grinned, those notorious dimples appearing on each of his lean, shaven cheeks. “Does she ever write anything naughty to you? And if so, do you oblige? Do you two fornicate through letters? Is that how you two—”
    “Oh, for God’s sake—” Derek snatched away the letter. “Her father reads all of the letters I send before she does. So I can’t readily frisk her with my own words. I have to keep it tame. Which is damn difficult, I assure you.” Smoothing the parchment against the palm of his hand, knowing she had touched it, he carefully tucked it into his inner waistcoat pocket for later.
    Andrew pointed. “Aren’t you going to read it? She sent that by courier.”
    “She always sends her letters by courier.”
    “So you mean I could have left it on the side table and gone to bed?”
    Derek huffed out a breath. “We need to talk.”
    Adjusting his coat to better display an expensive embroidered blue waistcoat, Andrew propped himself against the doorframe. “Of course. What would you like to talk about?”
    “Your life.”
    “Am I in trouble again?”
    “What do you think?”
    Andrew hissed out a breath. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.”
    Like hell he didn’t. It wasn’t the first married woman Andrew had gotten involved with. “I just finished going through all of the correspondences for the week. Lord Trent claims you’re involved with the Duke of Winchester’s wife. Is that true?”
    Andrew groaned. “I haven’t even been here a day. I was