“And I am not a good man,” he stated.

  “Exactly.” It did feel terrible to say. They have said any number of cruel things to each other before, but this conversation was different. It was honest and all the more powerful, not their typical sarcastic barbs.

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Roderick.” But before she could open them, he stalked away, his footfalls heavy and swift.

  Chapter 14

  Roderick went to his brother’s study and poured a drink. He stared into the amber pool in his glass and then threw it into the fire.

  Drinking.

  Why did everyone have to hound him over his drinking?

  What was the problem? All gentlemen drank. All gentlemen slept late and roused in time for dinner and to attend parties and then stayed out until dawn, drinking. It’s what bachelors do. Roderick had done nothing to deserve such rancor. He hadn’t gambled every farthing away, and he wasn’t fat and sick from sexual disease. Hell, he hadn’t touched his weekly allowance in years. He had it all diverted to various charities.

  Compared to other men of his ilk, he was a bloody saint, and he didn’t even mind it half the time. Since Weirick’s return, he’d been content. He had his brother, and now an amusing sister in the form of Violet. His mother was cheerful, constantly hinting about the babies soon to grace the castle and he… Well, he could admit he looked forward to being an uncle. If only to help the babies cause mischief.

  Things were good. Everyone was happy.

  Well, almost everyone.

  Roderick was lacking the one thing he might never obtain.

  Anne.

  Leave it to her to be pinned to a wall and ravished, and then declare him unsuitable. He leaned on the mantle, pressing his forehead to his fisted hands and closing his eyes.

  God, the sounds she’d made, the scent of her essence. He could still smell her on his hands. He pressed his eyes closed, and it was exactly as his dreams had been. Full of her, writhing beneath him, the frantic beating of their hearts as their bodies collided in rhythmic thrusts.

  He moaned. It was almost too real…like a memory.

  Roderick pushed away from the mantle, now both angry and aroused. He went to the sideboard, grabbed a glass, and froze.

  He set the glass down gently and stared at it.

  He’d known men who drank themselves to death, who couldn’t rise in the morning without a tipple. Roderick sunk back into the chair before his brother’s desk, watching that glass as if it might turn into a snake and strike.

  I don’t need to drink. I can stop if I wish to.

  The door opened, and Roderick didn’t move.

  “Our guests have departed,” Weirick said.

  “Good.”

  “What happened with you? You and Violet are clearly up to something. I couldn’t help but notice you and Anne had disappeared, but I thought, surely they were not together, that would be absurd.” Weirick stopped in front of Roderick.

  Roderick didn’t look up, only stared at his reflection in the shining tops of Weirick’s boots.

  “She says I’m not a good man.”

  “There is no such thing as a good man. We’re beasts. Compared to women, we’re down right primitive. I don’t think Violet meant it quite that way. She wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Anne said it, not Violet.”

  Silence greeted his statement. Then the clink of a tumbler and the splash of liquid. Weirick waved the drink before Roderick’s face.

  It appalled him. He slapped it away, the glass falling and mercifully not shattering, but the brandy splashed onto the rug.

  “What the devil is the matter with you?” Weirick snapped as he threw a handkerchief on the floor to soak up the brandy.

  “I don’t want a drink.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Weirick asked incredulously as he yanked on the bell pull. “I’ve never heard those words come from you.”

  Roderick scrubbed his hands over his face, suddenly feeling ill and cold.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Weirick clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.

  Roderick shot to his feet. “This amuses you?”

  Weirick stilled. “What is the matter with you?”

  “She thinks I’m not a good man, and she’s right. I live for whoring and drinking only. It’s amazing I haven’t utterly destroyed my inheritance, left children littering the countryside. I’m not riddled with diseases or—”

  “That’s yet to be determined,” Weirick broke in with a chuckle.

  Roderick sighed. Why was I cursed with an older brother?

  “This is serious,” Roderick growled.

  Weirick laughed harder.

  “Do I have a problem with drinking?”

  Weirick stopped laughing. He cleared his throat. “Do you?”

  “I’m asking you. Do you think I drink too much, more than what is considered normal bachelor behavior and more like a man who can’t live without his drink?”

  Weirick was silent as he strode around to his desk. That silence weighed heavily on Roderick. What did his brother have to ponder? Either he did or he didn’t agree with the question.

  Roderick bolted to his feet. “Well?”

  Weirick shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. Are you frequently drunk? Yes. But your drunkenness has not greatly interfered with your life or the lives of others. You’re not an angry drunk, which is good, but neither are you a sad drunk, which is also a blessing. Frankly, you are simply more you when drunk.”

  Roderick slumped into the chair again. “What does that even mean?”

  Weirick stroked his chin. “I’m not sure, exactly. I’d have to see more of you when you are sober.”

  “I’m not drunk right now,” Roderick returned.

  Weirick cocked his head to the side. “You started drinking at breakfast, and I haven’t seen you stop until now when you turned down that drink. You’ve never turned down a drink.”

  “I’m not drunk.” Roderick said again.

  Weirick raised a brow. “Shall we put it to the test?”

  “How? Would you like me to dance a jig? Recite the alphabet backwards?”

  Weirick chuckled and came to Roderick’s side. “Nothing so trivial. You’ve been so accustomed to your state you could do those things easily. There are other ways to tell.”

  “Such as?”

  Weirick sniffed him. “Ah, a scent I easily recognize.”

  “I’m not wearing cologne.”

  “Exactly. The sweet sugary aroma of alcohol is an effective cologne. And I bet you sweat it profusely.”

  Roderick scoffed. “I bathe regularly.”

  “In whiskey?” Weirick teased.

  Roderick narrowed his eyes.

  “Which leads me to my next point of inspection. Your eyes. They are quite bloodshot, and your cheeks are flushed.”

  “I—” Just had my hand up Anne’s skirt and then she rejected my unoffered proposal. “I’m angry.”

  “Your face is always flushed. In fact, your complexion is not as healthy as it used to be.”

  “So, I’ve gotten older. You’re not so spry yourself, you know.”

  Weirick snorted. “I’m a pugilist, what’s you’re excuse? You notice you’ll say anything but the real cause. Drinking. You’re indoors, mostly in dim rooms, drinking.”

  “I ride daily,” Roderick said, defensively.

  Weirick shook his head, walked back to his desk, and sat. “You asked, and I’ve told you. You’re drunk, Roderick. You can’t feel it anymore, but you do look it.”

  “So, you think I have a drinking problem.”

  “I don’t think it. You do. It is a fact. You can either continue in this manner or you can change. It’s up to you. It’s always been up to you. And if you need help, you only have to ask. The withdrawal will not be pleasant should you suddenly stop.”

  Roderick snorted. “I could stop any time I wish.”

  His brother met his gaze and held it. “Then do it.”

  “I will. I’ll not have another drink today.” Roderick turned away. I can do it.

  “Good.” Weirick replied.

  Roderick left his brother’s study and went to his room. He’d had wine with luncheon but nothing after. He’d already started this quest of not drinking easily enough.

  He entered his room, immediately spotting the decanter on his dresser.

  It’s habit, that’s all. I don’t need it.

  Though, his mouth was rather dry. He turned away from the decanter and poured a glass of water, gulping down the cool, tasteless liquid.

  “Gah, that’s terrible. Tea, I’ll ring for a pot of tea.”

  He yanked the bell pull and removed his jacket, intending to nap since there was nothing better to do. He supposed he could read, but reading had never entertained him.

  Cryer his valet entered with a tray supporting a full decanter and glass.

  “No!” Roderick barked.

  Cryer jerked in surprise, nearly dropping the crystal bottle before correcting his balance. “Sir?”

  “My apologies, but I want tea.”

  Cryer blinked owlishly. “Tea, sir?”

  Roderick clenched his teeth and then relaxed somewhat. It was only to be expected. He’d had the same routine for years. He hadn’t ordered tea from his room in…never. He’d never ordered tea for himself.

  “Yes, tea. I’m…” He rubbed his neck. “I’m not drinking for the rest of the day. So tea, please.”

  He gave Cryer credit for only showing a glimpse of disbelief before nodding and shielding his inner thoughts behind a proper blank mask. “Shall I remove the other decanter, sir?”

  Roderick spared it a swift peek before nodding.

  Dammit, he wasn’t afraid of the bloody thing, but his habit was to reach for it. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. Or so he hoped.

  Cryer removed all alcohol from the room and returned with a pot of tea and one cup. Roderick now wore his dressing gown and sat before his window, curtains open, enjoying the view of the hills and part of the cliffs over the ocean. He cracked the window, allowing the cool salty breeze to soothe him. He finished one cup and poured another, doing nothing but watching the sky change as the clouds began to gather and the temperature dropped.

  Hours passed like this. He was confident at first, but as time wore on a peculiar illness crept upon him. First his hands began to shake, and then his stomach turned sour.

  He’d heard of this, but he hadn’t expected it.

  I'm not a drunkard, not like other men.

  He told himself that over and over as the sun set.

  Chapter 15

  Mr. Hart had returned with them to collect his things, but his mood was elusive. Anne had a feeling that if he left without her speaking to him, she’d never have the chance.

  It didn’t help the least that she was sure he had zero interest in her.

  Perhaps Roderick’s horrible house party idea was a good thing. Violet had mentioned it to her and Bernie. Anne had promised to give it some thought. Thinking was all she’d been doing since they had returned from the castle, and if Mr. Hart rejected her, then she needed the house party to happen.

  Mr. Hart was speaking to her father in his study, which was also their library, though few books lived there. Their voices were raised, but their words indecipherable. Anne hid in the darkened hall until it seemed they were finished, and Mr. Hart exited, muttering under his breath.

  Anne's heart pounded as she leapt out of the darkness and grabbed his arm.

  He spun, tensed to fight, but then immediately eased upon seeing her.

  She held a finger to her lips and beckoned him away from her father’s study. He followed with obvious reluctance. She led him out of the rear of the house to the kitchen garden, behind the shed where extra food stores were kept.

  “Miss Marsden, it is not advisable for us to be alone like this,” he said.

  Anne regarded him, trying to see him not as a suitor, but just as a man, and read his intentions. “I can see you and my father had a disagreement.”

  He nodded. “Your father led me to believe he needed a tutor for his many daughters and that the neighboring duke was also in search of a tutor for his son.”

  Anne grimaced. “A son he does not yet have.”

  “Then I thought maybe he meant the duke’s brother, but it became clear he is also far above the age of education.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anne said. “My father—”

  “Lured me here under false pretenses. He instead insists I must marry you. I did not come here for a wife, Miss Marsden. I am in need of employment.”

  Anne cringed. “I hope he didn’t demand it quite like that.”

  “He did.”

  Anne turned away, ashamed to look him in the eye.

  “While I am sympathetic to your family’s situation, you see…”

  Anne folded her hands together in front of her and faced him again.

  “May I be honest with you, Mr. Hart?”

  “Please do.”

  Anne sucked in a breath before she could speak. “We are beyond the need for sympathy. I must ask something of you even though I’m certain of your answer. I do not do this lightly, and I must have you swear that what I am about to tell you will never be revealed to anyone else.”

  He folded his arms. “What, did you kill someone?”

  Anne couldn’t stop a giggle. It was a relief that he made a joke, but it also loosened her control of her emotions and tears soon followed.

  Mr. Hart blanched and patted her shoulder in an awkward show of comfort.

  “I’m sorry, I should not have made light of whatever it is you wish to reveal to me.”

  Anne shook her head. “It's not your fault. I made a terrible mistake and you may be my only hope of repairing it.”

  He stepped back. “You are with child?”

  Anne nodded. She didn’t even have to say the words. Her guilt must be obvious.

  “Even if I weren’t, I would still be begging you to consider staying, to consider”—she swallowed—“marrying me, or any one of my sisters, really. We’re all quite desperate to remedy our situation.”

  He glanced away, back toward the house.

  Did he wish to run away? Anne certainly did.

  He sighed heavily. “I cannot in good conscience take you to wife. I don’t have the means to care for you and your family.”

  Anne nodded. “I had to ask.”

  “The duke has offered me a room until I make other arrangements. He has also offered to pay me to tutor some of the staff who may wish to improve their literacy.”

  “That is very generous of him.”

  “Indeed.” He hesitated and then took her hand. “The father of your child, will he not marry you?”

  Anne swallowed, her throat growing tight as Roderick filled her mind, his touch, his smell. Thankfully the darkness would hide her blush. “He cannot.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I’m sorry, Miss Marsden. I hope you will find a solution to your tenuous situation.”

  Anne lifted her chin and nodded. She was not one to give up. “I will. You can be sure of it.”

  “I must go now. Shall I escort you inside?”

  “It is not needed but thank you.”

  Anne walked back inside and up to her room. Bernie waited there, a book open on her lap, but she watched Anne expectantly.

  “He said no.”

  Bernie covered her mouth, her eyes wide.

  “And yes, I told him, or rather, he guessed quite easily.”

  Bernie gasped behind her hands and dropped them. “Oh, Anne. What will we do?”

  “We will tell Violet to have the house party, and we will catch ourselves as many husbands as we can.”

  Bernie bit her lip.

  “Don’t look so frightened.”

  “But I am,” Bernie said, and her eyes began to tear up. “You don’t have much time before you will grow larger. Everyone will see the truth.”

  “We will act fast,” Anne said. Though she didn’t have the slightest idea how.

  “Who is it?” Bernie asked. “He must be the one to marry you. This is his responsibility.”

  “I’ve absolved him of his responsibility,” Anne said as she began to undress.

  “That isn’t fair to him or you. Does he know? No, how could he. You didn’t know until after we got back. I shall have Violet write to her sister, and we will discover who this scoundrel is.”

  Anne slammed the dresser shut with a satisfying bang. “I told you I can’t marry him. He is the opposite of the kind of man I need to marry.”

  Bernie remained quiet as Anne finished putting on her nightgown and climbed into bed.

  Bernie closed her book and twisted to face Anne.

  “We will need more help.”

  “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “I know, and I haven’t, but we will need help. Chester will know which gentleman will suit you best, and it will save time. You know we can trust him. He won’t tell anyone.”

  Anne lay back onto the pillows. Her head ached, her eyes hurt from the pressure to cry, but no tears would come to lubricate her gritty eyelids.

  “Please just do as I ask, Bernie. I need to know I can trust at least one person to do as I ask.”

  “But Chester—”

  “Is a dear friend, but he is also a man, and he has always tried to manage us like—like children. This would be too much for him to handle. It’s not right to burden him like that, not when he isn’t family.”

  Bernie rolled away from Anne and yanked the covers tighter. A definite sign of her anger and the end of their conversation.

  Anne sighed. There was nothing left to do now but put her fate in the hands of Violet and pray for a miracle.

  Chapter 16

  Roderick would like to think that the first night was the most difficult, but those hours of darkness where his mind wouldn’t rest, sleep eluded him, and his throat begged for something warmer than water, were nothing to the weeks that followed. Every night he lay awake, staring at the canopy, his limbs agitated as if ants crawled over his skin. He sweated profusely, a sickly sweet sweat that nauseated him to no end. And when he did manage to close his eyes and sleep, he drifted through incoherent nightmares, some overwhelmingly sexual, words and moans playing in his head as if being screamed in his ear.