about; he had not been shot in the shoulder. It was then that Alynwick recalled he had some unfinished business with his friend.
“What the devil d’ye think ye were doing, fobbing me off at Grantham Field?” he asked indignantly, his anger getting the better of him and allowing him to slip into his brogue. “Ye were supposed ta be me second!”
“No,” Sussex growled impatiently, “one of us was supposed to be your second, and because you showed up at the Sumners’ musicale drunk and itching for a fight, I had to bodily remove you from said musicale. Ergo, I was not able to perform as your second, since I wanted to shoot you my goddamn self!”
“I wasna drunk,” Alynwick grumbled, wishing he could forget about the scene he’d created at the Sumners’. “Itchin’ fer a fight, aye, but no’ drunk.”
“Careful,” Black said with some amusement, “your cultured English accent is giving way to your heathen Highland one.”
Black was hardly helping. And the bastard seemed to be taking an extraordinary amount of enjoyment out of it all. Iain rarely allowed himself to fall victim to his brogue. All the more evidence that something was ruling him, and it was not the coldhearted calculations he was notorious for.
Sussex’s steel-grey eyes settled on him once more. “Surely you did not believe that it was the thing to do to be your second after the stir you caused at the Sumners’? Everyone saw what happened, and how I had to remove your arm from Sheldon’s throat!”
“Get at yer point, ye windbag,” he snapped, hating the earl’s name being mentioned. Iain had purposely tried to forget that Elizabeth had been in that room hanging on to the arm of another man. And by the looks of things, bloody well enjoying herself.
“My point, you infuriating brute, is this. We are not supposed to be friends, or even acquaintances, in the eyes of the polite world. We’re to pretend that our own private circles do not cross, so no one will suspect that we are acquainted—in ways we have all vowed never to reveal. And then you stroll in and force my hand, making my sister the object of ridicule and gossip, and you wonder why I didn’t come and perform as your second? The reason, you Highland ninny, is simple—because no one would believe it! No one would think it plausible that we were out for a pint, met up and I just merrily agreed to travel at dawn to some godforsaken farmer’s field to aid you in putting a bullet hole in someone, when not four hours before you were importuning my sister and nearly killing the Earl of Sheldon!”
Black’s gaze volleyed between them, then he groaned as the truth of Sussex’s revelations sank in. “Alynwick, you didn’t. Good God, you did, didn’t you?”
Iain was not chastised, and more to the point, he was ready to fight again. “You didn’t force me away from anything,” he sneered. “I allowed you to tear me off that piece of trash.”
“And how do you know anything about Sheldon,” Sussex growled, “when your face is constantly gazing into the bottom of a whisky decanter?”
Iain lunged over the desk, ready to tear his friend apart, but Black caught him by the coat and hauled him back. “None of that, now,” he grunted as he tossed Alynwick into the chair. “Stay!” he shouted, pointing at Iain as if he were a biddable canine when he tried to stand up again.
“I’m no’ a bloody mongrel to heed yer commands.”
“Really?” Black straightened his waistcoat and resumed his seat. “You look like something that’s been roaming the street for weeks. Where did you go after I left you in Sutherland’s care?”
He’d gone to find Lady Larabie, that’s where. But he’d been too deep in thought to do anything but regale the lady with the gossip of his fight with her husband. Contrary to Larabie’s boasts, the man had not returned home to deal with his wife, but instead made his way to his club in St. James’s. That had left the lady free to dally, but dallying had been the last thing on Iain’s mind. In a strange mood, he had sought out Georgiana for something else entirely. Comfort perhaps. Solace. She’d provided nothing of the sort—only petulance that he did not seem inclined to pleasure her. He was literally sickened by it, sitting in her overly ornate little parlor fending off her roving hands, when all he really wanted was to lay his head in her lap and feel her feminine fingers run through his hair while he pretended he was with Elizabeth. But it had all been to no avail. The lady was not capable of solace, and he had left, disgusted with himself for desiring such a thing. Iain Sinclair did not need anything from anyone—most especially sanctuary in a woman’s arms.
With a sigh, he answered, “You doona want t’ know where I was.”
“By the stench of you, I think I already do.”
Iain sent Black a glare, aware that he appeared debauched. But he wasn’t. He was restless, mindless. There was a sickness ruling his thoughts, and if he had the courage to look through the darkness inside him, he’d be able to name the illness. He was heartsick, his soul crying out for the one remedy that could cure his illness. Elizabeth.
But she did not want him, or the love that he could no longer deny.
Sliding deeper into the chair, Iain allowed his hands to riffle through his hair. He wanted his bed, the cool, crisp sheets, and he wanted the images of Elizabeth burning his brain. In his fantasies he could have anything. Even Elizabeth back again.
“Good God, Alynwick, what the devil were you thinking, coming to the Sumners’ and stirring up that scene?” Sussex continued, his considerable arrogance pricked. “It’ll be in all the gossip rags this morning, and we don’t need that kind of exposure. Damn you!”
Sulking, Iain stared out the window, thinking of last night and the scene that had greeted him. A smiling—glowing—Elizabeth standing beside a man who was looking down upon her with far too much interest. “A provocation, I believe.” He was under control now, his brogue banished. “I was never good at resisting taunts.”
“Taunts?” Black asked quizzically as he looked from Alynwick to Sussex. The duke shrugged.
“I told you,” Alynwick growled with quiet menace, “to leave her out of this.”
“We’re afraid, old boy, that neither of us understands a damned thing coming out of your mouth,” Black drawled.
“Yes, whom are you referring to, and what was this taunt?”
“Elizabeth!” Iain said it with such a snarl that Sussex sat back in his chair. “Damn you both, don’t you know the trouble she can get into? It could make matters worse for us. She has no place in this affair. She should be at home, beneath a wool blanket, sitting by the fire, where nothing and no one can touch her!”
Black and Sussex stared at one another, confusion written all over their expressions, but Iain didn’t give a damn. So be it if they discovered that he was unable to think of anything other than Elizabeth this morning.
“Dear me,” said a sweetly feminine voice from the doorway. “All this roaring and fighting has awakened the entire house.”
Iain stiffened at the sound, but kept his gaze focused on the grey streaks of daylight breaking through the rain clouds. He was not yet ready to see her, to feel the onslaught of emotions when he looked into her lovely and haunting grey eyes.
“Elizabeth, do come in,” Sussex ordered.
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Iain muttered, while he rose.
“Really, Alynwick, don’t be so childish. Do you think I am naive? I know exactly what you think of me, my infirmity and my limited skill in aiding your cause. You don’t have to go slinking off because I’ve overheard you talking about me.”
It was like a knife to his heart. He never wanted to hurt her. Never again. “My apolo—”
“I don’t require that, either,” she said. “Because it’s a lie. You aren’t sorry. It’s what you feel. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“You