Page 13 of Not the Duke's Virgin

Oliver made a show of consulting his pocket watch. “Well, I’m off to the club. So much to do now that our little party is decided on.” With a mocking half-bow, he turned around and sauntered out.

Alone again, Simon rose and moved to stand by the window, gazing out unseeingly as he considered this new development. Having Victoria at the manor could well prove a double-edged sword.

* * *

Simon entered The Lion’s Den unannounced—one of Oliver’s most favorite bars. He hoped to find Oliver there. As he entered, he wrinkled his nose at the choking cigar smoke.

It did not take long to spot Oliver’s blonde head bent over a glass at the far end of the bar, a half-empty bottle of whiskey nearby.

Simon strode over and took the stool next to his brother, who looked up in surprise.

“Well, look who it is,” Oliver drawled, his words already slightly slurred. “Come to lecture me again, Brother?”

“I expected to find you here at such an hour,” Simon said.

“A gentleman’s allowed some diversion,” Oliver replied, taking another swallow.

Simon gestured to the bartender for a glass of brandy he had no intention of drinking. “This is beyond some diversion,” he said calmly. “You’re drinking yourself into oblivion most nights. It will destroy you if it continues.”

Oliver scowled, color rising on his face. “It’s my life to live as I please. I don’t interfere with your burying your head in your books.”

“Dreary or not, my work maintains this family’s lifestyle,” Simon retorted. “Your habits threaten to unravel it. As your brother, I can’t stand by silently.”

“As my brother, you should support me as I am!” Oliver snapped.

The club quieted, eyes turning in their direction. Simon kept his voice low, hoping Oliver would follow suit. “True support sometimes requires difficult truths. I want only the best for you.”

Oliver stood up abruptly, swaying slightly on his feet. “Spare me your self-righteousness. I’m leaving.”

Simon watched his brother shove through the crowd toward the exit, his heart sinking. Oliver was determined to go down this path of destruction, it seemed. Unless…

An idea came to his mind. If he followed Oliver discreetly, he may be able to intervene at the gambling halls he was known to frequent after drinking. They preyed on men in their inebriated state. If Simon could prevent him from losing more money, it might make him see reason when sober again.

Leaving a few coins on the bar, Simon slipped out and spotted Oliver climbing into a carriage down the block. He quickly waved down his carriage.

“Follow that carriage. But hang back some distance.”

As they trundled after Oliver, Simon questioned if this was wise. But it was his only chance to intervene before his brother caused permanent damage to the family.

The carriage jolted to a stop half an hour later. Peering out, Simon recognized they were at the edge of a rather disreputable neighborhood lined with gambling halls and brothels. He watched Oliver disappear into a nondescript building, its small sign readingScarlet’sin peeling paint.

Simon told his driver to wait and climbed out of the carriage.

Inside Scarlet’s, the thick air was choked with pipe smoke. Men crowded around felt-topped card tables, dice clattering. In the rear, Oliver was already seated, buying into a poker game with a mound of notes.

Simon moved discreetly to an empty table nearby, pretending to observe the game while keeping his brother within sight. A barmaid sashayed by, and he ordered a whiskey to avoid suspicion.

Over the next hour, Oliver drank steadily, losing hand after disastrous hand. His mood visibly deteriorated, his face red, and he cursed loudly. Simon itched to intervene but knew it wasn’t yet the right moment.

Finally, Oliver shoved back from the table with a snarl. “Enough!” He turned, and Simon shrank into the shadows as his brother stormed toward the exit.

After watching Oliver storm out of the gambling hall, Simon quickly paid his bill and left as well. He waved down his carriage and instructed the driver to take him home, his mind churning with concern over his brother’s destructive habits.

Arriving at Hayward Manor, he lit a single lamp in the study and sat pensively, waiting.

Nearly an hour later, the front door banged open. Heavy footfalls and muttered curses signaled Oliver’s return. Simon steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation.

Oliver stumbled into the study, reeking of spirits, his coat askew. He was startled at seeing Simon. “Hell and damnation, you’re lying in wait now, Brother?” he slurred angrily.

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