Page 13 of Forgery, Love, and Other Lies
“Sounds familiar,” Theo drawled.
Zander made a lazy pass by his brother, tossed the button again, snatched it again, and popped it into his pocket.
Theo wrinkled his nose. “Are you wearing yesterday’s clothes? Did you even change out of them before going to bed?”
Zander shrugged, ducked his head, and sniffed. Hell. He needed a bath. “Hardly the point here, dear brother. The point is that we’ve hit a wall, fallen off a cliff, are lost at sea with no stars to guide us. Our inheritances have disappeared.”
Maggie dropped onto his bed and fell backward. “They were gone years ago when you sold them, Zander.”
“Not sold. Rented. It was an excellent scheme.”
Theo propped a shoulder on the nearest wall and crossed his legs at the ankle. “Until it wasn’t.”
“Don’t tell Raph,” Zander said. “I’d like to have some other direction with this problem before he knows.”
Maggie snapped upright. “I certainly don’t wish to be the one to ruin his marital bliss. I’ve never seen him so happy.”
Yes, Raph was damn near ecstatic. Still poor, still running himself ragged to fix the estate, to make it profitable once more, but in love and happy. And Zander had almost ruined it. Raph had almost abandoned the woman he loved for the financial safety of marriage to an heiress because Zander had told him the truth—the inheritance he’d worked so hard to earn, those priceless paintings he thought would save them all when they sold them—copies.
Thankfully he’d seen reason, listened to his heart, and won back the woman he loved.
But Zander had been less than useful in that regard. In any regard. Even when he thought he’d been acting incredibly useful—renting and copying the Rubens—he hadn’t been.
He hissed a curse. “Don’t tell Raph, Theo. Don’t make me beg.”
Theo held up his hands, palms out. “Take a bath and I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“Gladly.” Zander sank back down into his chair, slipping his hand into his pocket to rub his thumb along the smooth curve of the copper button. “I’m off to Scotland today. I can’t put the trip off a moment longer. Mr. Cullsby in Manchester grows more agitated by the day. His epistles practically scream.”
“No, don’t.” Maggie scowled at him. “You’ve barely slept recently, and with this disappointment, you’ll not be focused. You’ll fall from your horse, and then who will find the paintings?”
“Don’t you mean ‘and then who will be my favorite brother?’” Zander asked.
“Why don’t you quit this nonsense?” Theo tapped his boot, annoyed. As usual.
If Zander weren’t so tired, he’d bristle. But he couldn’t even summon ahumph. His eyes were heavy, his fingers floating, already, into dreamland. “What nonsense, Theo, do you mean?” he managed to ask.
“Buying artwork of cultural significance for the highest bidders! For people who do not care about its meaning, about the artist, about anything but what others will think of them because they own it.”
“Prig,” Zander snorted. “Art isn’t only for the refined.” He tried to snort again, couldn’t find the power to do so. “You should know, Mr. Satirist.”
“A very weak insult, Zander,” Maggie said, slipping to the floor, “if that was your intent. Theo is proud of his work.”
“Is he?” He tipped his chin to look at his brother. “Are you? You don’t use your real name to publish.”
“If I did that, every peer in the realm would be on my doorstep, pistol in hand, to shoot me point-blank in the gut.”
Zander bobbed his head to the side. “Actually, Theo, that’s an excellent point. Don’t use your name. I’d rather not attend another funeral so soon after the last.” He sighed. “I’m too tired to spar with either of you at the moment. Will you please leave so I can bathe and—” He’d been tired for ages, only felt a glimmer of energy once recently, when the young Miss Frampton had fake-fainted. Hadn’t been tempted to laughter so much in… he could not remember how long. Laughter! In such circumstances. Should have been impossible.
A knock on the door.
“Hell. What now? If it’s that husband of yours, Maggie, I’m sending him away.”
“You’re in his home, Zander. He’ll sendyouaway.”
Zander made a growling noise deep in his throat that turned into a long groan. “Come in!”
It was the butler, who looked to Maggie as soon as the door swung open. “My lady, there are two young women here to speak with you. Are you at home?”
