Page 41 of Touched By a Traitor
“We hardly dared hope you’d grace us with your presence,” Lancaster grinned.
“Lucky for you, I managed to clear my exceedingly busy schedule,” Preston replied grandly. “Though I must say, Carlisle seems rather distracted by the entertainment.”
“Indeed. Shall we retire somewhere he can brood in private?” Hereford suggested, steering the group toward Andrew’s study.
“But he simply must maintain surveillance of his lady love,” Lancaster teased.
“Easily remedied,” Preston declared. “I’ve found that declaring one’s intentions publicly works wonders for securing a woman’s affections.”
“Have you three quite finished?” Andrew growled as they entered his study.
The men settled around the hearth as a footman poured drinks. “Not remotely,” Hereford replied cheerfully. “Tell us, Carlisle, have you made an offer for Miss Morton’s hand?”
“Don’t be absurd. Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because, according to our highly reliable source—your sister—you harbor certain tender feelings for the lady,” Preston said.
“We shared… an acquaintance years ago. Nothing more.” Andrew drained his glass in one swallow.
“I must say, I’m relieved to hear you hold no tender feelings,” Lancaster drawled meaningfully. “It would pain us to see you pining when it’s too late.”
Andrew’s blood turned to ice. “Too late for what?”
The three friends exchanged loaded glances.
“Out with it, damn you!”
“Well,” Hereford began gravely, “word has it that our friend Chatham has accessed the family vault.”
“And retrieved his grandmother’s ruby ring,” Lancaster added helpfully.
Andrew’s stomach plummeted. “The man collects jewelry like a magpie. What of it?”
“That particular ring,” Preston said solemnly, “has only one traditional purpose.”
Andrew felt the blood drain from his face, his chest constricting as if someone had wrapped iron bands around his ribs. Marriage. The duke was going to propose to Charlotte.
“Surely he must marry within his station,” Andrew said weakly.
“No matter,” Preston said, affecting relief. “Since you’re entirely uninterested.”
“Indeed. Thank goodness we needn’t mention the other development,” Lancaster sighed dramatically.
“What other development?” Andrew demanded.
“Not worth discussing if your heart isn’t engaged,” Hereford said, producing a cigar with theatrical nonchalance.
“I know what you scoundrels are doing! Tell me!”
“Very well,” Preston grinned. “I wagered these fools that you’d admit your feelings within ten minutes.”
“You bet on my emotional state?” Andrew roared as money changed hands.
“Indeed. And judging by your thunderous expression, I’ve won handily,” Preston said, pocketing his winnings. “The question remains: What do you intend to do about it?”
Andrew shot to his feet, his friends’ laughter following him as he strode toward the parlor. His mind raced with possibilities, each more desperate than the last. The pretense that had seemed so necessary now felt like a noose tightening around his throat.
As he reentered the gathering, his gaze immediately sought Charlotte. She stood beside Chatham, radiant in her crimson gown, looking every inch the duchess she might soon become. The sight of them together—so natural, so right—made his chest ache with longing and regret.
