Page 42 of A Most Improper Duchess
He had the same cowlick of black hair as their father and the same grey eyes. Even when he leaned back in his chair and raised his tankard, he not only looked like the man who stared out from casual photographs and sketches, but lounged like him, tilted his head like him, grinned like him. And why wouldn’t he be more like their father than Arley? He had been graced with the man’s attention, and his mother had had his love.
Winton kicked out a chair.
Arley remained standing. ‘I’m not giving you any more money.’
‘Get out on the wrong side of the ducal bed?’ Winton took another swig, then wiped the back of his mouth across his hand. ‘Or has matrimony turned you sour.’
‘I’m not married yet.’
Winton raised a brow. ‘Not by vow. But in other ways, you are.’ A darkness crept into his normally mischievous smile, adding a brutal twist to his expression. Charm was Winton’s main currency, but today he was spending something more malicious. ‘Frocked up in white and parading her about like she’s the virgin Madonna, but really…’ He laughed, his shoulders shaking. ‘The entire time, you’ve been rutting a whore!’
‘Ballerina.’ Arley lowered himself into the chair. Winton laughed even louder. ‘And courtesan,’ he admitted through tight teeth. ‘I don’t care.’
‘So magnanimous, after years of making me and my mother feel inferior. I only wish she was still alive to see it.’
‘We were always second best to you.’
‘He sent you to Eton while I had to settle for the local school. Your mother on that estate while we lived in near poverty.’
‘A Hampstead cottage is not poverty.’
‘And why?’ Winton continued, ignoring Arley’s sense. ‘A turn of the blanket and you get to be duke.Littlebrother.’
‘I have tried to help you with positions, advice and opportunities. You’ve squandered it all. Those, and what your mother left you.’
‘You tried to control me. Keep me away from your precious town, and your career, like I might smudge your perfection.’
‘You think it’s all trips to the races and ballrooms?’ The weight of the session was already fraying Arley’s patience. He’d missed an important debate to come here, and he’d spend hours catching it up. His voice rose, and he couldn’t tamp down the frustration. ‘There’s more to this damn title than what you see in the press. You have freedom. Choice. I can’t give it to you, I can’t just stop being a duke!’ A few men at a nearby table turned. Arley extinguished his burning outburst with a forced swallow, and when he continued, it was with more restraint. ‘Is it some debt you can’t clear? How much?’
‘Half,’ Winton quipped.
‘Half of what?’
The bell over the door clanged, bringing with it a sweep of cold air and river tang. Winton flicked a look over his shoulder before his lips turned at the corners. ‘Everything. Agree, or I go to the press. I’ll tell them who she is. Your attempt at the Exchequer and that ridiculous little company you have invested in, will both be destroyed.’
Arley was used to bluffing in the face of harsh truths. What else was Lords about, if not committed bluster in the face of a challenge? ‘I could sue you for slander.’
Winton settled back into his chair, his posture as arrogant as his smile as he looked to the door. ‘You can’t sue if it’s true.’
The protest on his lips died as Arley twisted in his seat. Algernon, as garish and flamboyant as he’d last seen him, strutted into the bar.
‘Your grace!’ Algernon boomed as he crossed the room, gesturing at the bar staff for a drink, before pulling up a chair at the table and settling into it. He extended his hand across the table to Winton. ‘Algernon Pascoe. Any friend of West’s is a friend of mine.’
Algernon rested his elbows on the table and raised both eyebrows in a caterpillar like dance. ‘How’d things turn out with that ballerina, the pretty one? Fancy another adventure? Naples is fantastic at this time of year.’
Arley’s chair clattered across the flagstones as he rose abruptly to his feet. Winton had always had freedom when Arley had none, and one minor slip, one breath of choice, and now he dared to taint it and level it at him like a sword. ‘Nothing!’ he shouted. ‘Not even your allowance. You getnothing.’
‘I’d think on that.’ Winton’s voice chased him to the door. ‘You’re not the only one with a scout in your pocket. You will not underestimate me again.’
Arley stomped over the marble portico and through the foyer of his club. He handed his gloves, hat and coat to a waiting attendant, before launching himself upstairs. He needed a table in the corner, a drink and some time to pluck apart the threat his half-brother had made.
As he slunk into his preferred seat, Hamish sat down opposite him. ‘If that man suggests I have tea and not whiskey one more time, I will clip his ankles.’
‘Were you in the house today?’ Arley asked.
‘Observing. Still observing, all my life, observing.’ Hamish pulled a flask from inside his coat and took a swig, before tucking it away again. ‘You never miss a debate. Where were you?’ He slumped back into his seat. ‘What I’d give for an adventure.’
When Arley looked across the table to Hamish, both free of expectation and bound by its looming presence, he didn’t know if he envied or pitied him. His youth had been free, but future responsibilities would likely weigh heavier because he knew the difference.
