Page 29 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Nick crossed to the bed and reached under it for her boots. Thrusting them at her, he said, “So you’re going to put your brother’s life in further danger? His wife? Just narrowly missed being married to a killer, that one. You want to risk her unborn child, too?”
Alexandra reared back in shock. “Who . . . who told you . . . ?Anneis with child?”
“Grey talks,” Nick said dryly. “Rather a lot.”
She let out a swear and pressed her lips together. It was difficult enough being in the same room with him, but staying here, night after night? Separate rooms wasn’t enough. The span of the ocean might not be, but it was a start. Then another four years. Ten years. Twenty.
Enough time for her to learn to trust someone again. “Fine. I will . . . stay.”
Then, when this was over, she’d pack her things and leave him.
Chapter 9
Richard Grey was at the Earl of Kent’s residence when they arrived. At the sight of Thorne with Alex, the other man’s eyebrows shot up and a grin spread across his face.
“Hello, little sister,” he said to Alex. “What—”
“I’m not speaking to you.” She swept past her brother and stomped to the stairs, the heels of her boots echoing sharply through the foyer. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I’m going to be an aunt,” she called over her shoulder.
Richard gave Thorne a look. “Youtoldher?”
Thorne reflected the oddity of being included in something as trifling as family melodrama. It was a pleasant change in pace. The lads he’d grown up with in Whelan’s dark cellar always had trouble that wasn’t the easy sort; those often ended in death.
“How was I to know you didn’t tell her?” he asked with a shrug.
“You’ve been separated forfour years. Telling you was like telling any other man on the street.”
“Send one of them my way.” Alexandra’s muffled shout came from upstairs. “They’d make me a better husband.”
Richard’s lip twitched. Thorne couldn’t decide if it was to hide his amusement or suppress a grimace. “So you’re not in the middle of a reconciliation with her, then.”
“Not even close,” Thorne said.
Richard gestured to a nearby door. “Drink? Several?”
“Christ, yes.”
In the study, Grey poured brandy into a pair of snifters and handed one to Thorne. The last time Thorne had been in this room was three months ago. He’d barely tasted the brandy then; it served as an inadequate distraction from thoughts of murder. Grey had discovered the Duke of Kendal had been covertly adopting children from the orphanages in the East End—none of them were ever seen again.
Richard and Thorne had broken into the duke’s home and found a child in a cellar there. Had they been a day later, they might not have saved the lass. Thorne keenly felt some of the blame. He had a responsibility for the children of the East End—to look after them, if he could—but even he didn’t have the power to stop every piece of shite in the city from doing unspeakable acts. He’d just do his best, one case at a time. One threat at a time.
One murder at a time, if necessary.
And now his wife had seen the monstrousness that people in this city were capable of.
The sweetness of the brandy suddenly seemed too cloying; a good Irish whisky would have suited better. Something that burned and satisfied in equal measure. Being this near Alex after four years . . . Thorne’s nerves were damn near fraying. As she disrobed that morning, he keenly felt the loss of her. He’d been able to kiss her once, to reach out and touch her smooth skin. Christ, he even missed their swimming lessons. She’d laughed so easily at Stratfield Lake. He hadn’t made her smile in years.
“Are you going to keep drinking or tell me what happened?” Richard asked.
Thorne forced his guilt where it belonged: firmly beside the permanent dagger in his heart. The one Alex plunged into his chest when she left Roseburn. The one he deserved. “What makes you think something happened?”
Richard stared thoughtfully at his glass of brandy as he rolled it in his palm. “Oh, I don’t know. It might have something to do with an alarmed household of servants summoning me when they discovered their mistress had disappeared and, oddly, taken a carpet with her.” The other man eyed Thorne. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you?”
“Nice carpet, was it?”
“Who cares? It was expensive. Andnoticeablyabsent.”
Thorne sat back and crossed his legs. “I’ll buy your brother a new one, then.”
