Page 53 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“Just as you stated. To gain the title.”
“He’s my brother.”
“You cuckolded him.”
He sighed deeply. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You let everyone believe it was. Suppose you explain.”
He wished his head would stop aching, wished his brother would leave, wished the woman hadn’t.
Ainsley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and grasping his hands. In spite of the fact that he was the youngest of the brothers, he’d always given the impression that he was the family patriarch. He had the more prestigious title and family heritage, and he had wealth. He’d given Stephen a generous allowance until the fiasco with Claire. “Why did you do it, Stephen? You can’t have believed your family would forgive you for so flagrant a betrayal—”
“Mother did.”
“She’s the reason you’re still in England.” It was part question, part statement.
“It’s astounding the influence she has. I truly had no idea.”
“Why?” Ainsley persisted.
Stephen rubbed his brow and sighed. “Claire didn’t want to be married. Not really. She was terrified of Westcliffe. So was I, truth be told. He’d always been so deadly serious. I thought if he found me in her bed, he would do exactly what he did. He’d exile her to the country estate. He desperately needed her dowry, so I knew he wouldn’t seek an annulment. When Claire was ready to be a wife, she could explain things to him.”
“And you truly believed he’d forgive her?”
“I was twenty-one and drunk. I believe in my invincibility and wisdom when I am drunk.”
“I can scarcely believe Claire went along with this.”
“She’d just turned seventeen. She’d never been in the London ballrooms. She had no sophistication. And … I didn’t tell her everything.”
Ainsley glared at him.
He released a deep breath. “I didn’t explain that I was actually going to get into bed with her, not until I did. But I knew it would convince Westcliffe my intentions were dishonorable.”
“He beat you to a bloody pulp.”
“I know. I was there. Got a scar on my chin and one near my eye.”
“You are a bloody fool.”
“I love her, Ainsley. Not with passion or desire, but with a purity that doesn’t characterize my experiences with other women. It’s a brotherly devotion toward a sister I suppose. She has always been my friend, and I hers.”
“Why didn’t you simply tell Westcliffe how she felt?”
“He’d not listen to me. There has always been a strain between us.”
“You could have told me.”
“You’re my baby brother.”
“Idiot,” Ainsley muttered.
Stephen shrugged. “In retrospect, I can’t argue that.”
Ainsley studied him for a long moment. “She’s in London, you know.”
“Claire?”
