Page 7 of Ironvine

The French brandyHugh kept in their coach had done nothing to quell the fiery nerves pounding in his head this evening. Nothing.

They hadn’t stopped pounding since he’d kissed Georgina the night before.

He’d kissed her. Their lips had met, their tongues. And it was no chaste kiss. It was laced with desire, and that desire had exploded in his veins quite unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

From just one kiss.

A kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen. For God’s sake, he was saving her from being compromised by Matthew, and instead, he ended up compromising her himself. He let out a groan.

“You need more, Charles?” his brother asked.

“No.” Charles’s gaze remained outside on the dark streets of London.

“Do you think everyone’s going to this damned ball?”

“Last ball of the season at Lord Eccleston’s? Everyone will be here.”

Hugh’s rumbling dark laugh filled the coach. “You sound as enthusiastic as I. I’m sure Aunt Vivian will be there with young Alice in tow. You were so very kind this morning at St. James walking with her, introducing her to gentlemen.”

“I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Why don’t you just marry her?”

“Whatever for?”

“I would be thoroughly amused to see you married to such a creature.”

“I do not exist for your amusement.”

“Come now, brother. Ah, I have the perfect inducement for this match, one you cannot deny.”

“Nothing would induce me to—”

“Nothing?” Hugh’s eyes lit up, and a chuckle rolled from his throat. “Not even Penrose Park?”

Charle’s pulse jammed in his neck. “What are you saying? Otherwise, it won’t be mine? Do you intend on keeping Penrose? You’ve just inherited the title, our entire estate, and the income that goes with it. Why would—”

“That house is a lovely property, and I have plenty of friends who are looking to rent a house in the country. It could generate a tidy little income to have at my disposal. If I remember correctly, there was very good fishing to be had in that lake, and deer roam the park freely. Uncle Henry did love to hunt and shoot, and he always…”

Hugh went on, but Charles could no longer listen through the pounding in his veins. He only stroked a hand across his tight jaw in an effort to keep his tongue prisoner within its walls. He remembered how Hugh had barely commented on the acquisition of Penrose Park when Charles had taken care of the paperwork with the lawyers upon their uncle’s death. Owning it was nothing to Hugh, but it was important to Charles.

What a fool he’d been for not having secured that house in his name. Fool for having assumed it would be plain to his brother that it should go to him, that something should go to him. He knew that if he showed any sliver of anger or emotion, his brother would only find it amusing and use it against him. He averted his gaze out the window.

Unlike his brother, he’d been close with their mother. Their father had forbidden Charles and Hugh to visit her at Penrose. Hugh obeyed, but Charles had not. He’d gone to the house in secret on at least three occasions to see his mother.

As the years had passed, Charles and Hugh rarely spoke of her. Their father had raised them not to need her, not to care about her; it was a weakness. Only Charles had needed her and cared about her, and he still did. But she was lost to him.

Since her death, Hugh had behaved as if she hadn’t even existed. Either he didn’t care one jot, or he cared too much and hid it away. Charles had never been sure which.

Beside him, Hugh stretched out his long legs. “I say, I very much like this new frock coat. Tailor did a damn fine job, eh?” He smoothed his hands down his wide lapels. “I’ll have to go back for more before I quit town.” He’d spent a small fortune on new clothes since he’d joined Charles in London for the season, along with the small fortunes on cards, women, private parties, and the like.

Tidy little income to have at my disposal. Hugh’s words seared through him afresh.

Hugh let out a small groan. “For weeks, we’ve been plowing through dinners and assemblies, concerts, and balls, and not one female has tempted me thus far for a wife.”

Charles threw his brother a sidelong glance. “All females tempt you by virtue of their cunt. But for a wife, you seem to have criteria.”

“I have standards for a wife. Why shouldn’t I? A wife is … a wife.” Hugh let out a breath.

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