assessing her full bosom, her slender waist.
"Go," Duncan insisted. "Now."
He retrieved a robe that had been pitched on the rug and thrust it into the woman’s arms. He steered her out the door.
"Don’t let me catch you eavesdropping," he warned.
"Or what?" she sneered.
"Or I’ll send you to London on the first available coach. You’ll miss the rest of the party, and you won’t have any juicy stories to tell your friends."
"Prick," she hurled, but she marched down the hall.
Duncan waited until she flounced down the stairs, then he spun to Jackson.
"Get up," he said.
"Really, Duncan, you’re being rather tiresome."
"Get up dammit!" He cast about, seeing Jackson’s trousers on a nearby chair. He tossed them on the bed. "Make yourself presentable."
"Not possible. I’m on holiday, remember?"
"Yes, I remember, but it’s about to end."
"Not bloody likely," Jackson grumbled, but he slithered to his feet and pulled on his pants.
Duncan declined to observe as Jackson strutted about in all his nude glory. He went over to the window and stared out, peering down the long drive that led to the lane and the village beyond.
Jackson ignored him and walked to the dressing room to splash cold water on his face. The swift, bracing bath couldn’t cool his aggravation. He was drying himself with a towel when Duncan called, "Are you decent?"
"As decent as I intend to be." Jackson reentered the bedchamber—trousers on, shirt and shoes off. "What is it? And please be brief. Your color is high and your demeanor inflamed. I have no idea what has you in such a state, but I don’t need a detailed explanation. The bare facts will be sufficient."
"Did Edward ever mention a woman by the name of Georgina?"
"No, but I’ve heard of her recently." Jackson scowled. "Where?"
"There was a woman here. Grace Bennett. By any chance was she allowed to speak with you?"
"A petite red-head? Annoying? Pushy? Bossy?"
"Yes, that’s her."
"She barged in, and yes, I spoke to her. Why?"
"What did she say?"
Duncan was a bit green around the gills, but it wasn’t from any imbibing of alcohol. Duncan cheated at cards, so he rarely drank spirits because liquor interfered with his devious mind.
Jackson watched—fascinated—as his old friend squirmed and stalled. Clearly, he had a tale to tell, and Jackson was in no mood for it. He tried to recall Miss Bennett’s comments. She’d been so pompously infuriating that he’d hardly listened to her rant. She’d spun a preposterous account of Edward and a secret marriage and a son that he’d supposedly…
What the devil!
"You’re asking me what she said?" Slowly, he advanced on Duncan. "Why do I suspect that you know the topic of our discussion?"
"I might."
Duncan gulped with dismay, looking unsettled in a manner Jackson had never previously witnessed from him.
They’d been together since they were very young—he, Edward, and Duncan. Jackson and Edward had only been a year apart in age, with Duncan born in between. He’d fostered with them for so long that he’d seemed like a third brother.
He’d been closer to Edward than to Jackson, but the three of them had been like triplets, the most troublesome trio of boys to have ever lived under one roof. Their antics had nearly killed his stern, unbending mother a dozen times over.
Jackson approached until they were toe to toe, and he poked a finger in Duncan’s chest.
"Miss Bennett told me," Jackson seethed, "that Edward had married this Georgina woman." He paused and when Duncan didn’t fill the gap, he added, "I called her a liar and threw her out."
Still, Duncan was rendered mute.
"Say something!" Jackson snapped. "Start talking and don’t stop until I tell you I’ve heard enough."
"I don’t think she’s lying."
The pronouncement sucked all the air out of the sky. Jackson staggered away and plopped down in a chair. The stressful trip
"Go," Duncan insisted. "Now."
He retrieved a robe that had been pitched on the rug and thrust it into the woman’s arms. He steered her out the door.
"Don’t let me catch you eavesdropping," he warned.
"Or what?" she sneered.
"Or I’ll send you to London on the first available coach. You’ll miss the rest of the party, and you won’t have any juicy stories to tell your friends."
"Prick," she hurled, but she marched down the hall.
Duncan waited until she flounced down the stairs, then he spun to Jackson.
"Get up," he said.
"Really, Duncan, you’re being rather tiresome."
"Get up dammit!" He cast about, seeing Jackson’s trousers on a nearby chair. He tossed them on the bed. "Make yourself presentable."
"Not possible. I’m on holiday, remember?"
"Yes, I remember, but it’s about to end."
"Not bloody likely," Jackson grumbled, but he slithered to his feet and pulled on his pants.
Duncan declined to observe as Jackson strutted about in all his nude glory. He went over to the window and stared out, peering down the long drive that led to the lane and the village beyond.
Jackson ignored him and walked to the dressing room to splash cold water on his face. The swift, bracing bath couldn’t cool his aggravation. He was drying himself with a towel when Duncan called, "Are you decent?"
"As decent as I intend to be." Jackson reentered the bedchamber—trousers on, shirt and shoes off. "What is it? And please be brief. Your color is high and your demeanor inflamed. I have no idea what has you in such a state, but I don’t need a detailed explanation. The bare facts will be sufficient."
"Did Edward ever mention a woman by the name of Georgina?"
"No, but I’ve heard of her recently." Jackson scowled. "Where?"
"There was a woman here. Grace Bennett. By any chance was she allowed to speak with you?"
"A petite red-head? Annoying? Pushy? Bossy?"
"Yes, that’s her."
"She barged in, and yes, I spoke to her. Why?"
"What did she say?"
Duncan was a bit green around the gills, but it wasn’t from any imbibing of alcohol. Duncan cheated at cards, so he rarely drank spirits because liquor interfered with his devious mind.
Jackson watched—fascinated—as his old friend squirmed and stalled. Clearly, he had a tale to tell, and Jackson was in no mood for it. He tried to recall Miss Bennett’s comments. She’d been so pompously infuriating that he’d hardly listened to her rant. She’d spun a preposterous account of Edward and a secret marriage and a son that he’d supposedly…
What the devil!
"You’re asking me what she said?" Slowly, he advanced on Duncan. "Why do I suspect that you know the topic of our discussion?"
"I might."
Duncan gulped with dismay, looking unsettled in a manner Jackson had never previously witnessed from him.
They’d been together since they were very young—he, Edward, and Duncan. Jackson and Edward had only been a year apart in age, with Duncan born in between. He’d fostered with them for so long that he’d seemed like a third brother.
He’d been closer to Edward than to Jackson, but the three of them had been like triplets, the most troublesome trio of boys to have ever lived under one roof. Their antics had nearly killed his stern, unbending mother a dozen times over.
Jackson approached until they were toe to toe, and he poked a finger in Duncan’s chest.
"Miss Bennett told me," Jackson seethed, "that Edward had married this Georgina woman." He paused and when Duncan didn’t fill the gap, he added, "I called her a liar and threw her out."
Still, Duncan was rendered mute.
"Say something!" Jackson snapped. "Start talking and don’t stop until I tell you I’ve heard enough."
"I don’t think she’s lying."
The pronouncement sucked all the air out of the sky. Jackson staggered away and plopped down in a chair. The stressful trip
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