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What in blazes had he done?

And what in blazes are you going to do?

What you need to do, of course.The voice of honor he’d thought long dead jabbed at the back of his mind. Andrew could—nay, Andrew had to—offer to do right by…

He balked.

He couldn’t.

That was another certainty he could add to the list of the sun’s patterns and displeased family members.

Because he could not marry Marcia. He’d make her bloody miserable. After all, Andrew hurt everyone who loved him. She’d be no different. It was why he should have never agreed to her madcap scheme.

Andrew groaned.

“I could tell them you aren’t receiving visitors, my lord?” Stanley offered, misunderstanding the reason for Andrew’s misery.

Yes, at any other time, an unannounced visit by his brothers-in-law would be the source of Andrew’s disquiet.

Andrew stared at the ceiling overhead and released a sigh. “We both know that would have no impact, Stanley, but I do appreciate the offer.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught the way his valet inclined his head in taciturn acknowledgment.

With a newly acquired understanding for those poor fellows who found themselves making a march to the gallows, Andrew swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Please, tell them I’ll be down shortly,” he said, heading for his armoire.

As Andrew pulled out garments, Stanley cleared his throat. “Ahem. They said you have no more than ten minutes, or they will commence the meeting in your chambers, my lord.”

And they’d do it, too. Andrew cursed. “I will be down momentarily.”

After hastily tugging on his garments, Andrew was dressed a handful of minutes later and headed downstairs to his office.

His office, another part of Andrew’s inheritance from the miserable man who’d sired him.

Andrew stared at the door.

How many times had he vowed as a young boy to never turn out like that fat, cruel, monstrous man? That had been before Andrew had ultimately realized that he was destined to be him.

It was why he couldn’t marry Marcia.

Hell, it was why he couldn’t marry anyone.

Or shouldn’t.

All things being equal, Andrew was enough of a bastard to realize he’d likely wed at some point, no doubt to a woman who wouldn’t mind that he couldn’t and wouldn’t be more than he was and who would be content with the title of viscountess.

The decision however was made for you the moment you decided to help her sin… a voice taunted.

A sick feeling settled in his gut.

Yes, he knew what was expected of him. He knew what she deserved. Certainly, better than him. But in the absence of that, there was only… he.

“My lord?” His valet’s tentative voice cut through those musings, and Andrew gave his head a shake.

Bringing his shoulders back, Andrew pressed the door handle and let himself inside.

Both men were seated in front of his desk. That was good.

Andrew would have expected a volatile rage that kept them on their feet.