Page 9

By the time he reached the library, his jaws ached from clenching his teeth, a habit that had become more prevalent the longer he found himself in the company of the two Longmorten women.

He realized his father had initiated the childhood engagement because an astonishingly impressive dowry that included a great deal of land came along with Lady Margaret.

But, gads alive, Wolfe wished his sire had allowed him to find his own wife.

He couldn’t help but wonder how Lady Margaret’s father, an earl known to frequent the gaming hells, had managed to set aside such a sizeable amount for his only child and not gambled it away.

But Wolfe’s solicitor and banker had assured him the funds were there along with the deeds to the land.

And he didn’t deny the dowry had its appeal, but unfortunately, Lady Margaret did not. The young woman was the spitting image of her mother and always looked ready to bite someone whenever she smiled. If she someday sprouted fangs, Wolfe would not be surprised in the least.

Currently, she exhibited a somewhat more pleasing demeanor than her mother, but it was feigned. The lady fawned all over him as if he had descended from the very gods themselves. But occasionally, her true nature reared its ugly, spiteful head, and she had to hurry to tamp it back down.

An involuntary shudder swept through him.

He was well and truly trapped, since men were bound by their word, even though that word was his father’s.

Lady Margaret and her mother would not hesitate to sue him for breach of promise were he to break the engagement, and he refused to allow such damage not only to his reputation but to the Wolfebourne estate.

As soon as he stepped into his almost cavelike library, perfumed with the comforting scents of books, the finest pipe tobacco, and rich leather upholstery, his tension melted away, enabling him to breathe easy again.

First and foremost, his priority was seeing to his brother and sister.

With any luck, Lady Margaret and her mother would tire of waiting for wedding bells and break off the engagement themselves.

After all, it was seen as more acceptable if the woman ended the agreement.

He just wished they hadn’t invited themselves to join him for a few weeks in the country.

Hopefully, they would soon grow bored with that and either return to London or their own country estate, which was much farther—a great deal farther—to the southeast.

Just as he settled into the depths of his favorite chair, reveling in the welcoming creak and groan of its lush, leathery depths, a tap on the door delayed his first sip of whisky—his preferred drink to relax ever since the war.

A second tap quickly followed the first, making him narrow his eyes at the offending portal of dark mahogany.

Whomever it was had best have good reason for encroaching upon his lair. “Enter!”

The tall door creaked open, revealing Feebson, Wolfebourne Lodge’s wiry little butler. “The Marquess of Strathyre is in the parlor, Your Grace. Are you receiving, since Lord Connor and Lady Susannah are safely recovered?”

The servant made the twins sound like rare jewels that had been lost and then found. Wolfe gave a wry snort. Perhaps that description was not so far off the mark. “Bring his lordship in here, Feebson. I am not inclined to move now that I am comfortable.”

Feebson, who had always reminded Wolfe of a devoted rat terrier, tiny yet mighty, offered a concerned nod. “Shall I also inform Mrs. Havarerry to ready a warming poultice for your knee, Your Grace? One that could be applied directly after dinner, perhaps?”

A poultice for his knee would be the perfect excuse to avoid Lady Margaret’s abuse of the pianoforte after dinner. “Thank you, Feebson, I would indeed find that remedy most welcome this evening.”

“Very good, Your Grace. I shall return presently with Lord Strathyre.” The man backed out of the room and softly closed the door.

Within moments, the door flew open again, and in strode Gregson “Strath” MacStrath, Marquess of Strathyre, and one of Wolfe’s closest friends. “Knee paining ye again? Heard yer wee guard dog ordering a poultice from Mrs. Havarerry.”

“You always did have the hearing of an owl.” Wolfe pointed his whisky glass at the cabinet in the corner. “Help yourself. As I told Feebson, now that I am comfortable, I am not inclined to move.”

“What have the bairns done now? Ye have that look about ye.” The barrel-chested Scot swaggered over to the cabinet, poured himself a drink, then hoisted the bottle higher and waited.

Wolfe shook his head. As much as he would enjoy a second drink, it would be better for all concerned if he limited himself to savoring no more than one.

“They slipped away from their maid—yet again. Trespassed onto Broadmere land, supposedly in chase of Connor’s dog that was after a wily hare.

Said hare proceeded to lead the dog into a snare of woodbine, and if not for the Duke of Broadmere’s sharp-tongued sister, they would probably still be sitting in that thicket. ”

Strath settled into an equally sumptuous leather chair and leaned forward with his forearms propped on his knees. “Are ye saying the woman ran them off her brother’s land? They’re naught but children. What harm could they do?”

“She did not run them off their land. She rescued the pup and brought them home, placing not only Connor and Sissy on the back of her horse but the dog and that infernal cat too.” Wolfe bit his tongue to keep from describing her scandalous clothing.

After all, it was important to Connor that the lady not be outed to her brother or anyone else.

Strath grinned and waggled a bushy blond brow. “My Sarah will be inviting her over for tea when I tell her this tale. Which sister are we speaking of? ’Tis my understanding Broadmere Manor possesses a bevy of them. Although I think two are married now, with homes of their own.”

“I doubt this one is married. She was…” Wolfe clenched his teeth again, frustrated at the inexplicable hope in his heart that Lady Grace was not married. Why the devil would he even wander down that path?

“She was what ?” Mischief danced in Strath’s eyes. “Ye said she was sharp-tongued. Did the lass get the better of ye, then?”

“No one gets the better of me,” Wolfe said. “No one.” But this woman had—in a way he couldn’t get out of his mind. “But Lady Grace did win Connor’s heart. He swears he is going to marry her.”

Strath shook his head and held up his glass as if offering a toast. “Dinna do that to the lad. Look at the misery your father wrought on ye with such an arrangement.”

“I would never put Connor through such misery. Although I doubt it would be in the case of Lady Grace.”

“Really now?” Strath grinned. “Sounds as if she not only got the better of ye but caught yer eye as well.”

Wolfe snorted but didn’t acknowledge that remark with a response.

He sipped his drink and held the rich liquid on his tongue before sending the burn down his gullet, along with his regret at not being free.

His little brother had no idea how fortunate he was.

Not only could Connor go his own way in life, he could choose the woman he wished to take along with him.