Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I sigh, sipping more coffee. It is true. I am falling in love. But what does it matter? He walked away yesterday evening, leaving me anticipating his kiss. ‘This is very unfortunate,’ I say quietly.
‘What is?’
I whirl round and find Clara at the table. She must have crept down the stairs very quietly, for I heard not one creak. Hmmm. I narrow an eye on a pout. ‘You are awake very early.’
‘As are you,’ she retorts, pouring herself a coffee and plucking a bread roll from the basket that Dalton has just set down. She wanders over to the window and looks out across the square towards the Duke’s house. ‘We are very lucky to be alive.’ She pops a piece of bread in her mouth and turns a cheeky smile my way. ‘After our encounter with the deadly Duke, that is.’
‘Oh please.’ I leave her at the window and drop to a chair. ‘There is more risk of our parents killing us than the Duke.’ I match her raised brows. ‘If they become privy to our mischiefs yesterday eve.’
‘Fear not, sister. Your secret is safe with me.’
‘What of your secret?’ I blurt.
‘What secret?’ Frank’s strained voice comes from behind, and I turn in my chair to see him propped up against the door, dressed quite inappropriately in… not a lot.
‘You look like death,’ I mutter.
His palm drags down his screwed-up face as he practically feels his way across the dining room to the table and plops into a chair. ‘Good grief, I feel it too, I assure you.’
‘You caused me untold inconvenience.’
‘And me!’ Clara shrieks around her bread, joining us at the table.
‘You?’ I question. ‘You didn’t have to carry him from… the gentleman’s club.’
‘Neither did you,’ she points out, a rueful smile on her face. ‘As I saw it, it was, in fact, another who was carrying our dear, drunken brother.’
‘What?’ Frank blurts, blinking rapidly.
‘Nothing. Clara is being spiteful.’ I throw her a warning look and she shrinks into her chair. Good. ‘You can leave,’ I say flatly.
‘What?’
This is not a conversation I should like to have in the company of my young sister. My tilted head is enough to spell out to Clara that I mean business, and since she has something rather outrageous to hide – although how outrageous is yet to be determined – she sculks off and leaves me to deal with our wayward brother. Good heavens, I am a hypocrite. Since when did I become the sensible, compliant one of the Melrose children? It matters not. My dalliances with the Duke are hardly dalliances. Clara’s encounters with the stable boy, I pray, are innocent. Just two minors dreaming and planning a happily ever after that will never happen. Frank, however, is brazenly spreading his seed. It’s shameful! I turn my attention back to my brother. ‘What are you thinking?’
His frown is heavy, his handsome face rough. ‘I don’t remember. What was I thinking?’
‘The gentleman’s club,’ I remind him. ‘Kentstone’s.’
His look of horror is instant. ‘What do you know of Kentstone’s?’
‘Too much!’
His palms meet the table, his face coming threateningly close. He has nerve. ‘How much?’
‘I know it is not a place a respectable gentleman, such as yourself, although I am doubting your eligibility, I might add, should be frequenting.’ Was he so drunk he does not remember the entire string of unfortunate events? How useful! ‘Does Mother know of its true happenings?’
His wince tells me no.
‘What about Father?’
Another wince.
Well, it would seem I am in a fortunate position and have my brother backed into a corner.
‘I was being pathetic,’ he mutters, his face grim.
‘Be that as it may,’ I say, ‘you do not want a reputation as a rake. Well, not now we’re in London.’
His look is one of pure boredom, to be expected, I suppose. After all, his shenanigans in our old life were of no consequence or concern. It mattered not if anyone saw or heard him being pathetic. Nevertheless, I remain insulted. All of the lectures he has subjected me to, and he pulls a stunt like this? ‘You should make yourself presentable before Papa and Mama rise.’
‘I feel thoroughly scorned.’
‘Rather me than Father, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
Now, he scowls. I have him, and he cannot contest. ‘Fair enough.’ He pushes himself up from the table with effort and leaves me.
Goodness, I do hope Frank’s memory does not find him. I will be done for! ‘As you should be,’ I say, frowning to myself. As an advocate for living as one wishes, regardless of the expectation placed upon me, I am being rather… judgemental. I should be relieved my siblings are walking the path of disgrace with me. Except I’m not. One wayward child – namely, me – is enough for our parents to contend with. They do not deserve three! Besides, Frank can choose whom he wishes to marry. Hopefully, Clara will be blessed with the privilege to choose too. So long as it’s not the stable boy, naturally. I expect, just as soon as she is of age, Mother will be enticing every eligible bachelor across London into her clutches, giving Clara a pool of potential husbands to choose from.