“No need, I can see it on your face. And you’re squirming in your chair. You’re bothered again.”
“I’m nothing of the sort,” Whit argued, and resisted the urge to shift again when William leaned forward to pat him once on the knee.
“Try not to worry yourself over it. Love can be a cruel mistress, it’s true. But like all fancy women, if you treat her well, she’ll reward you with the most delightful surprises.”
After William was finally permitted to leave the room, Whit considered getting foxed with the idea that if he was going to be just as useless as his father, he might as well be just as drunk to boot. But he didn’t pour the drink. He just stood at the sideboard in his study, staring at the bottle, wavering between talking himself into it and talking himself out.
“Go on and have one, Whit.” Alex’s voice came from behind him. “I’d say the occasion more than warrants it.”
“You knew of this.” He spun around and started forward, more than ready to tear his oldest friend limb from limb.
Alex held a hand up. “I knew of, and I participated in, William’s matchmaking scheme. Nothing more.”
Whit punched him anyway.
“Bloody hell!” Alex’s head snapped back with the blow, but he didn’t fall. “What the devil was that for?”
Whit pointed at him. “For attempting to manage my life, and Mirabelle’s as well.”
Alex wriggled his jaw experimentally and threw him an ugly look. “I didn’t hit you when William played Sophie and I for fools, did I?”
“No, but I didn’t get to knowingly participate in that,” Whit returned sharply. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been enjoying yourself immensely these last two weeks.”
Whit refused to feel guilty. If a man couldn’t take a facer now and then in the name of friendship, what good was he?
Alex appeared to be of the same mind. He gave his jaw one last rub with the back of his hand before extending it to Whit.
“Fair enough,” he grumbled “I should point out, however, that the person most deserving of a broken jaw is William, not I.”
“To hear it told, your father holds the greater share of blame.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Alex moved around him to pour two snifters of brandy. “How is Mirabelle?”
Whit shook his head at the proffered drink. “The physician reported that—”
“Yes, I’ve heard the physician’s report.” He looked at Whit pointedly. “But how is she?”
“I don’t know.” Unable to sit, he walked to the window and looked out into the darkness. “I’ll speak to her after my mother and William have had their say.”
“It’ll be a wait.”
And because it would be, and because he recognized Whit’s mood, Alex made himself comfortable in his chair. He couldn’t stop his friend from brooding in silence, but he could damn well make certain he didn’t brood alone.
Twenty-seven
His heart was pounding.
Whit walked down the hall toward Mirabelle’s room with the realization that his hour-long brooding session had accomplished nothing more than to make him nervous. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t been nervous the last time he’d seen her—being ushered away by the women. But then, he’d been too worried and angry to be anything else.
Now the anger and the worry had drained, leaving only the nerves. There w ere questions still to be asked, and he was fairly certain the answers would be painful.
Lizzy answered his knock and by unspoken agreement, left him and Mirabelle alone.
Mirabelle watched him with wary eyes as he moved to stand at the end of the bed.
“Have you come to lecture me?” she asked in a tired voice. “Because if you have, I’d just as soon you wait until tomorrow. I’ve already received an earful from your mother.”
“I haven’t come to lecture you, but I would like you to tell me what happened if you’re feeling up to it.”
She sighed but nodded. “Fair enough.”
She waited until Whit took a seat next to the bed, then elaborated on what had occurred—on her idea to pay Eppersly to release her early from his house, the subsequent fight, and her forced carriage ride.
“The contract is real, Whit. It—”
“I know,” he cut in. “McAlistair and Lindberg found it in the study.”
“It wasn’t there when we searched.”
“No, it was dated the day after.”
She paled even further and her eyes grew round. “Someone else from St. Brigit’s won’t come for me, will they? They can’t use the contract to—”
“No, sweetheart.” He stepped around the bed to grip her trembling hand. “I promise, no. It’s done now.”
Her throat move in a swallow. “How can you be sure?”
“Because I personally saw to it that the contract went to ash in a fireplace, and because by this time tomorrow, Hartsinger and your uncle will be on their way…elsewhere. William will see to it. I promise.”
“Oh.” She let out a long breath and closed her eyes for a moment. “All right. That’s all right then.”