“Yes, but I don’t have a hope in hell of finding love.”
“You don’t have to marry Miss Bromfield. Is ruining the family not justice enough for Ambrose’s death?” Miles knew the answer but for Drake’s sake he lived in hope.
As expected, a dark and dangerous look passed over Drake’s chiselled features. “My brother did nothing to deserve the lies she told, the deceit, the shame borne upon my family. And I cannot be happy until I ensure every day she spends on this earth is as miserable as mine.”
Miles’ heart ached. A man did not spend five years with someone and not share their pain. Drake would willingly sacrifice happiness for vengeance. The thought forced Miles to draw on Dariell’s wise words.
“But if you choose happiness, Drake, are you not punishing her all the more?”
As always Drake was dismissive. “When it comes to happiness, there are no guarantees. Whereas I’m certain I possess the ability to ruin her life, and so take comfort in that.”
“I have never met a man more stubborn,” Miles said with a sigh.
“Have you not? Once glance in the looking glass might solve that problem.”
They both smiled.
“Then there is nothing left for me to do other than support your decision and pray the dice fall in your favour.” A small part of him wanted Drake to lose, if only so his friend might be spared a life of misery.
“They will.” Drake had an unshakable resolve. “Fate has seen me safely to this point and Fate will see me through to the end.”
“Some things are inevitable,” Miles agreed.
He had let Fate’s hand guide him. The moment he locked eyes with Lydia, everything in his world shifted into place. But Miss Bromfield was a manipulating wildcat and even a man with Drake’s strength and fortitude could not turn that situation around to his advantage.
“Any news on your steward?” Drake asked, quick to change the subject.
“No one has seen or heard from him since the night he fled the assembly. If he’s got any sense, he’ll stay hidden. After learning of my return, my creditors arrived in droves, eager for me to settle all outstanding bills.”
The long-case clock in the hall chimed two.
The lateness of the hour drew Miles back to the reason he stood conversing on the dimly lit landing. “Is there something wrong, Drake?”
“Wrong? Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s the middle of the night.”
Drake gave a hapless shrug. “I’m tired of London and every time I see that bastard Bromfield I want to wring his damn neck.”
“It won’t be long until the game.”
“No,” Drake replied meditatively.
“Life will be vastly different for you after that.”
Drake remained silent. An air of melancholy hung over him. At heart Drake was a free spirit, and yet he was willing to chain himself to Bromfield’s harpy daughter to avenge Ambrose.
“I made an appearance at Lady Freeman’s soiree,” Drake eventually said.
“Lady Freeman? The matron is renowned for cheating at cards and hazard.” Well, that was the case five years ago, and no one could quite work out how she managed the tricks. “Please tell me you plan to beat Bromfield using honest methods.”
“Of course. But it doesn’t hurt to watch the dishonest at play.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I mention it only to inform you that Lord Randall has added his spoon to the gossip pot and is intent on making trouble for you and Miss Lovell.”
“Lord Randall?” That was odd. Why would he want to ruin Miss Lovell’s name if he hoped to marry her? “You’re sure of this?”