stitution,” he replied. “Indeed, I feel better than I have done in years.”
“Well, you do appear rather invigorated. Now, we have taken up far too much of your time, my lord. I only hope my niece saw fit to thank you properly.”
“She could not have been any more appreciative.”
“I dare say, we should put the matter of Mr. Sutherby behind us. Although I must admit to being a little disappointed. I have been invited to go to India with Mr. Hartwood. He helped establish a judicial system in Madras and other provinces are eager for his advice and support.”
A sudden wave of panic raced through him, gripping him by the throat and squeezing tight.
“India?”
“Mr. Hartwood has asked me to marry him,” she said clapping her hands together. “I have been a long time widowed and well …”
“Is Miss Bromwell to accompany you on your trip?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. But under the present circumstances, I see no other option. Of course, if she were settled here, then it would be a different matter.”
He understood the implication behind the woman’s words. But he could not offer marriage, or children, or any sort of future. Guilt, for taking her virginity, flared in his chest. He should have been stronger. He should not have given into the weaknesses of the flesh.
But by God, it had been the most fulfilling moment of his whole damn life.
“We are at home tomorrow if you wish to call for luncheon,” Mrs. Penrose said.
“Luncheon? I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. Unless you have no objection to me calling later, for supper perhaps?”
What the hell was he thinking? In his desperation, the words had fallen from his mouth. He could hardly sit with them and eat nothing. He would have to think of an excuse … perhaps just force down one mouthful, suppress the nausea.
“Supper it is,” she said with a smile. “And I’m certain my niece will be desperate to thank you again.”
Desire sparked as he thought of all the ways Eve could demonstrate her appreciation. “I shall look forward to it.”
Chapter 17
Elliot Markham’s town residence stood on the west side of Portman Square. The twenty or so minutes it had taken Alexander to walk from Miss Bromwell’s home, had given him an opportunity to consider how he wished to approach his friendship with Markham and Devlin.
Friends were untrustworthy.
Neither Reeves nor Lattimer had bothered to search for him after he’d gone missing from the tavern, assuming he’d abandoned them for a pair of cushioned thighs. It was a reasonable assumption, he supposed, but still he had to blame someone.
The difference now was that Markham and Devlin were the only ones to share his secret. They had stated categorically that they would never betray a brother, and Alexander could not help but feel a kinship towards them. Despite Markham’s arrogance, he’d been more than helpful with Mr. Sutherby and Alexander always paid his dues.
“You took your damn time,” Elliot said standing from his seat in front of the fire as Alexander was shown into the study. “How long does it take to escort a lady home?”
“I took a detour.”
Elliot’s curious gaze scanned his attire. “What through a muddy field and a forest full of brambles? Or perhaps a group of wild urchins ripped your shirt in a bid to warm their hands on your bare chest.” He chuckled to himself. “Do you want a drink?”
“What are you offering?”
“I was thinking of brandy, but you can have blood if you need it.”
“What sort of blood?”
Elliot raised a brow. “Animal, of course. I would always advise against human blood. It’s too hard to come by, and you’ll only crave it all the more.” He moved to the array of decanters lined up on a silver tray.
Alexander strained to look over Elliot’s shoulder. “Surely you don’t store it in a decanter?”
“It’s fine for a few hours,” Elliot said as Alexander caught the familiar scent, heard the trickle of what he assumed was brandy. “My footman knows what I like, and I find it a much more gentlemanly ritual.”