“Accidentally?” Rufus echoed dubiously. “How does one ‘accidentally’ compromise someone? You tripped and ended up between her legs?”
A flare of protective anger flashed through him. “We’re discussing my wife, Rufus,” he said mildly enough, but there was no missing the note of warning.
Rufus, however, was unabashed. “When did you get so nice in your ways? We’ve discussed women in all their delightful detail all our lives. We even discussed Jessamine’s problems in the marriage bed. Why is this pretty little tart off limits?”
“She’s one of Eustace Russell’s daughters,” he said, resisting the urge to punch his frail, long-lost brother.
“Even more so, then. That family has been thoroughly disgraced. One daughter disappeared; another ran off with a married man who murdered his first . . .” Rufus let the words trail off, as if he suddenly realized what he was saying.
But Rufus always knew what he was saying. “Murdered his first wife,” Alexander finished for him. “Well, then the daughters will have that in common, won’t they? Perhaps when the third one surfaces we can find a wife-murderer for her too. But explain this to me—if the one ran off with a man who murdered his wife, how can he still be married? Or is he planning to go through a whole slew of them?”
Rufus grinned, unabashed. “No, Kilmartyn would have been a widower by the time the girl ran off with him. Too bad you don’t listen to gossip—it was a nine days’ wonder.”
“But you were abroad at the time. How did you happen to hear about it?”
“Oh, I’ve always been more interested in gossip than you have, and word travels to all the expatriates and consulates all over the world. The sun never sets on England, old boy, and it never sets on any juicy scandal. Didn’t your blushing bride tell you about them?”
“I don’t know if she knows where her sisters are.”
“Been too busy doing other things?” Rufus suggested, smirking. “You really don’t have to marry her, you know. Fuck her all you want—the Russells are no longer considered to be a decent family, and as far as I know there are no relatives to look out for any of them. Certainly no angry uncles, cousins, or brothers to horsewhip you.”
Alexander had forgotten how much he disliked Rufus’s smirk. “How do you happen to be so conversant with Eustace Russell’s family? I wouldn’t have thought that kind of financial scandal would have been of much interest.” Once again he was feeling uneasy. Something wasn’t right here, and he was remembering how often he’d felt that way in Rufus’s presence.
“Oh, some raddled old English lady in Italy told me more than I’d ever want to know about Russell’s lineage, and unfortunately I have a tendency to remember everything,” Rufus said easily.
That didn’t sit right either. Rufus never wasted his time with raddled old ladies, even for the sake of gossip—he was most often downright rude when he grew bored. Alexander watched him closely as he continued. “Since my inheritance effectively put her out on the streets I feel a certain responsibility.”
Rufus laughed. “That’s my brother. Always feeling responsible for everyone, even for sorry creatures like me and my mother. I’d forgotten the Russells owned Renwick—that must have been awkward.”
He was lying. Rufus had always been a brilliant liar, but for some reason Alexander had always been able to tell, even when their father had been convinced. Rufus knew perfectly well who the Russells were.
“Not awkward at all,” Alexander said, taking another sip. “Are you going to let your mother know you’re among the living?”
“Oh, I sent her a note. That’s why Wilton expected you. In fact, I sent it days ago. It must have gotten lost in the post.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Alexander said easily enough. In fact, almost all of Rufus’s purported letters never made their destination, and Alexander had long stopped believing in their existence. “How long have you been here? When did you return to England?”
“Oh, not that long ago,” Rufus said. “Though granted, I was in rough shape when I first arrived—it was little wonder that it took me a bit before I could put pen to paper. But here you see me, hale and hearty once more, or close enough to it.” He drained his glass, then managed a dramatic yawn. “Though I must admit I do get tired. I usually nap before supper. You don’t mind if I go up for a bit, do you? Wilton already knows I like supper at nine thirty, though if your buxom bride needs sustenance earlier I’m sure Cook will provide. By the way, I hired a new one. Cook, that is. Mrs. Parker was dreadfully unimaginative.”
Mrs. Parker had been in his employ for over fifteen years, and a good, loyal worker. Alexander didn’t show any discernible reaction as his annoyance and disquiet increased. “My buxom bride probably won’t eat out of sheer stubbornness. She’s not as convinced that we need to marry as I am.”
Rufus raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Why ever not? Granted, you’re nowhere near as pretty as me, but you’re still well enough, and you’ve got both money and the title. What has she got to complain about?”
Alexander was about to mutter, “Ask her,” when he thought better of it. “As I said, she’s stubborn. We’ll be married tomorrow.”
“You have the license already?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem to get one. With enough money and connections it’s merely a formality.”
“And you have both, dear boy, don’t you?” It almost sounded like malice in Rufus’s voice. Alexander watched him covertly. When had everything turned upside down in his life? His brother had reappeared, and with him all the doubts and uneasiness that had plagued Alexander for the last few years.
On top of that, Alexander had become . . . perhaps infatuated was the right word . . . with a pretty little doll of a female. A pretty little doll with a sharp tongue and sharper claws, someone who made him laugh and never bored him. Perhaps that was it. He was simply marrying her out of boredom.
It didn’t matter. Right then he wasn’t terribly comfortable in examining his feeling and motives. Tomorrow he’d be a married man, and they’d go from there.
And one thing was abundantly clear, though he wasn’t sure why. He was keeping her well out of the reach of his once-dead brother.
CHAPTER NINETEEN