When Helena returned with a tea tray and Rose, her maid, Caroline already plotted the steps to Lord West’s seduction.
***
Silas pounded on the glossy black door to the tall white house in Half Moon Street. It was too late for polite calls—but then, this wasn’t a polite call. The burly night watchman halted on his rounds and raised his lantern. The cove must be shortsighted, because apparently he only saw a well-dressed representative of the upper classes, not a man with violence on his mind. He wished Silas a cheerful good evening and shuffled on his way.
Silas went back to banging on the door until Beddle, West’s butler, appeared. “My lord,” the man said in surprise, briefly forgetting his dignity.
Silas had known Beddle since his days as a junior footman on the Grange estate. He could forgive a little informality. “Is he in?” he barked.
Beddle looked taken aback. “It’s after midnight, sir.” Behind Beddle, lamps lit the elegant black and white entrance hall.
“If he’s out, I’ll wait.” After pacing his rooms until he felt likely to lose his mind, Silas had set out on this impetuous errand to confront West. Hopefully a man who planned a day outdoors might forsake the fleshpots and have an early night. Not to mention reserving his energy for after the picnic when he pleasured a new mistress. That thought stirred the savage beast barely restrained inside Silas.
“Please come in.” Biddle’s magisterial manner returned. “I’ll ascertain if his lordship is at home.”
“I’ll wait in the library,” he said, striding ahead. He knew this house as well as he knew his own. He and West had been friends since childhood. Silas marched into the dark room and flung the curtains open. Behind him, a footman lit the lamps and set the fire.
“Brandy, my lord?” the footman asked.
Silas didn’t turn from the window. “I’ll see to myself, thank you.”
“Very good, sir.” The servant left Silas to brood.
How easily he’d fallen under the spell of his sister’s lovely new friend. He wasn’t a stupid man—even now, with his brain turned to sludge. He’d soon recognized that Caroline Beaumont carried wounds from her marriage. But their immediate affinity had led him to believe that with careful wooing, she’d be his.
What an arrogant coxcomb he’d been. These long months of pursuit, and all he had to show were a scarred heart, some bitter arguments, a couple of kisses more torment than pleasure, and an empty bed.
Reflected in the window he saw a man haggard with love. To escape that disagreeable image, he started to prowl around the library. A stack of correspondence waited on the imposing mahogany desk. Idly, Silas cast his eye across the letters.
What the devil? His heart crashed to a stop.
Oh, Caro. You bloody well went and did it.
He almost found himself admiring her audacity. After the confession that West hadn’t kissed her, part of him had assumed that her threat this morning had been bravado.
Like hell it had been bravado.
A man’s correspondence was sacrosanct. In opening that letter on top of the pile, Silas defied every rule of good manners. If anyone discovered what he’d done, he’d be drummed out of society.
Bugger good manners. Bugger society. Quickly he grabbed the note and broke the seal. A few seconds to read the contents. Another second to slip it into his pocket.
His ruin was now official. Love had brought him crashing down like all this morning’s broken pots in his greenhouse. Caroline Beaumont had destroyed his principles. He deserved to be horsewhipped. Worse, he suffered not a moment’s remorse over his actions.
When West arrived a few minutes later, Silas was perusing one of the crowded bookshelves on the far side of the room.
“Stone, what in Hades are you doing here at this hour?” West strode into the room and shut the door after him. “Have you had a drink?”
“No.” Silas turned to glower at his host.
“Good Lord, man, you look like your dog just died. What is it?” West spoke lightly as he crossed the room to pour two brandies. Over shirt and loose trousers, he wore an extravagant green silk dressing gown patterned with entwined Chinese dragons.
Silas drew himself up to his full, impressive height, although this wasn’t how he’d pictured the scene. For a start, West hadn’t been dressed so casually. Nor had his manner conveyed such ease.
“I’ll do everything in my power to stop you having her,” he said stiffly.
West paused in passing Silas a glass and frowned. “Having who? Helena?”
“Helena?” Silas scowled at his oldest friend. “What the deuce does my sister have to do with this damned mess?”