“Jack,” she said, catching her brother by the sleeve halfway down the corridor. “What is it? Are you in debt again?”
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.
“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “I have access to funds now … We’ll find some other way. You’ll never win against the duke.”
“You don’t know that.” He shook off her grip and kept walking. “It’s a game of chance,” he said dryly. “That’s what makes it so very exciting.”
Chance had nothing to do with it. Not against Spencer.
Abandoning all hope of reasoning with her brother, Amelia charged forward and overtook her husband. At least he had a logical mind, if not compassion. She pulled up short, stopping him in front of the library entrance.
“Please,” she whispered through her teeth. “Please. Don’t.”
“This doesn’t concern you, Amelia.”
“Of course it does. We both know Jack has no chance to win against you. And he’s clearly in trouble with someone. If he leaves here defeated and upset, he’ll only dig himself deeper still.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“No, it’s mine. And if you …” Her voice trailed off, leaving the remainder of the sentence unspoken and obvious. If you care for me at all, you won’t do this.
“For God’s sake, Amelia.” Jack stepped between them. “This is men’s business. Stop meddling in my life, for once.”
Before Amelia could even begin to respond—Jack wasn’t there anymore. He was on the carpet, moaning in pain, and Spencer was shaking out his fist.
“You—” She clapped a hand to her cheek and gaped at Spencer. “You hit him!”
“Yes. But not half as hard as I wanted to.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, d’Orsay. That was barely a punch. Pick yourself up. It’s embarrassing.”
A stunned Jack struggled to his feet, rubbing his mouth.
“Now apologize.”
“Sorry,” he muttered through rapidly swelling lips.
“Not to me, you jackass. To Amelia.”
Staring at the spot of blood on fingertip, Jack swore incoherently, then mumbled, “Solly, Ameeya.”
Spencer flung open the library door. “Now let’s finish this.”
It took all of twenty minutes.
Amelia waited in the corridor, arms crossed over her chest, pacing in time to the hall clock’s ominous ticks. Dread welled inside her with each passing minute. Surely Spencer could have beaten her brother in the first round, had he wished to. Perhaps he was toying with Jack, the way he’d toyed with her. Drawing him further into the game, building false confidence … and of course, Jack would not know when to walk away.
Finally, the door swung open, and Jack emerged. Amelia flew to him, scanning his expression for clues to his state of mind. “Will you be all right?” she asked. No need to ask whether he’d won or lost.
He stared vacantly at the wainscoting, rubbing his neck with one hand. An impressive bruise bloomed across the left side of his jaw. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will become of me now. I thought …” He blew out his breath slowly, then turned and gave her a defeated half-smile. “I wish you better luck than mine, Amelia. I fear you’ll need it, married to that man.”
He kissed her cheek, then strode off down the long, carpeted passageway.
“Wait,” she called after him. “You’re not leaving already?”
He did not break stride to answer—which was, she supposed, an answer in itself.
“Jack!”
He halted, but did not turn around.
“Have you enough for your fare home?”
“Yes, just.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon,” he replied, throwing her a cryptic glance over his shoulder. “Or never.” He jammed his hand into a pocket and resumed strolling away. Turning right toward the entrance hall, he disappeared from view.
Amelia wheeled around and charged straight into the library. “How could you do that to him? How could you do it to me?”
With deliberate calm, Spencer closed the drawer he’d been holding open, then stood from his desk chair. The crisp linen of his shirt stretched taut across his shoulders as he rose. He’d removed his coat for the game, evidently.
“How could I not?” His eyes went to Leo’s brass token, which lay in the center of the ink blotter. He scooped the coin into his palm. “I couldn’t risk allowing him to leave here with this. God knows where he’d lose it, or what further damage it might cause, should it fall into the wrong hands.”
“Yes, but why take it from him this way? He is in financial straits; you want that token. Why not find a solution beneficial to you both?”
He gestured toward the door. “You heard your brother. He didn’t want a price for it. The damn fool wanted to play. Was I supposed to refuse?”
“Yes! You know better, even if he doesn’t.”
“I don’t know where you expect your brother to get some sense, if you keep thinking for him.” He folded his arms. “Perhaps now he’ll have learnt his lesson.”
“He’s learned nothing, except not to visit me again.”
“I can’t say that comes as a disappointment.” He walked out from behind his desk.
“Not to you, perhaps. It’s a grave disappointment to me.” More than a disappointment. More like devastation. She hated to even think about what would happen once Jack returned to Town.
“For God’s sake. Jack is a no-good wastrel. He takes your money and in return gives you no end of worry. And yet you defend his horrid behavior. You coddle and reward him for it.”
“No, I don’t.” Her voice shook. “I continue to love him despite it. And I hold out hope he’ll reform. You needn’t have simply thrown him money. Jack told me he wants to resume his studies at Cambridge. Take orders in the Church.” He hadn’t truly said that last bit, but it was the logical extension. “You could offer him a living as a vicar, or some other chance to earn back his debts.”
“My tenants are my responsibility. You want me to place their spiritual welfare in Jack’s hands? Inconceivable.” He shook his head. “And he didn’t come here with any intention of resuming his studies or taking orders, Amelia. He came for money. He changed his tale the moment I challenged him.”
“He changed his tale the moment you cast him out! Without so much as a word to me, I might add. I thought after this morning, you might begin to see the virtue in engaging your wife in open conversation. We might have at least discussed the matter before you swindled him out of that token and tossed him out on his ear.”
When his only answer was a gruff sigh, she pressed a fist to her chest. “You say your tenants are your responsibility. Well, my brothers are mine.”
She’d been ten years old when Young William was born. Mama had been so weakened from the birth, it was all she could do to tend the baby. Hugh and Jack were seven and six at the time, and their care fell to her. You must be my little mother, Amelia. Look after the boys. And she’d done her best, ever since.
“Spencer, please. I’ve already lost Hugh. I can’t lose Jack, too.”
He came to stand before her. His face was dark with emotion, his posture one of power and strength. His sheer physical nearness roused her body, and she recalled the way he’d tangled his limbs with hers in the stable, kissed her throat, stroked her bare thigh … Despite her anger, she was a breath away from launching herself into his arms and begging him to hold her, kiss her, pleasure her, care for her.
Love her, and understand.
And then he said quietly, “Jack is already lost, Amelia.”
No. Amelia gaped at him, tears burning in her eyes. Marrying Spencer was supposed to mean her brother’s salvation, not his doom. He’d exhaust his fortune for an ill-tempered horse, but he’d write off her brother with a single remark?
“Don’t you say that,” she whispered. “You don’t know him. He and Hugh were just a year apart, and such close friends. It’s like a part of Jack died with him, and he keeps trying to fill that emptiness with gaming and drink. You don’t know how he was, before.”
“And you are blind to the man he is now. I’ve seen this before, in reckless youths with a taste for high stakes and brains starved for good sense. I tell you, he is lost. He may yet find his way back, but only if he discovers the will and strength within himself. Nothing you can do will make him change. You need to snip his leading strings, for both your sakes. No more consoling, no more cajoling. No more money. If you’re not strong enough to cut the ties, I’ll do it for you.”
“Cut the ties? With my own flesh and blood?” She couldn’t believe that this was the same Spencer she’d conversed with in the stables this morning. He knew how important her family was to her. How could he even suggest this? “Of all the arrogant, unfeeling …”
“Ah, yes.” With a humorless laugh, he unfolded his hand. Between them, the brass token glittered in his palm. “I’m the villain. Jack can show up at this house, drowning in gaming debt, having recovered this coin from a low prostitute. He can impugn my honor, threaten my cousin’s reputation, and insult you to your face—”
“You hit him!”
“—and I’m the villain.” He muttered a vicious oath. “I’ve spent a week laboring under wrongheaded suspicions. I’ve exhausted every scrap of patience and consideration, worked day and night to see these accusations proved false. You claimed to believe me, even when my efforts failed. Now Jack appears with the very evidence of my innocence in his pocket, and I’m the deuced villain. Worthless ingrate that he is, he gets your loyalty. He’s the one you defend.”
The wounded look in his eyes … God, she felt it twist in her heart. But what could she say? “He’s my brother.”
“I’m your husband!”
The force in his voice sent her stumbling a half-step in retreat. The predatory gleam in his eyes sent her back another two. Her heart drummed furiously in her chest.
“I am your husband. We exchanged vows, in case you’ve forgotten.” He held up the token between his thumb and forefinger as he advanced. “And that same night, you made me a pledge. Once this token was found, I would have all of you. You would deny me nothing.”
“What do you mean? You’ve just threatened to forcibly separate me from my family. Now you expect me to behave as if nothing has changed? Lie back on the bed like a good, obedient wife?”
“No.” In a rush of strength, he caught her by the waist and swept her backward, until she collided with the wall. “I’ll take you right here, never mind the bed.”
He lifted her slightly, wedging his legs between hers and supporting her weight with his thighs as one hand dropped to burrow beneath her skirts. She gasped for air as he shoved the heavy velvet up to her waist, too stunned to resist. His fingers found her sex, and she was still wet for him from earlier, still tender from the night before. The sensation was overwhelming. Without preliminary, he pushed two fingers inside her, and her inner muscles cinched around their girth.
He stilled, breathing just as heavily as she. “You wanted this.”
Wanted what? To marry him in the first place? To be taken hard and fast against the wall? To witness the hurt in his eyes and feel that sharp edge of retribution, after the way he’d devastated her just now?
“Yes,” she breathed. Yes, she wanted all of this.
He withdrew his fingers, and she felt him tugging at the placket of his trousers. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to free himself, supporting her weight and endless wads of velvet with one arm as he worked the buttons with his other hand. Amelia let her own arms dangle at her sides. She didn’t want to help him, but neither did she want to push him away. Despite all her anger and wounded feelings, she still yearned for the pleasure he could give. It was as if her heart had walked out the door with Jack, but her body was still here, mindlessly craving.