The Problem with Seduction

Chapter Eleven

CON SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED to encounter any of his brothers while trapped in plain sight of his mother’s doorway. He never went a day without seeing at least one of them in a surly mood. That was the rub when five men crammed themselves into one modest living space. But he didn’t want to talk to Antony today. Especially not now, after his mother had just uttered the most whimsical statement about Oliver resembling the two middle Alexander men.

Surely it was impossible to feel any guiltier about his ruse.

But he would prefer even less for his mother to witness whatever dressing down Antony was about to give him, and so he pushed himself off of the mantel he’d been resting against and spared a moment to address Mrs. Dalton, who’d returned from her daydreaming to look upon Antony with imprudent attentiveness.

“You will see to my son?” Con asked her. In spite of all his misgivings, calling Oliver his son out loud felt peculiarly right.

“Yes, my lord.” She didn’t take her eyes off Tony.

“Good,” Con replied. “I’ll be but a moment.” He hoped. The look in Tony’s eyes didn’t bode well for a speedy return.

He followed his brother from the room. He heard a baby cry behind him. Oliver. Sad because he’d left? He half-turned to go back. Then he came to his senses. Mrs. Dalton would comfort the baby. Or even Mother. What could he do that they couldn’t?

He went back to the sitting room door anyway. He didn’t go in, but he couldn’t imagine leaving, either.

Oliver continued to wail.

“Are you coming,” Tony asked, “or do you want to stand in the hallway?”

“Is there a third choice?” He didn’t tear his eyes from the two women worrying over the squalling babe.

“It’s not my reputation at stake,” Tony said behind him. “Actually, maybe it is. Did I hear Mother extend an invitation to your paramour to visit her in this house?”

“I knew you wouldn’t appreciate that,” Con muttered.

“I find nothing funny about this. Do you know what’s being said—” Tony came up and thumped Con on the shoulder. “The library. Now.”

“But…” He looked helplessly from his brother to his son.

“He won’t stop that racket while you’re standing in the doorway.”

Tony probably had a point. Maybe they all knew more about babies then they let on.

It was the second time in recent memory that Con had tried to avoid being backed into Tony’s library. When they entered the room a few minutes later, he remembered why.

Bart reclined against an arm of the couch. One booted foot was propped against the far armrest and the other stuck out over it. Always the barrister, he managed to seem intense even while reclined.

Montborne sat in a wingback chair, turning the pages of a book. He didn’t appear to be reading it, nor did he seem to be looking at prints. He’d been odd like that, morose and inward-looking, for several months now.

Even Darius was at home. He stood by the fireplace much the way Con had been standing in their mother’s drawing room a moment ago. He looked worried, and Con’s stomach twisted. He better not be in any deeper. Con could barely manage his own affairs, let alone save his brother’s neck yet again.

Tony closed the door behind them. Without preamble, he fired at Constantine, “What in God’s name are you doing now?”

“Thinking seriously about letting my own rooms,” Con grumbled. “What the devil are all of you doing here at the same time?”

Bart kicked himself around so that he sat upright on the couch. “You didn’t bring the baby in with you?”

Con’s brows together in disbelief. “To an argument?”

Bart shrugged. “We’re curious, too.”

That hadn’t even occurred to him. “He’s in Mother’s rooms, if you’re truly interested.” He felt a moment of panic when Bart looked satisfied by this answer. As if he might actually go.

Never mind that. Nothing was worse than lying to Mother, and he’d already accomplished that. “What’s this about? I don’t have all day.”

Tony moved to Montborne’s desk. He rested against the massive oak top, half-seated, half-standing, his hands braced behind him. Con knew better than to trust his apparent nonchalance. “They’re saying the most dreadful things about you in the clubs.”

With that ominous beginning, Con knew this audience wasn’t going to end well for him. “What things?”

Tony sighed heavily. “I wish you’d married her when this first made the rounds. Now they’re saying you’ve taken on a different sort of relationship. Are you aware our peers and neighbors believe you’ve become a rake-for-hire?”

“What?” It was the only non-profane word he could reach for as his heart kicked into a gallop. They knew.

Bart chuckled. “Rake-for-hire? Nice ring to it.”

Darius’ head jerked up from his pensive staring at the carpet. For the first time, he seemed to be aware he was in the room with the rest of them. “You’re a cicisbeo? How’s that going?”

He meant was it profitable. Con stifled a gag. “That’s absurd,” he barely managed to squeak out. He could bury himself in his shame. “Where is that rumor coming from?”

Tony shrugged. “Who knows? What matters is that people believe it. It’s the only reasoning to explain anything. You’re obviously not keeping her. Not on your pin money. Besides, it’s how Montborne gets along.”

“Wealthy widows are an entirely different beast,” Montborne drawled. “Please don’t confuse the two.”

He didn’t look up from the book.

“As I said before,” Con tried to explain, “she was lonely. I was in the right place at a very fortunate time. It is a bit like Montborne’s widows, actually. She’s got enough money now that the fact that I can’t afford to keep her doesn’t enter the equation. We’re—” he almost choked on the next words, “in love. Now, tell that to anyone who will listen.”

Tony’s blue eyes narrowed. Bart’s indistinguishable ones did the same. Dare, for his part, continued to appear fascinated.

His twin’s overt interest would have concerned Con the most, if not for Montborne’s expression. Con could almost see the pages of the book in Montborne’s lap singeing beneath his intense stare.

It was so unlike Montborne to have a strong thought, Con was taken aback. But he didn’t get a chance to ask after his brother’s state of mind, because Tony said, “And you think the rumor that she’s paying you to entertain her is absurd?”

“I love her,” he fired back. “She needs me. Why is that hard to believe?”

Why did it all come off his tongue more easily this time?

Darius leaned forward. “And you say she’s very wealthy?”

Blast, but his twin could be a real rotter.

“This rumormongering could have been avoided if you would have married her like we told you to,” Tony said. “But at least the wedding can move forward now. You love her, she needs you. It will set the talk to rest and close the betting books.”

While Con stared at his brother in horror at this new revelation, Darius perked up. “Betting books?”

“Don’t you even consider—” Con growled at the same time Tony said, “If you put down so much as a shilling on our brother’s personal affairs, Darius, I’ll have you on the street faster than you can pack a single stitch of clothing. Do you understand me?”

Judging by the gleam in his eye, Darius wasn’t the least deterred. Resentment built in Con’s chest. Resentment, and a need to regain control of his life. His friends and acquaintances were betting on him, were they? They were laughing at him.