Just as Marc was about to lift a glass of whisky to his lips, his friend Alexander Everett, the Duke of Kelfield stepped into the club and nodded in Marc’s direction. That was unusual. In fact, Marc couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his friend at White’s. Months, easily. Perhaps even a year.

Alex handed his coat and hat to a footman and then made his way through the throng to drop into a seat across from Marc. “Thought you might be here.”

“As I live and breathe—” Marc smirked “—I had no idea Her Grace let you out on your own anymore.”

Alex gestured to a footman for a glass of his own, then he narrowed his eyes in Marc’s direction. “My wife doesn’t have to let me do anything.”

On that Marc begged to differ. Long gone was the wicked duke who used to haunt these very halls and much less respectable halls, but saying as much never did any good. The prissy Duchess of Kelfield had Alex wrapped around her little finger so tightly it would take an act of God to unwind him. As the man seemed quite happy about the whole thing, though Marc had no idea how he possibly could be, going further down that particular path was pointless. And had been for a number of years.

“You know,” Alex continued after it seemed clear Marc wasn’t going to complain about his duchess, “at some point I would like for my wife to actually tolerate your presence.”

At that, Marc bit back a grin. “And I should like, just once, to have a rational conversation with an actress who has all of her faculties, but we do have to live in the real world, my friend.”

“Ah!” Came a voice behind Marc’s chair and he glanced over his shoulder to find Simon Masters, the Earl of Thurlstone, standing just behind him, a roguish twinkle in his eyes as he grinned at Alex. “Has Her Grace let you out for the evening?”

Marc couldn’t hold in the laugh that erupted from him.

Alex leaned back against the leather of his chair and leveled Simon with his iciest ducal glare. “Go bugger off. Both of you.”

But Simon, as per usual, rounded Marc’s chair and dropped into a seat adjacent to them at the table. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

Alex snorted and shook his head. “Paradise is perfect, as always.” Then he heaved a sigh. “Should the two of you ever find respectability, you might find it agrees with you.”

Simon chuckled at that, but stopped when Marc added, “He’s in trade now. The chance for respectability left him long ago.”

“At least I had a chance.” Simon shrugged.

A footman delivered Alex’s whisky at that moment, which he happily took. Then he nodded toward Simon. “How is the business world these days?”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Marc complained. “Don’t get him on the subject. He’ll bore us to tears the rest of the night. Ship logs and cargo details. Do spare us the tedium.”

Simon shook his head as he admitted, “Actually, he’s right. Hardly the adventure I thought I was buying into. Heaton, Masters & Avery is profitable, but dull as ditch water. And work. Damned work, which I find I don’t enjoy, by the way.”

Not that Marc was surprised. Running an empire, small as it might be, would never be conducive to Simon’s way of life. “Why don’t you hop one of those ships,” he suggested. “Find an adventure…somewhere.” After all, the man had never been…anywhere.

“And have whom run the London office in my absence?” Simon frowned. “Are you volunteering?”

“Hardly.” Marc snorted. “Those are worries I don’t need.” He didn’t, in fact, even run his late-wife’s empire. There were people for that sort of thing. People who were not Marc.

“Speaking of worries,” Alex began and placed his glass on the table before him. “I went by Staveley House this afternoon.”

Damn it.

“Is there a particular reason Simmons is under Caroline’s employ?”

Marc blew out a breath. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the question. Alex’s duchess was Caroline’s cousin, after all. His friend was bound to find out about Simmons’ new station sooner or later. “What did she say when you asked her?” he asked, wondering how Caroline was explaining the situation, wondering if she mentioned anything else…like showing up at Marc’s and barging into his bedchamber. It had certainly been the highlight of his year.

“She’s wasn’t in,” Alex replied. “Poppy wanted to visit Emma. So I escorted her and—”

“Don’t you employ a governess for such chores?”

Alex narrowed his eyes on Marc, something he was doing too frequently these days. “Don’t be evasive. Why is Simmons working for Caroline?”

“You should ask him.” Marc shrugged as a lie easily slipped from his lips. “Apparently, she offered him better compensation than I did. Still trying to replace the traitor.”

“He was with you for so long.” Alex frowned.

“Longer than anyone should have to be,” Simon agreed, which earned him a scowl from Marc in response.

“Isn’t it nearing your bedtime?” Marc asked. “Don’t you have to be up bright and early to run your London office?”

“I’m waiting on Peasemore.” Simon glanced toward the front of the club as though speaking the man’s name could make him walk through the doors.

“Why the devil would you do anything with Peasemore?” Marc grumbled. Just hearing the man’s name irritated him to no end. Swooping down the other day as though he was Caroline’s knight in shining armor. The bastard.

“What’s wrong with Peasemore?” Simon asked.

There were a great number of things wrong with Peasemore. He was a blood relation to Carraway, whom Marc actively disliked. He seemed rather disingenuous in his own right, however, as though his charm went only as deep as the surface. And he had quite a reputation for bedding widows and unhappy wives. And…well, if he thought he was going to bed Caroline… “He’s a smug jackass.”

Simon shrugged at that. “The same could be said about any of us.”

And while that was true, Marc didn’t feel inclined to elaborate on his dislike of Peasemore, mostly because he felt certain Alex would see through him if he did.

“Oh, there he is,” Simon said. Then he nodded to Marc and Alex. “Well, see you later…” He shrugged. “Or whenever Her Grace lets you out again.” Then he made his way across the club to where Peasemore had just arrived before Alex could throttle him.

“Smug jackass, indeed,” the duke muttered.

And Marc agreed with a laugh.

Alex leaned back in his chair and regarded Marc quietly for a moment as though he wanted to say something but was warring with himself about doing so.

“If you have something to say….”

Alex heaved a sigh. “Tomorrow evening Livvie, Poppy, and I are headed to Astley’s with Caroline and her daughters.” He shrugged. “In case you should find yourself there.”

And that was why Alex had come to White’s. He was a good friend. The best Marc had. Still, he blew out a breath. Though there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to find himself wherever Caroline was at any given moment, doing so now would only incite her anger after their encounter this week. And that could lead to a rather quick end to Simmons’ tenuous position in Staveley House. Marc couldn’t let that happen. Her safety had to come before anything else. “I can’t imagine Her Grace would be happy to know you’d offered such an invitation.”

Alex seemed to bite back a smile. “Things would be much better if she liked you even a little, you know.”

“Yes, well, to steal a phrase from Simon’s profession: I believe that ship has sailed.”

“It could always return to port.”

“And house cats could always carry Prinny’s carriage, but the likelihood is not high.”

Alex simply shook his head in response.

“But do keep an eye on Caroline for me?” he asked, but only because it was Alex, who didn’t know most of Marc’s secrets, but he did know how much Marc loved Caroline.

“You could keep an eye on her yourself,” his friend said softly.

“I don’t think she’d allow that.” Even if she had seemed impressed by his stature the other day when she’d barged into his bedchambers. She still blamed him for Staveley’s death, however. She probably always would.

“Perhaps not,” Alex agreed. “But it doesn’t seem like you to give up.”

It wasn’t like him at all. Though at the moment he didn’t have much of a choice.