What in the damn hell had come over him? Rowan paced from one end of the billiards room to the other, his tumbler long empty and his patience expired—if it had ever existed in the first place. He’d been foolish to call for his horse and gallop after the pair much like a puppy after a neglectful owner who could not be bothered to give him a good-boy pat.

Stomping to the sideboard, Rowan refilled his glass, not bothering to offer his guest another drink. The room was closing in on him, the heat from the hearth oppressive, causing him to have trouble taking a breath. It had nothing to do with the tightness in his chest since dinner the previous evening—nor his overexertion in the gardens that morning.

What galled him the most was that Tobias and Marce had reacted like he was the outsider, the interloper, when he’d stumbled upon them in the meadow. Not the other way around. Did they not realize he was the common denominator in their triangle? He and Tobias had been friends since they wore knee breeches, while he and Marce were joined because of their bargain.

Tobias was his friend.

Marce was his… Rowan shook his head. He hadn’t the time or energy to think through what to call their association. It was in no way friendship. The woman was at Hadlow to fulfill their bargain, to stay out of his way, and make certain his mother remained happy and content during her infirmary.

Not to find flirtation with Tobias—if that was all they had.

Why did he care?

Marce was not his wife, nor anything beyond the woman whose family was responsible for the ruination of Rowan’s childhood. He didn’t care what she did outside of their arrangement. He shouldn’t care. He’d spent the last eight years not thinking about who and what Marce Davenport did if it didn’t pertain to their bargain. Rowan would be damned if he started now.

Except it appeared that the woman wasn’t content with stealing Rowan’s father’s love from his family. Now, she and Tobias looked happier together without him…and Rowan could not even begrudge them that because he was the reason Marce was at Hadlow. His inattention had led to Tobias and Marce’s friendship. If that friendship had developed into something deeper, that too was not something Rowan had the right to be angry over. He’d been too filled with rage and resentment to notice anything.

Tobias was Rowan’s friend. The bloody man had been his comrade since before either knew the meaning of the word.

Tobias belonged to Rowan—they were friends. The man had never shown any sign of receding loyalty and knew far more about Rowan and his past than Rowan felt comfortable with all of a sudden. Did he seriously doubt Tobias’s devotion? In some deep recess of his mind, Rowan knew he was being irrational, yet he’d seen the pair together—last night and in the meadow. He’d sat and watched Marce and Tobias as they meandered through the tall grass, their heads tilted together as they spoke, their bodies nearly touching as the sun cast rays of brightness about them. It was a closeness Rowan had always longed for, yet had never found completely with anyone. His father had been distant and otherwise occupied, his mother had her illness that kept her trapped, and once Rowan had attended University, he was already plagued with doubt regarding every person who made his acquaintance.

There had only ever been Tobias. His friend had never disappointed him. He’d never been too busy to share a companionable afternoon.

“Why did you request that I remain after our ride if you are only going to carry on in your silent sulking?” Tobias asked, pushing from the lounge to fetch another drink.

“I am not sulking.” Rowan drained his tumbler once more and held it out for Tobias to refill. When his friend’s brow rose in question, Rowan shook his glass a bit. “Be a dear and see to my thirst.”

Tobias obliged and moved to the billiards table. “A game perhaps?”

Rowan’s eye twitched, and he rubbed at it, attempting to keep his mind straight. This was exactly what he wanted from his friend—his loyalty and time. “It appears you are already entangled in a game,” Rowan mused.

Tobias turned sharply to face his friend. His shoulders tensed. “If you have taken issue with something, come out and say it, Ro.”

Rowan flinched when he saw the look of hurt cross Tobias’ face.

“Fine, remain silent if that suits you; however, if something interests you, I would advise you do something about it…sooner rather than later.”

Every inch of Rowan went on alert. “What in the bloody hell does that mean?”

When Tobias only shrugged and turned to collect his cue for a match, Rowan followed him. The earl knew something he wasn’t telling Rowan, and his decision to remain at Hadlow—even after Rowan had insulted him—meant the man wanted to tell him more.

“It is not my place to speak on the matter.” Or perhaps he did not.

Rowan stared at Tobias’ back as he racked the balls, and the opportunity to slip back into their comfortable companionship waned. “Not your place to speak on the matter? Do not talk in riddles, Tobias.”

“If there is something you wish to know, I suggest you ask your wife.” The earl spun around, holding out the cue to Rowan. “Until that comes to pass, let us enjoy a friendly game, shall we?”

Rowan shouldn’t have to ask Marce anything. Tobias should have enough integrity to come out and say it; admit that he enjoyed Marce’s company far more than Rowan’s. His friend was well aware of the bargain between Rowan and Marce. While they posed as a wedded couple at Hadlow, neither had any designs on the other’s time.

So, why did it have Rowan seeing red to think of Tobias and Marce enjoying time together without him?

Running his hand through his hair, Rowan settled his cue and took aim at the twenty-one colored balls aligned in the precise fashion of snooker, but the hues blurred and swam before him until he could not decipher green from blue and red from orange. It was of no use. He pushed away from the table and tossed his stick at Tobias.

“Perhaps it is best I speak with Marce.” Rowan strode to the door, pulling it open with enough force that it slammed against the wall behind it. The windowpanes rattled in their metal frames, and a maid shrieked and disappeared down the corridor toward the kitchens.

“Ro, wait!”

But Tobias’ call faded as Rowan stormed from the room and started up the grand staircase. The sooner he knew for certain, the sooner things could go back to normal. Whatever this new normal was, it would not include his best friend finding companionship with Marce Davenport.

The woman was the proprietress of Craven House…a bloody brothel. A house of ill repute. A place where men sought to slake their lust with willing, highly paid consorts. Certainly, Tobias was not ignorant of this fact.

Servants leapt from his path as he stomped down the corridor, but he did not continue past Marce’s room as he did on most occasions. Instead, he halted before it.