After being within reach of Greg all night, after waltzing with him, after kissing him, Bella felt rather alone as she climbed the stairs that led to her chambers at Chatham House. It was a night she would never forget, though she wished she could forget that last part with Elliott causing such a scene in the middle of Kelfield ballroom.

As soon as she entered her chambers, Bella found her sister, sitting in the middle of her bed. “All right.” Prissa brushed her dark tresses over her shoulder as she sat up straight. “Tell me everything. Every single detail. Don’t leave one thing out.”

Goodness, there was so much Prissa didn’t know, and so much Bella couldn’t really tell her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you before. I tried to find you before dinner.”

“Heavens!” Her sister’s silvery eyes twinkled. “You have nothing to apologize for, Bella I just want to hear it all now. How did you meet him? When? What did he say to Papa? Grandpapa has been in a temper all night, which doesn’t bode well for your Lord Avery, but—”

“Elliott made a fool out of himself again,” Bella said, halting all discussion about Lord Avery at least for the moment.

“He made a fool out of himself?” Prissa frowned. “What did he do?”

Bella crossed the floor and collapsed onto the bed beside her sister. “He was deep in his cups again.” She sighed as the embarrassing incident flashed once more in her mind. “He crashed into the Kelfields’ refreshment table and knocked everything to the floor. The ratafia, the sandwiches, everything.”

“Oh my goodness.” Prissa winced.

“Her Grace was very kind about the whole thing, but—” Bella shook her head “—it’s like Elliott doesn’t even realize what he’s done, Prissa. He laughed it all off and when Papa tried to grab him to bring him home, he refused to come with us, and he headed somewhere on his own.”

“Where?” Prissa’s hand fluttered to her heart.

“I have no idea.”

Prissa dropped back on the bed beside Bella with a sigh. “I miss the old Elliott. The one who read me stories and took me riding.”

“Me too.” Their brother hadn’t been that Elliott in a very long while, but it had happened so gradually, Bella couldn’t pinpoint when the change in him had actually occurred.

“Can’t he see what he’s doing to himself?” Prissa continued.

“I don’t think he can.” And that was the strangest or perhaps most heartbreaking part of all of it.

“How can he not?” Her sister frowned. “He’s back here instead of in his own lodgings. He’s completely out of funds. Today he begged me for my pin money.”

“He did the same to me.” Bella’s heart twisted at the thought of what her brother was doing to himself.

“I gave him everything I had.” Prissa pushed up on her elbow to better see Bella. “Did you?”

“I didn’t have anything left after the new oil paints last week.” She shook her head. “How much did you give him?”

“Five pounds.”

Bella doubted five pounds would get Elliott very far, not with the debt Grandfather mentioned a few days before. And certainly not if he drank or gambled it away instead of spending it wisely. The odds of him spending it wisely didn’t seem like a remote possibility. “He even asked Greg…Lord Avery for money this evening. I thought I might die of embarrassment.”

“What did he say? Lord Avery, I mean?” Prissa asked, her light grey eyes wide.

“He told him no.” Though not quite so nicely, not that she could blame Greg for that.

“If we could talk to Elliott when he’s sober…”

A mirthless laugh escaped Bella. “When would that be, Prissa?”

“I don’t know.” Her sister sighed. “I haven’t seen him so recently.”

And neither had Bella.

“I’m so sorry he embarrassed you in front of Lord Avery.” Prissa shook her head. “Hardly the best welcome into the family.”

“Hardly,” Bella agreed. Greg was probably counting his blessings that their betrothal was only pretend.

“Enough about Elliott. We certainly won’t solve that problem tonight. And I want to hear all about Lord Avery. Every last detail.”

Bella’s belly twisted at the thought of lying to her sister. But it would be better for everyone, Prissa included, if she believed the same story everyone else did. It wouldn’t be fair, after all, to ask her sister to keep such a secret. “He’s incredibly kind,” she began. Because he was perhaps the kindest gentleman she’d ever met.

“And honorable, like you hoped for?” Prissa asked. “Does he love art? Does he treat you well?”

Bella laughed a bit nervously. “He enjoys art, like I do,” she lied. “And he’s more honorable than I have a right to expect.” That at least was the truth.

Prissa sighed with contentment. “He is very handsome. And he seemed so enamored with you over dinner.”

Yes, well, Greg was a very good actor, wasn’t he?

“How did you meet him? How did you bring him up to scratch so soon? Tell me everything.”

“Well, I actually met him at the Astwicks’. So thank you for forcing me to attend the other night.”

“You weren’t there very long.”

“Elliott made a scene that night as well.” Just the memory of it made Bella sick to her stomach.

“But it clearly didn’t matter if Lord Avery offered for you anyway.”

“We had such a nice conversation about painting techniques before Elliott did so,” she lied. “And—” Goodness, what was it Lady Clayworth had said? Oh, yes. “—It was love at first sight,” she continued. “Even after Elliott was awful, Lord Avery thought about me and sought me out this morning, professing his undying love.”

“True love triumphs over everything.” Prissa sighed wistfully. “And all before Johann arrives in London. Honestly, Bella, you are the luckiest girl alive. Do you know that?”

Bella felt far from lucky. Oh, she was fortunate Greg was willing to aid her temporarily, but in a few weeks, they’d go their separate ways and her good fortune would come to an end.

* * *

What the devil was Greg doing, standing outside a bawdy house in the middle of Covent Garden? He’d very clearly lost his mind. Whatever Gillingham was up to, was truly none of his concern. But he couldn’t shake Bella’s anguished expression from earlier that evening from his mind. And this was where the Chatham footman had suggested Greg search for his wayward would-be brother-in-law.

Out of nowhere, a dagger whizzed through the air and when an angry yelp echoed into the air, he realized some fellow in the shadows had almost been upon him. Good God!

And then a man in mask, all in black, raced past him after the cutpurse, leaving Greg to gape after the pair of them. For the love of God.

His heart pounded as he realized belatedly that he had, very foolishly, ignored Lockington’s warning about Covent Garden. There really was a man in a mask, throwing daggers at people. It was quite possible London truly was worse than he remembered.

“Visiting a brothel on the very day you get betrothed?” came an oh-too familiar voice from behind him.

Tristan.

“I hardly think that bodes well for your future.”

Greg glanced over his shoulder at his brother and frowned. “Following me?”

“Thought it might be the best way to get some answers.” Tristan shrugged as he closed the distance between them.

“Did you see that?” Greg stared off in the direction the dagger thrower and the thief had disappeared. ‘That fellow wielding a dagger?”

“The Covent Guard, they’re calling him.”

“He’s mad,” Greg breathed out, still a little shaken by the whole thing.

“Probably,” Tristan agreed. “It’s not Pappewick, Greg. You should take a care when frequenting low-rent brothels in the dead of night.”

Oh, for God’s sake. The dank hovel was hardly the sort of place Greg would frequent. “I’m looking for someone.”

Tristan snorted. “I’m certain there are several someones in there, but unless you’re looking to contract the pox…”

“Do I look like Russell to you?” Greg grumbled. “I have it on good authority Gillingham may be inside.”

“And you thought to do what? Wrestle him from some lightskirt’s bed?” Tristan’s brow lifted in question. “To what end?”

Dear God, Greg would rather not have that particular scene in his mind. “I was hoping to press upon the ne’er-do-well, that his actions are hurting his sister.”

“Yes, I imagine they are,” Tristan agreed with a sigh. “I also don’t imagine Gillingham will listen or that he cares overmuch.”

Tristan was most likely right about that, but Greg had to try to reason with the soused wastrel. Between Chatham and Gillingham, it was no wonder poor Bella was in her current situation. What decent fellow would want to throw his lot in with the likes of her tyrannical grandfather and her pickled brother for a lifetime? When this ruse of theirs was over, she’d be in exactly the same predicament she was in before their pretend betrothal, unless something changed. And that was hardly fair to her. She was a charming girl, delightful really, and she deserved better than wasting away to eventual spinsterhood thanks to her unappealing relations.

“Well, perhaps I’ll just beat some sense into him, then.” Greg lifted his hand to knock on the door.

But Tristan grabbed his arm. “Why don’t we wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing in there?” Then he gestured toward a carriage not too far away. Greg’s carriage with the Avery lion crest emblazoned on the side.

So Tristan had followed him in that? Greg had hired a hack to avoid detection in Covent Garden, but apparently his brother didn’t have the same concerns about being spotted outside a brothel in the dead of night.

“He may be more receptive to your suggestions if you wait,” Tristan continued.

Greg snorted in response. “You think I should spend the rest of my evening, sitting in front of a bawdy house, waiting for an inept drunkard to stumble back out?”

Tristan shrugged. “I am simply saying, Greg, that bounding through that door, dragging him from whosever bed he’s in and beating him to within an inch of his life will hardly garner you the results you’re looking for.”

Dragging the wastrel from a brothel and beating him within an inch of his life sounded like a decent plan. Perhaps it would shake some sense in to Gillingham. The damned fool. “And what makes you such an expert?”

Tristan shook his head. “I spent many more years with Russ than you did.”

Greg snorted again. That was true, but… “Certainly you’re not equating our brother with that degenerate.”

“No, no, of course not. Though there were a few times Russ might’ve come close to resembling Gillingham in his present condition.” He gestured to the coach once more. “Come on, I’ll keep you company while you wait.”

Greg heaved a sigh, but did make his way to the coach, Tristan by his side. He climbed in and took a spot on the bench so he’d have a clear view of the brothel’s entrance. How long could Gillingham even be? Especially in his condition? One wouldn’t think he’d be able to perform at all considering the fact that walking a straight line seemed beyond him when he’d stumbled out of Kelfield House a few hours ago.

Across the coach from him, Tristan released a sigh. “You don’t plan on telling me anything?”

Greg flicked his gaze away from the brothel’s entrance to his younger brother on the opposite bench. “What do you want to know?” Though he had a fairly good idea exactly what was troubling Tristan.

His brother scoffed. “You could always start with the fact that you’re betrothed to Lady Arabella but neglected to mention anything about that to me before Kelfield made his announcement this evening.”

“Was that a question?”

Tristan sighed. “All right, I’ll re-phrase it, Greg. Why didn’t you tell me you were betrothed before Kelfield made that announcement to all and sundry?”

Greg supposed he should have expected his brother to be annoyed about that.

“I would think being your brother—”

“I hadn’t seen you until this evening. It wasn’t a slight, Tristan.”

His brother shook his head. “I knew you found her attractive the other night, but…”

Had it been that obvious? “But…?” Greg prodded when Tristan said nothing else.

“I’m just surprised is all.” His brother leaned back against the squabs, those green eyes of his studying Greg in the dim light. “You hid away at Rufford Hall for more years than were healthy and then you offer for a girl you barely know. It doesn’t seem like you, not in the least.”

I never thought you were the sort to put more thought into stocking your stables than in the selection of your bride, Avery. Sarsden’s words echoed in Greg’s mind. If he thought he could get away with telling Tristan the same thing he’d told his former schoolmate, he would have done so. But Tristan would never be appeased so easily.

“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

Tristan sent him a glance that said very clearly he did not. “And neither do you.”

“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind on the subject since encountering Bella that first night.”

“Bella?” Tristan’s brow lifted.

“Just because you may not believe in it,” Greg continued evenly, “that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible, Tristan.” And then he heaved a sigh of his own. “She’s unlike any lady of my acquaintance. And I have fallen quite under her spell.” And even as Greg said the words meant to convince and appease his brother, there was a part of him that knew they were most definitely true. Bella Winslett wasn’t like any girl he’d met before and falling under her spell would be only too easy to do.

She was innocent, honest, refreshing, truly an original. She wasn’t like any lady of his acquaintance. Cordie could take on the world with a strength not found in most men. Phoebe with her effervescent personality was often the center of attention. And Marina… A stab of pain pierced his heart at the thought of Marina. She’d been a master manipulator, playing with Greg’s affection for her from the very beginning. The longer she was gone, the clearer he saw her. But Bella…well, Bella wasn’t like any of them. He bit back a smile at the thought of the green paint on her cheek and how very easily she blushed. He intentionally pushed the memory of kissing her from his mind because the last thing he needed was a stiff cock again, especially with his brother watching him so closely across the coach.

“All right.” Tristan nodded. “You’re under her spell. But don’t you think it would have been wise to court her a bit before offering for her? What if the spell wears off and you find you don’t suit? I haven’t seen you be so reckless in many years, Greg.”

Indeed, it had been quite a while since anyone had called Greg reckless. Of course, there was no way really to explain his apparent hastiness away. So Greg changed tactics instead. “Worried we’ll out-bicker you and Phoebe?” He shook his head. “I hardly think that’s possible and look how in love the two of you are.”

A ghost of a smile settled on his brother’s lips and he conceded the point with a shrug. “We actually argue less than we did when she was betrothed to Russell.”

“Yes, well, now you both have an outlet for your pent up sexual energy.”

“That obvious, was it?” Tristan asked.

Actually, Tristan and Phoebe had hidden their feelings for each other rather well before they ran off to elope in Scotland, but saying as much would hardly aid Greg’s argument now. And he didn’t want to discuss his situation with Bella, not if it could be avoided. So he shrugged instead of answering. “Cordie says Russ’s new bride is a sweet girl.”

“And apparently he’s head over heels in love with her,” Tristan agreed. “So perhaps leopards can change their spots, after all.”

“Or perhaps it just takes finding the right girl…”

“And you think Lady Arabella is the right girl for you?” Tristan speared Greg with one more of his perceptive looks.

Greg swallowed a bit uncomfortably. God, he hoped his brother couldn’t see through him or all of this would have been for naught. “I wouldn’t have asked for her hand if I didn’t.”

“Oh!” Tristan gestured out the window. “There’s your future brother now.”

And Gillingham wasn’t even weaving. Perhaps he’d somehow sobered enough to listen to reason. Miracles were possible from time to time, weren’t they?

Greg opened the door to the coach and quickly stepped from the conveyance. “Gillingham,” he called after the man.

Bella’s brother turned on his heel and frowned into the darkness. “Who’s there?”

Greg increased his pace until he was almost upon the man. “I would like a word with you.”

The young baron blinked in Greg’s direction. “You’re the one marrying my sister.”

“Yes.” Greg nodded, relieved the dolt knew who he was. “And it’s actually Bella that I’d like to discuss with you.”

“With me?” Gillingham hiccupped. “I have no say over her. You should talk to my father or His Grace.”

And briefly Greg wondered if either of those men held any sway over Gillingham. If they did, he wondered why the devil they didn’t use it. “Do you have any idea how your actions have hurt Bella?”

“I haven’t hurt my sister.” He sounded belligerent all of a sudden, like an unhappy adolescent. “I’ve protected them. Both of them.”

“When you make a spectacle out of yourself in public you most certainly do hurt her,” Greg told him. “I’ve seen the expression on her face when you crash into refreshment tables or cast up your accounts upon—”

“That was you.”Gillingham’s eyes widened suddenly. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“Aye, that was me,” Greg grumbled. “So I know firsthand what I’m talking about. Whatever is going on with you, whatever demons you’re fighting, Gillingham…Get yourself together.”

The ne’er-do-well scowled.

“How can Bella show her face in public when you’re forever blackening your name?” Greg continued, reasonably. “Your actions reflect upon her, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“I don’t have to answer to you.” Gillingham turned and started back down Floral Street.

“Gillingham!” Greg called after the fool.

“Bugger off, Avery,” he called back over his shoulder.

Less than a moment later, Tristan came up behind Greg and clapped a hand to his back. “Well, that went well.”

Greg shook his head. “Anytime the man doesn’t get sick across my wardrobe, it could have gone worse. I probably should consider myself fortunate.”

Tristan agreed with a nod of his head. “So when you and Lady Arabella marry, you’ll hie off to Rufford Hall, and you won’t have to worry about Gillingham. He can make a fool of himself every night, but she won’t be around to see it. ”

Except Bella wouldn’t be coming to Nottinghamshire and there would be no escape for her from her social nightmare of a brother when all of this was over.