He’d have to demand more whiskey. Alec frowned at the bottom of his empty glass. He gave it a little shake and the ice rattled merrily. He shook it again. Maybe if he kept shaking it, someone would come fill it with whiskey.

He wasn’t drunk—not at all. He knew he wasn’t drunk, because he never lazed about in his study like some degenerate and drank alone. That would be pathetic. Still, if he were going to get drunk, this would be a good time to do it.

Christ, what a dismal evening.

She’d seemed to enjoy herself. He thought after the scene at the stables Delia would find an excuse to skip dinner, but as usual she’d surprised him. Wearing a pink gown that turned her skin the color of rich cream, her countenance smooth and unruffled if slightly pale, she’d taken her seat at table with meticulous punctuality, as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

She hadn’t looked at him once the entire evening.

She looked at Robyn, though. As far as Alec could tell, she’d done little else besides look at Robyn. She drank wine and ate next to nothing, and all the while she smiled at Robyn and laughed at Robyn’s conversation until Alec was ready to throw his wineglass over the heads of his unsuspecting guests directly into Robyn’s dinner plate.

Alec raised his glass to his lips and cursed when he remembered it was empty. He pulled the bell, rattled the ice in his glass, and pulled the bell again.

Where the bloody hell were the servants?

Robyn was delighted, of course. Any man would be delighted to have her full attention. How did she get her lips such a deep pink color? It must be paint. No woman’s lips were such a color naturally.

But it didn’t look like paint. It looked real. It had been days since Alec had kissed her, but he remembered with painful clarity how her lips tasted. They were delicious: hot, eager, wet. Real. Alec knew well enough one taste of them wasn’t enough. Robyn might be tasting them right now. Her deep blue eyes might be closed, her lips parted, and Robyn might be leaning down toward her …

Alec hurled his glass across the room. It slammed into the heavy oak mantelpiece with a sharp crack and shards of shattered glass and ice hit the floor.

She hadn’t turned away quickly enough this afternoon. He’d seen the tears in her eyes and he’d known, down to the deepest recesses of his black soul, he’d done something unforgivable, like trampling a carpet of bluebells under his heavy, muddy boots.

Maybe Robyn was right. Maybe he was just like his father. His father used to drink alone in this very study. It was a coincidence worth noting.

Someone knocked at the door. “Finally,” Alec mumbled. “Come!”

Rylands himself entered the room. “My lord—” Rylands began, but he stopped at the sight of the broken glass and melting ice by the fireplace. The butler looked from Alec to the mess and his perfect impassivity faltered. Alec kept his temper under tight control most of the time, so such a display was rather shocking.

“Ah, Rylands. Another bottle of whiskey, if you please.” Alec glanced toward the fireplace. “And another glass. Mine appears to be broken.”

Archie peered around the half-open door. “All right there, Carlisle? I thought I heard a gunshot.” He stepped into the room.

“I dropped my glass.” Alec gestured vaguely toward the fireplace.

Archie strolled through the door. He looked at Alec’s morose expression, the smashed glass on the floor at the other end of the room, and raised an eyebrow. “I see that. How unfortunate.”

“I’ll send a maid in right away to clean up the mess, my lord.” Rylands bowed and turned to leave the room.

Alec sighed with irritation. “If you must. But don’t forget my whiskey.”

“Yes, of course, my lord. Right away.” Rylands scurried out the door and closed it quietly behind him.

Archie sat down in the seat across from Alec. He looked around and took in the coat tossed over the back of a leather chair, a crumpled cravat on top of it. Alec’s long legs were stretched out before him and his boots rested on the mahogany table.

“So. Carlisle. How are you this evening?”

Alec scowled.

A maid hurried into the room and began to clean up the broken glass on the floor. Rylands followed, carrying a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on a silver tray.

Alec eyed the glasses. “Are you going to join us, Rylands?”

“No, my lord.” Rylands gave an offended sniff. “The second glass is for Lord Archibald. The third glass is an extra one, in case there is another, ah, mishap.”

Alec’s scowl deepened. “How cautious of you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Rylands placed the tray on the edge of the mahogany table, as far away from Alec’s boots as possible. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Damn impertinent,” Alec muttered as the door closed behind the servants. Still, it was by no means certain he wouldn’t hurl another glass across the room, so perhaps it was just as well.

“What are you hiding in here for?” Archie asked.

Alec gave Archie a sullen look and slumped down farther in his seat. “I had an argument with Robyn today.”

“Ah. Curious, that. A fight with Robyn, I mean. Surprising. Explains why you’d be holed up in here like a hermit, of course, soused and tossing glasses about.”

Alec slammed the heel of his boot into the table. “Robyn wasn’t at all pleased when I attempted to take away his favorite new toy.”

Archie frowned, and Alec felt a rush of savage satisfaction. Even in his whiskey-addled state, it occurred to him that maybe he wanted Archie to be disgusted with him.

“And by ‘new toy,’ I suppose you mean Miss Somerset?”

“Who else? Robyn demanded to know why I was sneaking around with her, or disappearing into dark corners with her, or spiriting her down mysterious pathways, or some similar nonsense. The discussion deteriorated quickly after that.”

“No doubt it did. What did you tell him?”

Alec drained the whiskey from his glass and poured another. “Told him he couldn’t have her, that’s what. Reminded him of his duty to his family.”

Archie leaned back in his chair, considering. “So Robyn really is courting her, then? Did he say as much?”

“Course not. Robyn never admits to anything. You know that, Archie. He did ask if—” Alec broke off. He didn’t want to remember this part of the conversation, much less repeat it, but he didn’t see any way around it. “He asked if I would approve the match if he were in love with Delia.”

Love. Robyn. With Delia. A sick emptiness started in Alec’s chest and began to claw its way up his throat. He took a deep swallow of whiskey to force it back down.

“Did he?” Archie’s tone was deceptively casual. “What did you say to that?”

Alec winced. He wasn’t proud of what he’d said next. “I might have mentioned something about Robyn taking Delia as his mistress.”

There was a charged silence, and then Archie leaned forward in his chair, his face grim. “Christ, Carlisle,” he began, but then his eyes narrowed on Alec. “But that doesn’t sound like you. You didn’t mean it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No. I didn’t mean it. I may be a bastard, Archie, but even I draw the line at despoiling virgins.”

“Why say it at all, then?” Archie asked in a maddeningly reasonable tone.

“To hear him deny it, of course!” Alec took another swallow of whiskey and made an effort to lower his voice. “I feel as if I don’t know Robyn anymore, and I wanted to be sure he still draws the line at despoiling virgins.”

Archie ignored Alec’s outburst. “Does he? What did he say?”

“He was furious. Thank God for that. He told me I didn’t know him or Delia at all if I believed either one of them would consent to such an arrangement.”

Archie let out a long breath. “Thank God indeed,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t been at all sure of the answer. “Damned unpleasant scene. Glad that wasn’t a gunshot I heard earlier, come to think of it.”

But Alec shrugged off Archie’s concern. He didn’t know the worst of it yet. “Delia overheard every word of it.”

Archie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and fell into his whiskey glass. “Jesus.” All trace of levity vanished. “She heard everything?” He sounded truly aghast.

“Yes. I don’t know what she was doing there, but she was standing outside the stable doors the entire time. She heard every bloody word.”

“You’re an unlucky one, Carlisle.” Archie shook his head. “What a disaster.”

“It was. Even more so than you can imagine. I’ve never seen anyone more hurt or angry in my life.” The pain and disbelief in her expressive blue eyes flashed in his mind. The same image had tormented him all evening.

Bluebells smashed under his boot heels.

“The worst of it is Robyn will find Delia Somerset more irresistible than ever now.” Alec kept the fact that he also found her irresistible to himself, however. What difference did it make now? She despised him.

“That’s the worst of it?”

“Of course. You remember Robyn as a boy, Archie. Always angling after whatever bauble was forbidden to him. Delia seems far more interested in Robyn now, too, after she overheard him defend her so valiantly.”

Something in Alec’s voice caught Archie’s attention. “Robyn’s not a boy now, Carlisle.” His expression was unreadable. “He’s a grown man, and for all her shining beauty, Delia Somerset isn’t a bauble.”

Alec shrugged. “It amounts to the same thing.”

Archie shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. Not a bit of it, Carlisle.”

“Then she said she hadn’t come here intending to marry Robyn, but after today, perhaps she’d reconsider.” He’d flown into a fit of savage, jealous rage then, and had stopped just shy of showing her who she truly belonged to—

Alec took a deep, unsteady breath and drained the rest of the whiskey from his glass. Even now, remembering her words, he felt fury rise like bile in his throat.

Alec had forgotten Archie was even in the room with him and was taken aback when he heard him chuckle. “She actually said that?”

“Not in so many words, but yes—that’s what she meant.”

“Ah.” Archie nodded. “And now you’re embracing your whiskey as if you believe it will squeeze you back because you think she’s going to encourage Robyn’s attentions?”

Alec exploded again. “She’s already encouraging his attentions! Didn’t you see her at dinner? She may as well have been sitting in Robyn’s lap.”

Archie blinked at him. “No, Carlisle, I confess I didn’t see Miss Somerset enthroned on Robyn’s lap at dinner this evening. I can’t think how I missed it.”

Alec shrugged. Then he picked up Archie’s whiskey glass and drank the contents in one swallow. “Me either.” He wiped a hand across his mouth. “S’matter with you, Archie?”

Archie sighed. “What do you intend to do now? Perhaps it would be best if you stepped aside.”

Alec stared at him. Now. He was going to throw the glass now. “The devil I will.” He sloshed more whiskey into his glass.

“Very well, Carlisle.” Archie got to his feet. “I’ll leave it to you, then.” He placed his whiskey glass on the table, then picked up the bottle and handed it to Alec. “I believe you’re going to need this. Good evening.”

Alec didn’t notice Archie leave. He sat in front of the fire drinking whiskey and trying to remember why he’d objected to Delia as a match for Robyn in the first place. Didn’t it have something to do with the beau monde tittering about the Sutherlands in every drawing room in London?

Was that it? Odd. He couldn’t quite remember anymore.

He frowned, concentrating. He thought it had something to do with Robyn. He didn’t want Robyn to kiss Delia. That much he was damn sure of. Or touch her.

Or look at her or talk to her or walk with her or make her laugh or smell her hair or taste her or anything else her.

Ah, yes. He smiled happily at his glass. That was it.

Delia felt weary down to her bones. She looked at the stairs in front of her and wondered if she had the energy to climb them.

Dinner had been interminable. The food had undoubtedly been delicious, but every bite felt as if it would choke her. She’d conversed with Robyn and smiled and laughed until her face ached from the effort. It took every ounce of her control not to look at Alec, but still she felt him, the heat from his intense dark eyes as palpable as a hand sliding down her back.

“Off to bed at last, Delia?”

Delia nearly jumped out of her skin. The low drawling voice seemed to come out of the darkness itself, but when she turned from the stairs, there he was, arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning against the wall next to his study door.

He’d removed his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, and the neck of his fine white cambric shirt gaped open. He’d shoved his sleeves up past his elbows, exposing an endless length of muscular forearm. He must have been running his hands through his thick dark hair, too—he had a habit of doing that. Too-long locks fell across his forehead and the start of a dark beard shadowed his face.

He looks like a pirate. Delia’s eyes drifted to the tanned skin of his chest left exposed by the open shirt, and an unwelcome shiver of awareness tickled down her spine. A pirate who was a bit worse off from drink, that was.

What a perfect end to a perfect day—alone in a dark hallway with a drunken pirate who was about to fall out of his shirt.

“You’re drunk.” She hoped her abruptness would disguise her sudden breathlessness. She turned to start up the stairs, but before she could take a step, he wrapped a hand around her arm and turned her back around to face him.

She looked down at the long fingers grasping her arm, then pointedly back into his face, but he ignored the hint and drew her closer. “Just drunk enough,” he said, in a low, amused voice.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Just drunk enough for what?” Blast.

But he was the only one permitted to ask questions, it seemed. “Did you enjoy your evening, Delia? You appeared to be pleased with your dinner companion.”

Well, that settled it. If she’d appeared to enjoy herself tonight, then it was time for her to tread the boards at Drury Lane. “Oh, yes.” She made a futile attempt to tug her arm free from his grasp. “I do prefer to participate in a conversation rather than overhear it.”

She raised her chin with a defiant jerk. There. That should serve to remind him of what an awful, terrible man he was. Hopefully it would remind her, as well.

But if she was expecting him to look ashamed, she was disappointed. He took in her raised chin and a slow, wicked smile drifted across his lips. “You mean you prefer to participate rather than eavesdrop?”

“Eavesdrop! How dare—”

“But then, eavesdropping has advantages, too,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “For example, I’d have been very interested to overhear any part of your conversation with Robyn tonight.”

Delia bristled. “My conversations with Robyn or anyone else are none of your business, Lord Carlisle.”

His face darkened and his fingers tightened on her arm. “Ah, but I think it is my business, given the circumstances.”

Delia felt an angry flush rise in her cheeks. “Oh, yes. How could I forget the circumstances? You must be referring to my devious plot to trap your brother into marrying me.” She cocked her head to one side, as if considering this. “Well, you will be glad to know I’m off to a promising start. Robyn and I”—she paused dramatically—“walked in the garden together this evening.”

Alec stiffened and his mocking smile vanished. Suddenly there was tension in every line of his hard body.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have goaded him—

But it was too late. He was already reaching for her. Delia backed away from him, but he pursued her until the stair banister pressed into her spine. He slipped one long finger under her chin and raised her face to his. His other hand was still wrapped around her arm.

“Indeed? How romantic.” That lazy smile started at the corner of his mouth again, but his dark eyes were hot with fury. He gazed at her for a moment, then slowly teased that long finger across her cheek. “What other intimacies did you permit?”

She couldn’t look away from him. Delia tried to gather her wits, but all of her attention was focused on that warm, seeking finger. “What do you mean?”

Her heart hammered as he moved his hand so his palm cupped her face. He brushed his fingertips lightly across the shell of her ear and the sensitive skin behind it, and leaned forward so his breath stirred the tendrils of hair at her temple. He pressed his lips softly against her ear. “I think you know. Did he touch you?”

Delia closed her eyes at the sensation of his hot breath teasing her skin. He smelled faintly of woodsmoke and fine whiskey. “Yes.” She tried for a firm tone, but her voice emerged faint and breathless. “Of—of course he did. He took my arm.”

Some strong emotion surged through his body. He was so close to her now Delia felt an echo of it low in her own belly. The tip of his tongue grazed her earlobe. Delia jumped in shock and then shuddered with pleasure. “Oh, don’t,” she pleaded in a sudden panic.

He let out a ragged breath. “Don’t what?” His voice had gone husky, but it still vibrated with anger. “Don’t touch you?” His hand drifted down until it reached the small of her back. He held her body tightly against his own as one hard thigh moved between her legs to press against her through her skirts. “Don’t put my mouth on you?” His lips roamed deliberately from her ear across her cheek and then down to her throat. “Or don’t ask any more questions?” His mouth stopped at the soft skin between her neck and her shoulder and nipped lightly. “Did you let my brother kiss you?”

Delia couldn’t speak. She was drowning. She cursed both him and herself even as she wrapped her arms around his neck, desperate to stay afloat. He groaned low in his chest. “Answer me, Delia.” He nipped gently at her neck with his teeth, then licked at the bite with his darting tongue.

“N-no.” Delia bit back a moan, not sure if she was answering his question or begging him to stop. Or was she begging him not to stop? “No.”

Some of the tightly leashed anger drained from his body then. Her frantic grip on his shoulders eased as she felt him draw a deep breath. “Damned good thing,” he whispered, right before his mouth came down on hers, not gently but voraciously, crushing her lips. He tasted her, then pulled her plump bottom lip into his mouth and sucked.

Delia moaned, and he took ruthless advantage of her desire. He plunged his tongue roughly into her open mouth, invading her. She hesitated, shocked but also unbearably excited. Her tongue crept forward and hesitantly touched his. He groaned and his hands moved from the small of her back to her hips, drawing her tight against his hardening cock.

With every delicate stroke of her tongue, his control seemed to slip another notch. His powerful body shook with pleasure. Emboldened by his reaction, Delia sank her fingers into the deep waves of his crisp black hair and tugged, pulling his head down to hers. He growled against her mouth, then captured her tugging fingers in his and pressed her hands inside the open neck of his shirt, against the bare skin of his chest.

His skin was hot, so hot. She moved her hands to the opening at his neck so she could feel more of it.

He lifted his mouth from hers. “You will never let him kiss you,” he commanded fiercely in a low, savage voice, his mouth still hovering over hers.

His words penetrated the dense fog of her desire. She’d been lost in his kiss, one breath away from tearing his shirt off, and he’d been thinking—what? That she’d allow Robyn to kiss her this way, too? That she was some grand seductress who practiced on one brother so she could seduce the other?

Alec’s hateful words from this afternoon flooded over her, each syllable like a hard slap across her face. Yes. He did think that of her, and worse, too. She’d sworn to herself she’d remember his vile words and never be such a fool again, but here she was with her arms around his neck, kissing him as if nectar flowed from his mouth and she was starved for nourishment.

Her cheeks burned with shame.

She placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed—hard. She caught him off guard and he released her at once, his arms falling away. He stared at her, his expression stunned, his hands clenched at his sides.

“Why shouldn’t I let Robyn kiss me?” Her voice was strong and clear in spite of her breathlessness. “Isn’t that what mistresses do?”

Alec’s face went so pale his dark eyes seemed to burn. “Delia, I didn’t—” He broke off, and when he spoke again, he seemed to be pleading with her. “I know you would never …”

He stopped and ran an unsteady hand down his face. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

Delia stared at him, shocked at his anguished expression. She gasped as her heart clenched painfully in her chest. When had it happened? When had his pain become hers?

“Don’t say that,” he whispered fiercely. “You will never be his mistress.”

Delia shook her head as a wave of unbearable sadness swept through her. “But I didn’t say it, Alec. You did. Now it can never be unsaid.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, his face ashen. “So I did,” he murmured at last. “And so it can’t.”

He turned, walked back into his study, and closed the door quietly behind him.