windows demanding I marry her that very instant—and Rogan, I would have been glad to do it. I want to marry, Rogan. And she is a good woman, a virtuous woman with a kind, gentle soul.”
Rogan rubbed his cheek. “A gentle soul with one hell of a swing.”
“You deserved nothing less. I can only hope that one day you will realize that everyone’s heart is not as black as yours.”
“And you will learn, Brother, that I can read a woman faster than she can tell me her name. Miss Royle is not Quality.”
“She is. She possesses a grace that I have never witnessed before.”
“True, she dressed well enough this eve, which might give anyone who met her the impression that she hails from a good family, but I saw her earlier today. Saw her country frock and absurd bonnet. I saw who she really is—an opportunist, concerned only with your title and your full pockets.”
“You are wrong, Brother.” Quinn turned and charged for the house.
Rogan rose from the bench and called after him. “You will see, Quinn. You will see.”
When Rogan sat down to break his fast quite late the next morn, Quinn, dressed in a dark blue frock coat, had already filled his plate with bacon rashers, eggs, and bread, and was slowly sipping his coffee. He did not even seem to notice that Rogan had entered the room.
Quinn looked quite handsome, with his coat brushed, his neckcloth painstakingly tied, and his brass buttons sparkling as if they’d just been polished. This was not his brother’s usual day garb. Not at all. And this worried Rogan.
“Look at you, Quinn. You’re all the crack this morn, aren’t you lad?” Hmm. He was hoping for an explanation for Quinn’s fine garb, but his brother did not hurry to offer one.
In fact, Quinn said nothing at all.
Instead he munched on a thick slice of toasted bread smeared with a dollop of freshly churned butter.
“Come now, did I not apologize? If not, allow me to do it now. Dear brother, I vow I heartily regret kissing Miss Royle .”
“You do not regret it. You seek only to prove your belief—your incorrect belief, I might add—that Miss Royle wants nothing more than my fortune.”
Rogan filled his cup, then sipped his coffee noisily. “You must believe me when I tell you that I hope my assertion is a long stroll from the truth.”
“Well, it matters naught, Rogan.”
“No?” Damn it all. Quinn had set his thoughts on something, and Rogan had a good mind of what it might be.
“No, because I plan to call on Miss Royle early this afternoon to apologize for your barbaric actions at the Browers ’ rout.” He fastened a smile to his mouth and looked pointedly at Rogan. “Then I shall make my way to
Cavendish Square
to discuss with Lady Upperton my intentions to court her protégée Miss Royle .”
A jolt of worry blasted through Rogan, propelling his body up from the chair. “Quinn—”
He didn’t have even a modicum of an idea what he would say to dissuade his brother from this preposterous notion.
It was for this reason that when the butler, Clovis , entered with a letter atop a silver tray and headed straight for Quinn, Rogan closed his mouth and sat down again, grateful for a few more moments to craft his argument.
When Quinn noticed the butler, the fine skin at the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled and a look of confusion passed over his finely boned face. “Early for a letter, is it not?”
“Not so early, my lord.” Clovis raised the tray a little higher before Quinn, urging him to take it.
It suddenly struck Rogan that something was not as it should be. “Take the card, Quinn.”
Quinn peered at the cream-colored note on the tray. “I shall... finish my breakfast first, I think.”
What was this? Rogan rose from his chair. Even from his position across the table from his brother, he could see that the direction on the outside of the letter was written in a woman’s hand. Possibly Miss Royle’s ?
Could that be the reason Quinn was apprehensive
Rogan rubbed his cheek. “A gentle soul with one hell of a swing.”
“You deserved nothing less. I can only hope that one day you will realize that everyone’s heart is not as black as yours.”
“And you will learn, Brother, that I can read a woman faster than she can tell me her name. Miss Royle is not Quality.”
“She is. She possesses a grace that I have never witnessed before.”
“True, she dressed well enough this eve, which might give anyone who met her the impression that she hails from a good family, but I saw her earlier today. Saw her country frock and absurd bonnet. I saw who she really is—an opportunist, concerned only with your title and your full pockets.”
“You are wrong, Brother.” Quinn turned and charged for the house.
Rogan rose from the bench and called after him. “You will see, Quinn. You will see.”
When Rogan sat down to break his fast quite late the next morn, Quinn, dressed in a dark blue frock coat, had already filled his plate with bacon rashers, eggs, and bread, and was slowly sipping his coffee. He did not even seem to notice that Rogan had entered the room.
Quinn looked quite handsome, with his coat brushed, his neckcloth painstakingly tied, and his brass buttons sparkling as if they’d just been polished. This was not his brother’s usual day garb. Not at all. And this worried Rogan.
“Look at you, Quinn. You’re all the crack this morn, aren’t you lad?” Hmm. He was hoping for an explanation for Quinn’s fine garb, but his brother did not hurry to offer one.
In fact, Quinn said nothing at all.
Instead he munched on a thick slice of toasted bread smeared with a dollop of freshly churned butter.
“Come now, did I not apologize? If not, allow me to do it now. Dear brother, I vow I heartily regret kissing Miss Royle .”
“You do not regret it. You seek only to prove your belief—your incorrect belief, I might add—that Miss Royle wants nothing more than my fortune.”
Rogan filled his cup, then sipped his coffee noisily. “You must believe me when I tell you that I hope my assertion is a long stroll from the truth.”
“Well, it matters naught, Rogan.”
“No?” Damn it all. Quinn had set his thoughts on something, and Rogan had a good mind of what it might be.
“No, because I plan to call on Miss Royle early this afternoon to apologize for your barbaric actions at the Browers ’ rout.” He fastened a smile to his mouth and looked pointedly at Rogan. “Then I shall make my way to
Cavendish Square
to discuss with Lady Upperton my intentions to court her protégée Miss Royle .”
A jolt of worry blasted through Rogan, propelling his body up from the chair. “Quinn—”
He didn’t have even a modicum of an idea what he would say to dissuade his brother from this preposterous notion.
It was for this reason that when the butler, Clovis , entered with a letter atop a silver tray and headed straight for Quinn, Rogan closed his mouth and sat down again, grateful for a few more moments to craft his argument.
When Quinn noticed the butler, the fine skin at the outer corners of his eyes wrinkled and a look of confusion passed over his finely boned face. “Early for a letter, is it not?”
“Not so early, my lord.” Clovis raised the tray a little higher before Quinn, urging him to take it.
It suddenly struck Rogan that something was not as it should be. “Take the card, Quinn.”
Quinn peered at the cream-colored note on the tray. “I shall... finish my breakfast first, I think.”
What was this? Rogan rose from his chair. Even from his position across the table from his brother, he could see that the direction on the outside of the letter was written in a woman’s hand. Possibly Miss Royle’s ?
Could that be the reason Quinn was apprehensive
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