Prelude to a Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page B

truth had been revealed to both of them, Carlton still struggled to contend with who he really was.
    A bastard.
    They used to get along. Before their mother had pulled them out of Eton one winter day, merely to inform them that Carlton was a bastard and that she could not bear the guilt of knowing that their father, who had trusted and loved her so much, had died never knowing it.
    Radcliff could only helplessly watch as their mother had suffered from a complete shattering of nerves brought on by guilt and loneliness. She had died shortly afterward, and their lives had been a mess ever since. A mess Radcliff had tried to assist his brother through, only to be pushed away every single time.
    Carlton stared him down. “Aren’t you supposed to be home shagging Justine?”
    Radcliff narrowed his gaze and focused on the hazy outline of Carlton’s shadowed face, trying hard to keep his fist from smashing straight through the man’s skull. “She is officially Duchess to you, ingrate. You’d best remember to show her due respect and stay the hell away from her. Because I don’t need another mess.”
    Carlton held up both gloved hands and gurgled out a laugh. “Do not insult what little remains between us. Unlike you, I’d never fuck the same hole my brother has. Frankly, the very thought of us crossing swords shrivels me. If only it shriveled you.”
    Radcliff hissed out a breath. “Nothing happened between Matilda and myself. Nothing. I refuse to apologize for something I did not do.”
    “Matilda would have never followed you that night if you hadn’t insinuated interest,” Carlton seethed through clenched teeth. “For the first time in my life I felt as if I finally had something you did not. But you had to rip away what little was mine and reduce me to what we both know I am—nothing. I suppose I really must be nothing if I can’t even retain a mistress.”
    “What little you know. She was tired of your vile, empty promises. She was bound to move on whether it was with me or someone else.” Radcliff shook his head, wishing he could somehow rid himself of all this lingering remorse. “I don’t want to discuss this with you ever again. The only reason I even came here tonight was to ensure Matilda’s safety. She has already been through enough. There is no need for you to further punish her.”
    Carlton boldly stepped toward him, their boots almost tip to tip. “So you came here tonight, uninvited, into my home to inform me as to what I can or cannot do with my own mistress? Sod you, Bradford. Sod. You. I am merely ensuring she never strays again. Because you and I both know what she really wanted that night when she followed you to that slum of a party. But instead of your prick ending up in her, it happened to be six others. As far as I’m concerned, she deserved it. Just as you deserved having your face carved up like the belly of a goose at Christmas. Because I know what would have happened between you and Matilda if those men hadn’t accosted her. And that is why I loathe you. That is why I will always loathe you. Because you are only worth the length of your prick, and that, I can assure you, isn’t very much.”
    Silence hung between them, thick as the thickest fog. Radcliff fisted his hands hard, feeling his heartbeat throbbing within them. “I deserve your wrath, Carlton, because you are right. I most likely would have engaged Matilda that night if I had known she was there. Despite that, one thing gives me peace. That I, Radcliff Edwin Morton, the fourth Duke of Bradford, actually have a few redeemable qualities left within me. Unlike you. Because no woman, no matter her sin, deserves to be raped and beaten by six men, and then further beaten and degraded by the man who claims to be devoted to her. You know absolutely nothing about devotion. You are only devoted to yourself and yourself alone.”
    His brother said nothing, merely stood there with his chest heaving.
    “Carlton?” a woman called